Pride Season: Be a Rainbow

I’ve had so many clouds, but I’ve had so many rainbows too. Be a rainbow in someone else’s cloud, and let me be a rainbow in yours. 🌈 Happy Pride 2018⁠ ⁠everyone.

Dr. Maya Angelou is always so inspirational (YouTube video – the rainbow):

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Suffering just ‘is’

“Sometimes suffering is just suffering. It doesn’t make you stronger. It doesn’t build character. It only hurts.”

— Kate Jacobs; ‘Comfort Food’

Pride Season: The Unsent Letter – Man In An Orange Shirt

A most heartfelt letter written, but never sent. The tender letter from Thomas to his lover Michael, written in around 1957. Taken from the brilliant ‘Man In An Orange Shirt’, this is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful yet tragic love stories I’ve ever seen on TV and encapsulates an era of forbidden love. A love that dare not speak (or write) it’s name for fear of imprisonment. It would be another decade before the law on prohibiting homosexual relationships would be repealed, at least in the United Kingdom.

“The love I feel for you runs through me like grain through wood.”

Think about that for a minute.

If you haven’t seen the BBC adaptation of Man In An Orange Shirt, it’s available on BBC iPlayer for the next couple of weeks.

The Unsent Letter:

My Darling Thomas,

I'm at work. Nobody knows I'm writing to you here. They think I’m drafting a long and stupefying memorandum about incremental shifts in the price of Welsh coal since the end of the war for the ladies in the typing pool to type up later.

You refuse my visits so you're probably tearing up my letters too but there's nothing else I can do but keep trying. It's beyond my control, do you see?

All those months ago, when I had nothing to lose really, I wrote to you in my head but was too cowardly to set more than lies upon paper. And now I find I no longer care. The love I feel for you runs through me like grain through wood. I love you, Thomas. Your face, your voice, your touch, enter my mind at the least opportune moments and I find I have no power to withstand them. No desire to.

I want us to be together as we were in the cottage. Only for ever, not just a weekend. I want it to go on so long that it feels normal. I think of you constantly. Your face, your breath on my neck at night. I want to do all the ordinary, un-bedroomy things we never got around to doing. Making toast. Raking leaves. Sitting in silence.

I love you, Thomas.
I’ve always loved you.
I see that now.
Tell me I'm not too late.

Michael

***

Everything in this image has been created from scratch by The Vandeput Design Co. and is copyright…

© 2017, Ryan Vandeput. Without exception, you may not use this image for any purpose in whole or part without licence from The Vandeput Design Co. Email ryan@ryanvandeput.com to request permissions.

Pride Season: How we can learn from the Stonewall Uprising, even today.

This year marks the 50th anniversary since simply being gay was no longer a crime. 

In 1967, changes in the law in the UK meant that homosexuality was at last decriminalised. In fact, it was what happened at the Stonewall uprising over in the United States that heralded in a new dawn for gay rights. Indeed, the very first Pride march took place shortly after these riots and have evolved into what we now recognise as annual gay pride. It surprises me all the time that so many people from the LGBT community have no idea of origin of pride. It’s not just a big gay knees-up. Yes, it’s great to celebrate the achievements of those before us, but we must never forget that there is still much to do. Social attitudes have changed, but more could be done. Government policy has moved forward, but not enough. Laws have been made or amendmended, but not where total equality is possible. Religious stances are evolving for the better, but at a ridiculously slow pace. In short, there is still much to be achieved, and while most see Pride as a great time to party, let us not forget why pride came about, and why we now have our freedom to love whoever we choose. Let us remember that there is still a need for activism, to better the lives of LGBT people everywhere, at home and abroad. 

“Let us remember that there is still a need for activism, to better the lives of LGBT people everywhere…”

We also need to look within ourselves. The once safe inclusivity of the community is being lost. We are quickly forgetting that it was a need for activism, because of persecution from other societal or religious groups, that brought us together as a movement in the first place. It wasn't being in cliques and ‘type categories’ that segregate us and push us apart. Much of the non-LGBTQ community is full of its very own negative stereotypes, abuse, slurs and hate towards us, without our own community adding to it – and we do. We need to remember what is important. An idealistic viewpoint is that we need to love and respect each other all over again.

We need to recognise that even today, when we feel that so much has been done for the LGBTQ community, so much more can be achieved and that there is always that call to arms, that call to fight; there is always opportunity for activism. Let your battle cry be heard!

For the most part, we’re doing great, but as my teachers often said, we “could do better.”

Finally, if you’re a reader from the non-LGBTQ community and wondering why there is no ‘Straight Pride’, remember this: gay pride was not born of a need to celebrate being gay, but our right to exist without persecution. So, instead of wondering why there isn’t a Straight Pride movement, be thankful you don’t need one.

Happy Pride Season!

If you’re interested in watching the incredible documentary on the Stonewall riots, you can watch Stonewall Uprising here:

http://www.pbs.org/video/1889649613/

(If you’re outside the USA, find a good VPN client. I recommend BetterNet, which is available free on AppStores and online.)

I’m Lemonade-ing! 4 New Videos From ‘Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt’

There are now 4 brand-new videos on my YouTube channel – Titus Andromedon at his most fabulous, taken from the Netflix Original Series Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt! Click the respective image to watch the 4 new edits, including the main street sequence, the extended cut and the ultimate cut, which features glorious tributes to Beyoncé’s ‘Hold Up’, ‘Sorry’ and ‘All Night’ plus extended scenes. Production: The Vandeput Design Co. 





Jo Cox MP was NOT to blame for her own murder, despite what The Daily Mail would have you believe.

What fresh hell is this?! The Daily Mail is tacitly blaming Jo Cox for her own murder, and painting her killer’s insane bigotry as at least part legitimate grievance. They didn’t even feature Jo Cox on the front page of today’s paper, unlike practically every other tabloid. Unfortunately, it might appear, many readers of the Mail didn’t jump aboard the evolution train, so many simply believe what they read, and without question. The thing is, major companies advertise in these ‘newspapers’ – if they were to pull advertising that they frankly do not need, perhaps the Mail might change its insidious rhetoric. It is the insidiousness of this hate that makes the Mail far more dangerous than any openly racist right wing site or publication. It’s poison for the soul; a slow acting poison that changes people over time – or confirms existing paranoia and fears of ‘the other’. As a LGBT community, we’ve been on the receiving end of vile but thinly veiled hate speech like this for as long as I can remember. It ashamed me when I was 16; it disgusts me now. The redundant tabloid adage stands that if you are a person of colour and a Muslim and kill people you’re a terrorist, but if you’re white you’re mentally unstable and somehow the crimes committed aren’t as serious. This is the Mail in its full glory, bordering on being nazi apologists. There’s a way to avoid this type of bile… Don’t read/buy the Daily (Detritus) Mail. Time to make a stand. But I somehow think that this won’t be enough; having her murderer, Thomas Mair, in prison for a whole-life tariff – never to be released – is a start.

Source: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3966766/Did-Neo-Nazi-murder-Jo-fear-d-lose-council-house-grew-Terrorist-thought-property-end-occupied-immigrant-family-MP-wouldn-t-help-him.html
H/T Andy Guy

It’s not about living anymore, it’s about surviving. I’m dying on the inside, and it has to stop. My grandmother always used to say “tell the truth and shame the devil.” So I guess it’s time to shame that arcane, evil bastard.

I wish, just for once, I would allow this inferno of a pressure cooker inside me to just explode, gushing out a scalding geyser of everything that’s making life pretty helpless, painful and empty, in a glorious maniacal onslaught. I wish I could tell you what a shitty existence I feel I’ve fallen into, through no fault of my own, and how deeply and unavoidably unhappy I currently am. I wish I didn’t have to hide this disease, often for the preservation of others, often to appear normal and healthy on the outside. I wish I wasn’t so good at applying and wearing undetectable makeup with the only purpose of giving me the appearance of health and glowing vitality. I wish I saw a bright future ahead of me, with exciting adventures to seize with unquestioning, open arms. I wish I didn’t often see potential love – and even the world – casually pass me by. I wish I didn’t crave the love of ‘one’ so intensely. I wish I wasn’t alone. I wish I didn’t daydream about a life with my very own beautiful children, only to shed many a tear over the children I will never have; that’s one of the things that hurts me the most deeply of all.

I wish I could grab a bag and run out of the house at five minutes notice because a friend surprised me with a weekend away or just for a perfectly spontaneous dinner date. I wish I didn’t promise to join friends when I’m invited to do something incredible & life-changing, or just invited do something wonderfully everyday, like going to the shops and laughing at silly things. Or being asked to travel the globe and feel the sand between my toes… because at that very point they asked me to join them, I knew I had already broken my promise before I even said yes; because as naïve as I am, I always believed there was hope, and I might be strong enough/well enough to make it, maybe next week or in a month or two. In reality, that’s rarely the case. Hope now seems more akin to a malevolent entity, or a cruel mistress. Now, joyful excitement feels too much like fear.

There’s more, so much more I could say. However, I can’t; doing so, in my naked and raw truth, and to completely lay oneself bare, is an impossibly. In doing so, I would alienate the few friends I have left, because nobody wants to hear that, and really, no one should. So I censor my self-pitying self and psyche, so not to rock the boat, to keep things nice and neat and sterile and reliable, as its always been. Heaven forbid I might appear a weirdo, a freak, a depressing force that will only drag you down. I can’t post certain ‘arty’ photos I take, because some find them uncomfortable and read too much into them… and then ask me if I feel suicidal, which I do not. If art provokes an emotional response, even if that response makes one uncomfortable, doesn’t that mean the art is doing its job? Anyway, isn’t that a little irrelevant? Think about it.

There’s very little left of me these days – even I miss the old me. I’m dying on the inside, and I’m so desperate to live again. Despite my all the shattered pieces and shards of razor sharp glass strewn at my feet, I still have so much love to give, and to give freely, unconditionally. This existence has to stop. My worry is that there might only be a handful of straws left, and my back might already be too weak…