Grrrl Revolution

It ain't over. 1:30AM Half-Awake Thoughts

2009-09-14T08:18:00.001-07:00

I'm still coming to terms with myself. The every day transformation and every day conflict between myself and people who don't think I should complain or speak my mind. Whatever.

I’m trying very hard to like men. They’re are very confrontational and set in their ways, without considering a change in point of view. In ways I am the same, but I think about life and how much I’ve progressed, and how much my opinions/views have altered themselves with the acquiring of new knowledge and I must say that I am different. I talk to Jonathan, a straight friend who I am thankful for being open minded enough to discuss and respect feminism but time and time again he is lost in the world of hetero-normativity. The belief that promiscuity is slut, etc. And he still, even with all his knowledge and our friendship hangs around homophobic assholes who have no good intetions for gays. He doesn’t try to change their minds or even cares to bring it up that how they think is wrong, he doesn’t have to. he doens’t care and has the luxury of not giving a shit. Gay guys? They SHOULD care, but they’re too wrapped up in vanity and consumerism and mass marketed culture than the are about politics. The media has stolen our voices, made us numb and blind and fucked us over by creating a list of “should be’s” and “shouldn’t be’s” for the gay community and therefore has lead us along the path of single-tracked buy buy buy to complete my soul mode. How do I identify with men then? They can see the importance of gay equality but not the NECESSITY of it. It is not a priority for them, it is not a concern. For me it is reality, it is life or death, it is struggling on a day to day basis to be taken seriously, it is wanting to not live in FEAR to be WHO I AM. It is hating yourself.

So yes, destruction of our current notions is necessary. How can I let people “do as they please” when we can’t even be sure if they’re truly following their heart or following what they have been told? Some say that they have chosen to follow that superficial and meaningless path, so be it. Perhaps they are too dumb to realize anything else. Without the education of other possibilities how can we expect anything else to exist other than what the media has dictated for us? Our culture is under attack from itself, only we can stop it. That is why propaganda trashing is so necessary, and arguing against this lifestyle is important. Of course it is a conflicting issue within me, I am part of it as much as they are, but I see how detrimental it is. I want it to be FINISHED, OVER WITH, GONE! I know that’s impossible but I’m demanding it. I want it so bad. If we can demand and demand and wish and long for GLAMOR, which is IMPOSSIBLE as well, and emulate to such extremes, we can surely do the same for the other end of the spectrum. So go on then let’s get to it.

Yesterday's Bruise

2009-08-01T11:58:00.004-07:00

She wonders from room to room
down the hall with eyes scanning
over every object on the table

A hairbrush, travelsize deodorant,
half eaten peach, pens.

In purple and black from yesturday

9 Pound Girl

2009-01-07T13:41:00.004-07:00

She's burning alive
Phoenix Mother, Dragon Mother
Embers fall and eat her skin;
light and life sprout, like seeds,
knowledge, truth, freedom.
Her eyes open and she Sees
the Key is within her.
As she sits in flames, rained upon,
her soul awakened.

Now, she is larger than life.
Heavy like lead.

Teen Dream Dorm Porn

2008-12-07T13:56:00.001-07:00

Teen Dream Dorm Porn
Video sent by JonnyCunt

My 3rd/final project for my sophomore production class, fall semester 2008. Did it in an hour with two girls I got that same day. It was too fun.

Purpose

2008-09-01T07:31:00.004-07:00

Last night we watched a Todd Haynes short in the Common Ground building on a small television on VHS tape. We had seen some rather unique and artistic short films but I felt emptied by them. In particular, the Haynes short was making me ill. Sensing that it was going nowhere but down, he follows the story of a young gay boy who idolized a female television star. Something all us queerboys can relate to right? Idolization comes naturally to us. Anywho, his father typically disapproves, his mother is naturally kind and giving--supportive.

Maybe Vivienne Westwood is right and nothing at all is really happening in the cinema. I can't seem to watch it for pure enjoyment anymore and films such as those are hardly enjoyable and seem more self-indulgent. I don't know why I found the film predicable and dull. Perhaps I'm all too familiar with the subject matter. Regardless, I watched it mindlessly, without thinking or coming to any sort of terms of realization with any part of myself or the world. The only introspective thought was me wondering why I could have possibly hated such a piece from a good director. I mean Far From Heaven was worth while, beautifully shot too.

Well, what I did learn is not to make something for simply the sake of making it. I must provoke thought, interest, something new each time. New emotions, because without them no one can go forward. If I don't do so I'm just creating a distraction, noise, things I'm trying so desperately to fight because it blinds us all from truth and reason.

Heartbeats;

2008-07-06T19:26:00.001-07:00

Heartbeats;
Video sent by JonnyCunt

My first film! Currently working on a new poppin picture called "Angel Dust" www.brightpinktears.com

The Wet Virgin

2008-04-21T22:13:00.003-07:00

Stripped metal shards, giant silver panels
from decontrusted buildings, destroyed
by Her rain, downpour of tears and blood
from eyes and between legs
Scortched centuries reclaimed.

She, Her Holyness, is glowing
Radiant and colorful.
Leaf, Aqua, White, Cherry, Purple fruit tone
with each breath, a shift.

& At this moment, we're like. Lost.
Not we, I. Although I know I'm not alone,
she's watching over me, and we know
that everything will be alright.

Where U Can Feel It

2008-04-21T21:48:00.003-07:00

She's deep inside me, this girl of mine
5 years old but 700 years older her soul
25 year old breasts, ass, hips, legs, thighs
Pumping on the floor, each muscle taut and glowing
Alive in light
Dripping gleaming oil, hot and running in streamlettes
Glitter drops bounce off her forehead
Her hair shimmering off color, Never the Same
Born from my womb, from Mother Earth's

She is Miss Universe.

"Not yet," she speaks, lips ablaze in gold
Nails lined in diamonds. Silver tongued, platium eye-lash
"WE are not ready, you are not ready."
Ride the rockette ship straight through my heart,
this Glitter Girl, Sparkle Queen, Magic She, Glamour Pussy.

"Let me Tell U A Secret: "
Then silence, inside me inside you
touching everyone with her silence.
This hush, of unspoken labor
obedience, trust, sacrifice
throughout milleniums of existence.

Glitter/Fated

2008-04-11T19:45:00.005-07:00

JC González
"Glitter/Fated."
Silver prints (2) framed in pink duct tape, glitter coated.
Currently @ the Fistfull of Art show in the College of Santa Fe sculpture barracks, this weekend.
On sale!
contact @ pink_headphones@yahoo.com

Deeper

2008-04-06T12:23:00.003-07:00

Deeper
Video sent by JonnyCunt

MUSIC BY MATMOS
MATMOS WEBSITE: http://brainwashed.com/matmos/

my site:
www.brightpinktears.com

DreamGirl No. 1

2008-03-02T09:43:00.002-07:00

Boys In Film

2008-02-17T21:54:00.004-07:00

Being eleven years old, fat, awkward, shy, lonely, and utterly confused, sitting alone in a dark room watching a movie with a girl seemed ridiculous at the time. Laughable, even though I could firmly feel the carpet below me, taste the popcorn and Mexican candy, and certainly see The Virgin Suicides DVD playing on the television screen in front of me. Yes, it definitely was real, and yes, I was alone in a room with a girl nearing the midnight hour.

Was this what it was supposed to be like? Is this the defining moment everyone keeps on talking about? I suddenly considered that maybe I wasn’t a freak and right at that moment, the future looked clear. Yes, I could continue this. This was possible. A girlfriend, later a wife, kids, and so on. My mind was straying; I continued to focus on the movie not moving an inch, wondering what to do next or what to do at all. I didn’t know what to say and my mouth couldn’t move. I could feel her hand against mine and maybe I should touch her more?

My stomach ached. This wasn’t real. I loved her, I really loved her. But I couldn’t imagine kissing or fucking her like I was supposed to. The thought frightened me. She intimidated me. Yet I was obsessed. I couldn’t let this moment go. She was a chance at leaving behind all those years of doubt and fear and confusion.

When I was five or six, in the first grade, I watched the film The Neverending Story. In fact I could not stop watching The Neverending Story. I tried so desperately hard to convince my father that I really wanted to be like Atreyu, the young hero in the film. He was my hero.

Not exactly, for I mostly watched a scene where he was crawling in mud dripping wet and half-naked over and over again. I couldn’t stop staring. And later, boys in school, who seemed so distant on the playground playing their sports activities that I was never invited to be a part of—yet I couldn’t stop staring and dreaming. I fell in love with an Atreyu look-alike, Alejandro. His long dark hair with perfectly tanned skin was something I couldn’t ignore on the soccer field. But I also fell in love with the idea of maybe one day becoming that—or a girl. Becoming a girl seemed so beautiful and elegant. It certainly would have answered and solved many of the problems I was facing at the time. I knew I couldn’t mention a word of my schoolday crushes to my father, or my mother, or my sister, or to anyone else. Not that there was anyone else, the boys hated me and the girls rejected me.

As I grew a little bit older I kept on hearing other kids’ talk of sex, of tits and ass and wanting to rub your dick all over them. It didn’t quite make sense. Looking at college girl porn magazines that my cousin and I found under my uncles bed in dusty shoeboxes didn’t inflict any of those feelings in me. Nothing mysterious or weakening arose in me. I didn’t lose my concentration and I didn’t start to sweat or anything that I thought was supposed to happen at the sight of tits and ass.

As my cousin gazed, ohh’ed and ahh’ed, I simply did not want to look at these women. In time those pictures turned into terrifying things. They represented what was missing, I guess. I knew I was missing something, I wasn’t sure what at the time but I knew whatever it was it must be the cause of me not having any friends. It was probably the cause of me not liking what the other kids liked, in music, movies, and sports too. Desire was certainly it, the desire for girls. Love and marriage and sex filled my mind for years until I could finally take no more and just had to block it out, praying that someday I would wake up and want it all—with a girl.

I waited, sitting there next to a girl my father seemed to really push me to hang out with that night, a girl who I came to really love on some level, and I still waited for that urge.

A kiss? I thought about it for a while. Maybe if I could bring myself to a kiss that night and that would change things. Maybe that was what would cure and automatically light the fire that is desire. I looked over at her large breasts; they developed sooner and fuller than the other girls in my class. They were huge and glowing from the light of the flickering television screen. They were beautiful, I must admit, so I imagined licking them bare. The thought made me laugh out loud, which is a strange reaction when you’re supposed to be watching The Virgin Suicides.

“What? What’s so funny?” she asked me.

I shook my head. “Nothing I just remembered something. The movie reminded me…”

She didn’t seem to take much notice and continued watching. So did I.

I had to do something, and for some reason getting up to sit on the edge of the bed right behind us instead of on the floor seemed to be the right thing to do. I kept on imagining scenarios of the night’s future progression. If I actually could muster up a move, maybe she’d vomit, or slap me. Maybe I’d vomit. Maybe it might be this intense connection where nothing else matters and I’m lost in her. We’d tug each other’s hair and wake up the next morning naked and warm in each other’s arms. What if her parents walked in? All those cliché stories of fathers being weary of boys their daughter bring home and being extra watchful come to mind. Would I be one to experience that normalcy? What an honor.

So as I sat there on the edge of the bed, not really sinking my mind into the movie or into her, but into myself, I suddenly came into reality when I felt weight press against my legs. I looked down, and she’s leaning back against them like the back of a chair. She had scooted over and positioned herself so that my legs cupped her back and my feet were placed against her thighs on the ground. I was frozen. I couldn’t breath and my jaw locked up. My legs grew suddenly tense as every muscle tightened and I wondered if she could feel it. If she could tell, would this make things awkward or would she interpret it as a good thing? I couldn’t be sure of anything at that moment. But her only reaction was a sigh. She nuzzled in more, getting comfortable between my shins.

Now my future lined up properly for the first time in my mind. The normal thing could and certainly would happen to me. At least something would happen that night, some sort of heterosexual progress that would lead me in the right direction to sex, love, and marriage. My dad would be so proud.

But I still didn’t know what to do next. In this position, I certainly couldn’t take her hand in mine and I certainly couldn’t lean over to kiss her either. So what was I to do? A massage, I could lean forward and rub her shoulders. However, I could not really bring myself to do it just then and simply decided it would be best for me to wait. I didn’t want things to move too fast, now.

I started to focus on the movie this time, and wondered to myself why I didn’t want to spy on those beautiful blonde girls just as those boys did in the film? The sisters in the film were certainly beautiful enough with their clear skin, flowing light hair, and bright big eyes. Suddenly, the scene comes on where teen heart-throb Josh Hartnett comes into full swing in the film. He struts down the hallway, his long hair sways and the dreamy score plays. Moments that are ultimately life-changing and defining in your real life seem to appear to you as though they were happening in slow-motion. In this case the scene was literally in slow-motion—an aspect that only helped. Josh’s body stays imprinted in my mind even as the shot cuts away.

And fuck, I’m gay.

There’s no going back now. The future I had laid out in my mind was suddenly erased and thrown out the window. I didn’t give a shit if my father and mother, or the world, hated me or thought I was some sort of disgusting pervert. I didn’t care if I could become that slutty gay guy you always see on television getting disowned, getting AIDS and dying, or getting beaten to death. I didn’t care if was a freak of nature; I just wanted to be in Josh Hartnett’s pants at that very moment.

Sex, love, and marriage, in my eleven year old brain, lost their overpowering sense of dread. I knew that certainly there was a place to go, to somehow move forward. That desire, lust, and sexual animalistic attraction that I was apparently missing had suddenly been found, realized, and accepted by me. Only me, and that was a first step.

So I sighed and didn’t do anything with the girl. I was content sitting there with her, a friend, resting between my knees as we ate popcorn and watched the rest of the film about suicidal sisters. Gorgeous sisters they were; godly.
They were my heroes; they were the ones I wanted to become. These beauties, these vixen queens with the power to sway people with their ethereal qualities and mystifying intelligence, this is what I admired. Atreyu from The Neverending Story was not my hero as I had once told my father years earlier, and certainly Atreyu was not a character I admired deeper than on a purely physical level. Neither was Josh’s. But these girls, they were otherworldly, and in control.

Far Away (From A Girl to a Boy)

2008-01-23T22:10:00.000-07:00

I love you and I really had trouble saying that but I want you to know that it really means a lot. For me at least. And so like I know it sort of freaks you out and everything but I also wanted you to know that every moment we spent together was real and alive and so worth everything. So please don't fuck it up now that I'm not around anymore. Like please don't become some annoying deadbeat lifeless waste case blowing your money on weed and ciggs and whores and porn and beer and shit. Because that's like.. well it'll make you fat. Don't forget to masturbate every once in a while. I really wish you'd be thinking of me while you do it to you know, that way we'd kind of form some connect at some time. Like jerking off thinkin of each other, simultaneously across the continent. It's sort of hot you know? And we'll feel it. Like totally in sync and together and you know what? It'll be so much more intense.

It was always intense with you and you know I'm so happy I sucked in every moment of it when we were together before you left. Well before I left. We left. Whatever. And I'm glad I forgot the world when I was with you because you know what that's all that really matters. That precious moment. I knew it wasn't going to last forever. They don't come around often you know, those moments. Keeping you warm I think was the best thing I had ever done for you that night by the water. And I remember how your skin felt on my arms and how your breath lightly graced my arm, and how good that felt.

I remember your chest breathing under my back as I lay on you and it was so precious to me, like a thin paper bag expanding and collapsing right under me! I have to take a breath it was just so much. Never too much though.

Okay so I'm going on and on about you and you were there too obviously so you can remember now for the both of us, I don't have to spit it out to you. I just hope you saw all these moments and times the same way I did. And I hope you have some of those moments of your own, ones with me in them that stuck out. In your life that is. And I hope they continue to stick out every time you go through some bad shit, you know, as a reminder to keep going. To keep not wasting your life and to keep knowing that yes, you are so worth it.

The Last O ne

2008-01-16T23:22:00.000-07:00

They've repeated 3 times over
and I wonder how long until this emerges
or dies, or until something happens.
Will this go on forever?
My tooth hurts and so does my neck
but I still watch for your signs,
or your lack of them. I don't stop hurting
and I won't stop searching
until another control cut short step
leads me elsewhere.

Artery

2007-12-27T14:23:00.000-07:00

lost in the woods
lillies spiders dust
and spine thin, papery
dusk settles upon her
and she's ready for flight
startled, unsettled, rippling flowergirl

I See Revolution

2007-12-07T01:14:00.000-07:00

She had babies. She adopted a kid instead of having one on her own. She flashed her tits. She stopped eating. She's gotten divorced. She became depressed, took a lot of drugs and got really fucking fat. She has too many tattos. She shaved her head. She is blamed for her husband's death. She is beautiful. She shoplifts. She made a sex tape. She's a spoiled rich brat. She enjoys her popularity and exploits it. She's a whore. She's old, a has-been. She's too young to know anything. She doesn't make her own music. She's a sell-out. She isn't her natural hair color. She is ugly now. She's dating someone younger than her. She can't sing. She can't write. She nothing without him. She can't play drums. She can't really DJ. She isn't a good actress, sex just sells. She has a new car every week. She has a new boyfriend every week. She went to jail. She blames Christianity for the wrongs of the world. She found Jesus. She spends hundreds and thousands of dollars on designer fashion instead of donating. She adopted a kid from Africa. She sends a bad message to our children.
She's a rebel girl, the queen of my world.

Caravan Girls

2007-11-27T22:41:00.000-07:00

Vital

2007-11-25T22:10:00.000-07:00

plush red lumped
knotted flesh
pink and swollen

you've taken these women
you've taken these wounds

staple metal brackets
and hair-thin crevice
too cold to touch

all that is left is the pulse
all that is left is to define
a line between hearts and souls.

Her Name

2007-11-25T22:06:00.000-07:00

She's Elise.
Bright in her red jacket
walking down the iceway.

Burned in the back of her eyes,
burned in memory. Who?

She is Golden, full
and alive, throbbing underneath
the skin, it's pink.

And gone, or simply missing
from our lives, from hers.

Streetlamps.

2007-11-15T14:48:00.000-07:00

I ask, you listen
without words of response.
So there's only one way
I can find my answer.
I will dip my fingers
deep into myself
into her, into souls.
I will make you lick them,
tasting everyone I've gone through,
tasting everything I've ever wanted from you.

I've taken small pieces
little by little,
Eyelash.
Hair strand.
Fingernail.
Shoe lace.
Tooth.
Parts that you never knew
meant so much.
In stretched hot pink cloth,
I placed them, carefully.
Folded, tight, tied with ribbon
I once wore as a girl,
but now carries no true value.
Yet, a piece of me.

JC González & The Bright Pink Room.

2007-11-14T18:59:00.000-07:00

I'm JC González, a filmmaker/photographer. That wouldn't describe what I actually am. I am a feminist, I am a gay boy on the outside (... a lesbian on the inside), and I believe sex is a huge and vital part of our identity. Just as much as our breath, our heartbeat, our soul. Lets magnify it, shall we?

There's no need to feel fear, & if you do, don't worry--you've just got your eyes closed. I could go about my life quietly accepting what has been pre-planned and expected of me. No, I say fuck that. I'm not here to entertain you. It's so much more than that. I want to inspire, I want to remind you of who you really are, I want you to scream. I've decided to not lose my voice. I want you to open your eyes; reality is so much more exciting than fantasy, you'll see.

The Bright Pink Room is a home and side project for the website BrightPinkTears.com, where I will communicate with my audience on a more personal level and post my latest work that doesn't make it onto BrightPinkTears.com, that includes poetry and other writings. I will also sell DVDs, albums, and prints of my photographs in the near future. Not all of the items for sale will be my own, fellow aritsts will be featured here time to time. This is a new home for my true self.

So I thank you, for staying with me and supporting me to where I've gotten so far. All I ask is that you participate. This is collaborative. Living & breathing. This is now, and I can't stay still for one moment any longer.