HTJ 2008
This is a story I promised a friend of mine I would write about Hotter than July 2008, Detroit's Black Gay Pride celebration. It's a bit late, but it wasn't ready until now.
I hope you like it.
We set out on our small journey, Frank and I. The day was bright - filled with heat and humid thoughts, our hopes unsure but there nonetheless. As we turned the bend of trees in the park the music grew stronger, deeper, and more Detroit. The arrpegiated funk created its’ own sweat on our skin, a sonic sheen - perhaps to protect us from the truth, namely, that the Children were steadfast, undying, eternal ; that their vigor would drug us, and ultimately, send us to slumber spent and dreamy.
The tents surrounded them, waving in the faint and distant breeze, greeting us. It was then that we truly saw them, marvelous in their frolic, their swirl. These weren’t the sun kissed boys and girls of summer - blonde and lovely, in fields of amber wheat. These were the Childer of Detroit, a sea of rolling browns, golds, and blondes entranced, possessed of Eshu - their proud mohawks and brilliant plaits, their genders both quiet and loud; their kisses made for each other and the dark edges of grey city stones and skylines.
We waded through them cautiously, not wanting to appear as tourist, and eventually, we relaxed amongst their calm. Frank and I eyed familiar faces in the rolling crowds and approached smiling, our hugs longing for the girth of our friends. We drank when offered, and saw more with our hearts than eyes. Again they twirled, the reds of their joys burning. They spoke with fire, their words like fists - focused and strong, their tongues embers and smoke - Promethean.
The day grew longer and as their celebration crested, we drowned in their passions and gasped at their dreamy hungers. Our expectations burst, unable to hold their joy, exalted and exhausted. Their music a triumph, a secret ecstacy that pownced unexpectedly, it’s fangs too deep.
Our day among the Childer was a spice that finished too soon. As we had begun our journey, it had ended - we, leaving with our hearts full and our spirits emptied of the knowledge of the day the city danced with us.
The Children of Detroit would not be denied their day in the splendid sun.
I hope you like it.
We set out on our small journey, Frank and I. The day was bright - filled with heat and humid thoughts, our hopes unsure but there nonetheless. As we turned the bend of trees in the park the music grew stronger, deeper, and more Detroit. The arrpegiated funk created its’ own sweat on our skin, a sonic sheen - perhaps to protect us from the truth, namely, that the Children were steadfast, undying, eternal ; that their vigor would drug us, and ultimately, send us to slumber spent and dreamy.
The tents surrounded them, waving in the faint and distant breeze, greeting us. It was then that we truly saw them, marvelous in their frolic, their swirl. These weren’t the sun kissed boys and girls of summer - blonde and lovely, in fields of amber wheat. These were the Childer of Detroit, a sea of rolling browns, golds, and blondes entranced, possessed of Eshu - their proud mohawks and brilliant plaits, their genders both quiet and loud; their kisses made for each other and the dark edges of grey city stones and skylines.
We waded through them cautiously, not wanting to appear as tourist, and eventually, we relaxed amongst their calm. Frank and I eyed familiar faces in the rolling crowds and approached smiling, our hugs longing for the girth of our friends. We drank when offered, and saw more with our hearts than eyes. Again they twirled, the reds of their joys burning. They spoke with fire, their words like fists - focused and strong, their tongues embers and smoke - Promethean.
The day grew longer and as their celebration crested, we drowned in their passions and gasped at their dreamy hungers. Our expectations burst, unable to hold their joy, exalted and exhausted. Their music a triumph, a secret ecstacy that pownced unexpectedly, it’s fangs too deep.
Our day among the Childer was a spice that finished too soon. As we had begun our journey, it had ended - we, leaving with our hearts full and our spirits emptied of the knowledge of the day the city danced with us.
The Children of Detroit would not be denied their day in the splendid sun.