http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Octavia_St._LaurentI've been so caught up somewhere between the release of Christ Like and switching rooms in my apartment that I didn't get to post this until now. Part of it was also wanting a confirmation before writing someone off due to rumors.
Octavia St. Laurent (featured in both documentaries Paris Is Burning and How Do I Look) passed away on Sunday, May 17th, 2009. I am not fully informed as to the exact nature of her passing but everyone who knew her was aware of her long battle with AIDS and her continuous efforts to bring attention to this disease.
Octavia and I both worked with director Wolfgang Busch on How Do I Look and her dreams and ambitions will remain on film to inspire future generations. We kept in touch via MySpace and I will always remember her as genuinely sweet and beautiful. She was a true icon and a legend in the ballroom scene who always remained charming and sincere.
It seems everytime another important figure from the House community succumbs, the words of the poem "Legendary" become that much more significant to me. Octavia- may you rest in peace and thank you for all you have given us.
LEGENDARY
by Emanuel Xavier
There are Gods amongst us in these ghettos
so black, so fierce,
so brown, so beautiful,
Their time on earth may be as oppressive as ignorance
limited to the demons flowing in their blood
but after safely passing over back to the clouds
the wind will still carry their auras and prophecies
their bones will still beat drums for their children to dance
the phoenix will still rise from the flames of Paris with hope in womb
There are Gods amongst us in these ghettos
so brown, so fierce,
so black, so beautiful,
If you spend too much time caught up in yourself
You just might miss Him that is goddess,
She that is god, they that are legends
Working the runway as if walking on water
Reaching the stage to that promised land
where 'peace' is not ridiculed and the only war worth fighting for
is protecting your child from the terrorist acts of a mainstream America
where 'reading' is an act of learning
not degrading words used to disguise fragility and fractured dreams
where 'shade' is a shadow you walk in to avoid the light
but who wants to stay out of the warmth of the sun?
If you waste your time trying to be a false prophet
robed in attitude and labels to obscure the insecurity
you may fail to recognize their divinity and miracles
parting the crowds, resurrecting from the floor,
scoring tens of commandments,
because trophies will not feed the hungry,
coat the homeless, hide the scars,
Grand Prizes will not bring Lazarus or LaBeija back from the dead
they will just sit in your closet, fake idols gathering dust,
before the gold paint chips away
You cannot sell them for freedom
You cannot trade them in for love
There are Gods amongst us in these ghettos
so black, so fierce,
so black, so beautiful,
so brown, so fierce,
so brown, so beautiful,
Watch them carefully and say your prayers as they enter the ballroom
angel wing feathers decorating skin
recrafted over silicone and martyred colors
See the Gods dream, see the Gods give, see the Gods live,
They exist in the spaces where white
is not the only hue that represents purity
They will not battle to your rhythms and beats
click, spin and dip simply for amusement
They will not teach those who share their souls and names to hate
Their heartbeats are louder than the blaring speakers
You want realness . . . look at your hands
are they red from the revolution or from the blood of your own sisters
There are Gods amongst us in these ghettos
so black, so brown, so fierce, so beautiful,
so bright
Look up towards the heavens and pray
then look at yourself in the mirror and say
'Stars are not only found out in the sky but in ourselves'
Copyright 2005 by Emanuel Xavier for Suspect Thoughts Press.
All rights reserved.
Taken from Bullets & Butterflies: queer spoken word poetry.