Marcus Bellamy (WalkingWater) Shares His Experiences With Drug Addictions!

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Choreographer,Dancer & Youtube Vlogger Marcus Bellamy aka WalkingWater shares his story about drug addiction.

Keep Colin Black In Your Prayers..

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I would like for my starz to keep Colin Black in their prayers. I just watched a couple of his videos on Youtube that were dated seven months ago. I was sent several tips about rumors that he put out a couple of videos on Youtube. I did find his channel and the videos and it was extremely sad. 

In the three videos, Colin Black talks candidly about his battles with depression and hard drugs use among other things.I can't say that I am surprise. Drugs and mental illness is a norm within the adult industry and all  so often I meet performers who suffers from both. 

As we all know depression & drug recovery is an ongoing process. I am not sure what is going on with Colin Black as of today but I do sincerely hope that he is okay and seeking proper help!

Keep your head up B'!

Why I Stop Hooking Up On Sex Social Media..

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The following article was written by Lester Brathwaite of Huffington Post!

Sex has never been a particularly pleasant experience for me. It's a fundamental part of being a gay man, of being a human being, but the "fun" part has always eluded me. Don't get me wrong, I always enjoyed the bumping of proverbial uglies (I am a romantic at heart, after all) but the lead-up before and the fallout thereafter eclipsed that enjoyment. The hunt is exhausting. The encounter is fleeting. The loneliness seeps in. And then it begins anew. The cycle continues. Like all addictions, there's a cycle.

For me, the process of hooking up has become an addiction. An addiction fueled by insecurity. The insecurity that comes with being a gay man. The insecurity that you're not masculine enough when masculinity is demanded of you — absolutely demanded — as a matter of course from other gay men. "Masc musc" whimpers many a profile. Masculine. Muscular. Abs prominently on display. Face obscured or head completely decapitated. This is the faceless face of hooking up in the 21st century.

This emphasis on anonymity and masculinity further engenders internal homophobia in the gay male community. Nevermind what sex between two (or more) men actually entails, we're taught from a young age to embrace that which is manly and shun that which could be perceived as its antithesis. Femininity is weakness, is undesirable, is a boner-killer if there ever was one. From the ludicrously inflated pecs of Tom of Finland to the sculpted torsos on Grindr, gay men have always prized the hyper masculine, but this exaltation of all things manly forces those of us who don't necessarily fit within those rigid gender constructs to make one of two choices: rebel or conform. I've tried both and I can say from experience — it takes a real man to be a queen.

I had my first flirtation with hookup culture back in high school — pre-Grindr, pre-Manhunt, maybe even pre-Craigslist — when XY (the now-defunct magazine for twinks and their admirers) had an online personals section. Then I was just coming into my own as a gay and I bought my occasional copy of XY with more than a little shame. I'd sneak onto my friend's computer, excited to find others like me. It was all so new, but even then I remembered being confronted with the reality of the internet's sway on people's attitudes and mores: "no blacks, no Asians, no fats, no fems."

The inherent racism of gay male hookup culture masquerading as a "preference" akin to height or hair color is an issue I've struggled with since then — and have grown weary discussing — but it's incidental to my argument here. Being online and having a world of men at your fingertips with a wall of anonymity between you and them makes us all awful people. It reinforces unreal body expectations, encourages the enumeration of ideal qualities/deal breakers, and contributes to the further disconnectedness of my already disconnected generation. I've spent countless hours, whether alone or in the company of friends I rudely ignored, staring intently at my phone, slavishly yet listlessly flipping through the same profiles, wasting my time and poking holes in my self-esteem for what? Sex? Maybe. Love? Hardly. Validation? Probably.

All addictions have their respective highs. Guys telling me how sexy I was, or how cute I was, or what a great body I had made me feel good about myself. I worked out to be attractive to other men. Working out also made me feel good about myself, but that esteem was tied to the approval of others. I could stare in the mirror for hours on end — artfully posing to achieve that perfect profile pic — but if no one told me I was attractive, why would I have reason to believe it? My ego as inflated as the pecs of the bikers and sailors in Tom of Finland's iconic drawings, I drowned in my own reflection. And I perpetuated the cycle of unreal expectations and ideals. Homosexuality is acknowledged narcissism and guys tend to seek out others like themselves. So I tried to be like the guys I wanted to attract. I can work out obsessively; I can take shirtless, faceless selfies of myself and plaster them across the internet; I can pretend to be masculine, but I can't be something I'm not. I can't be white, I can't be the masculine ideal others want me to be, I can't live my life by rigid standards to which I never subscribed.

It's all a game and I tried to play by the rules. Not so at first. I tried to be myself, or rather, to represent myself as truthfully as I could. Even the truth requires the proper lighting and the omission of certain facts. My profiles — with the proliferation of hookup apps and websites like Adam4Adam and Manhunt, I had about six profiles running concurrently — featured my face along with the obligatory shirtless pics and a playful description of me. I got some attention, but not from the caliber of guys I felt I deserved. My looks, as validated by the very men I was rejecting, gave me license to be more selective. As I grew more selective, my profiles grew less playful. I erased my face. I added more shirtless pics and naked pics; I worked out harder; I left my descriptions blank so I would have nothing to blame for a guy not messaging me back, other than his own "preference."

But it was never enough. Some guys can put aside their personal feelings with a studied yet cool sense of detachment; they can allegedly just have fun and not take this silly thing too seriously. But I'm not one of them. I take everything too seriously. I would wait with bated breath for a response from a guy and if it didn't come I would wonder what was wrong with me. Was it something I said or didn't say? Am I not muscular enough? Am I not masculine enough? Am I too black? Not black enough? Guys that I would strike up a casual conversation with immediately became potential boyfriends. We would either meet and have sex and I'd never see him again or we'd casually text until one or both of us lost interest. Some times, we'd meet and I'd face my rejection in-person. Were we to meet in another, less sexually-charged way, things would probably be different. Giving all the goods off the bat, however, takes the surprise and spontaneity out of meeting each other.

But these apps and sites have rendered me completely unable to interact with guys in any other way because they cater to my insecurity. My insecurity about talking to guys. My insecurity with coming off too effeminate or too needy. My insecurity of attracting someone without using my body. It's one thing to be rejected based on a picture and a headline, but to be rejected based on something more substantial like personality is a soul-crusher. I broke myself down and I beat myself up and I compromised my values and what I believed in in order to satisfy my all-consuming sexual desire. I recognized that this desire was just a desire to be less lonely, which explains why I would often get attached to someone so quickly and so easily.

For instance, I chatted on the phone for an hour with one guy I met on Adam4Adam. After the fact, I sent him a few texts to which he didn't respond right away. That prompted me to send him a long message on Adam, apologizing if I had scared him away. I'm not a phone person in general and an hourlong conversation is otherwise unheard of with me, except on very rare occasions with very dear friends I probably haven't seen or spoken to in a while. Meanwhile, the object of my misguided affection had no idea what I was talking about. He was busy and had meant to respond to my texts, but for me, a steady stream of second-guesses immediately came flooding into my head.

I hung out twice with another guy I met off the app Jack'd. The second time he slept over and we cuddled all night. The following morning was perfect. He was in my arms, the sun filtered in through my apartment windows, illuminating our naked, intertwined bodies. I recorded the moment in my head because I knew it would never last and that I would likely not experience it again any time soon. I didn't hear from him for a while after that most perfect morning. I sent him a text to the end that I assumed he had lost interest. He replied that he was simply busy so I added — perhaps with the intent of pushing him away before I was inevitably hurt — that I was "kinda crazy" and that I "kinda liked" him. I never heard from him again.

Then yesterday, I had enough. A guy that went to my gym messaged me on Scruff, yet another app in my casual sex arsenal. We had seen each other in the gym before and had obviously checked each other out, but as is often the case, it was easier to talk through our mutual online profiles. No one likes being rejected and that additional buffer makes the rejection less painful. Or so it would seem. When I saw him in the gym again he completely ignored me. And that's when I nearly burned my gym down to the goddamn ground. I got so mad. So enraged. But why? Why was I letting this get to me again? It wasn't the first time this had happened. I had been on both sides of that equation. The ignored and the ignorer. But that was the last straw.

I had finally grown tired of putting myself through all these waves of doubt and insecurity over what some guy with a few pictures and a handful of sentences (if not just a headless torso with nothing else) may or may not think of me — if he thought of me at all. I want to have more respect for myself. To stop sending naked pics of myself to strangers in hopes that they'll like me based not on who I am but what I look like and what I could potentially do to their eagerly awaiting assholes. To stop attributing my value to my body and its ability to attract. I want to have relationships away from my screen. So I quit.

I deleted all of my sex profiles.

Some addictions you have to quit cold turkey. That's not to say I won't be back. I've deleted my profiles before, only to come crawling back, promising myself that things would be different. But I fall into the same trap every time. The cycle of self-loathing and self-compromise. So I'm quitting, for now, indefinitely. I need to work on myself and my insecurities rather than hiding them or magnifying them in digital form, or trying to banish them all together through sex with the hottest men I could find. If they liked me, I could like myself. Oh, gurl. I'm not even into S&M but playing the casual NSA hookup game is the most masochistic thing I could have possibly done to myself.

Now it's up to me to attempt to make real connections in the real world. Because through this process I realized the most important thing — that all those apps and sites aren't real. I always attempted to see the headless torsos as real people, but they're just the versions of the people they want to be. That's why the connection online and in-person is often lost in translation: you can't carry on a relationship — strings attached or not — with someone who doesn't exist.

Mr. Reading Rainbow’s Library Is Open…

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We lost actor Philip Seymour Hoffman to a drug overdose over the weekend. While other actors and fans are paying respect,LeVar Burton paid dust…

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I have dealt with my own addictions so I know what it feels like to be an addict. It's a constant struggle but it's also a choice that you make. One day, I choose to stop drinking like a fish after of years of telling myself that I was okay even I knew I wasn't. 

I have friends who are dealing with addictions and it's hurtful to sit and watch them self destruct. I am sure many of us have seen this in the black gay community.

When you are indugling in your addictions, you aren't just hurting yourself, you are hurting people around you. You are affecting their lives and if you die, they are left to pick up the pieces. It's a selfish act. 

What I find even more interesting is when white stars die of an overdose, they don't get the same treatment as blacks or people of color. When Michael and Whitney died, all they kept talking about was their drug past. The media demonized them.  When Amy Winehouse, Cory Monteith, and Heath Ledger died they were "incredible people who had demons".

I do think Mr. Rainbow should have kept his opinions at the kitchen table for the sake of the family.  They are going through enough pain as it is. It was definitely poor taste.

San Francisco Meth Zombies!

San Francisco, Calif. — the epicenter of the 1960s' psychedelic revolution — is notorious for drugs. But in the new millennium, the city, especially the gay community, is struggling to recover from a meth epidemic.

My Thoughts On Kris Kross’ Chris Kelly & Addiction….

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Life is truly short. Just yesterday I was fighting with Moms. I don't talk about it often but my mom is a recovering addict and she has been clean for about five years Thank God. Even though she is clean and goes to church now, she is still in denial about her pain and inner demons.



Kris Kross was apart of my childhood. I played the hell out of "Jump" "Alright" and "I Miss The Bus". "Tonight Is The Night" is still my cut. I wore my pants baggy and backwards too. I remember those good times even when reality was really bad. They got me through my pain.



We are losing a lot of our childhood heros way too soon and close together. The industry itself is the devil but after hearing about Chris Kelly's troubles, it makes me extremely sad. Unless you have been a celebrity, you will NEVER understand the pressure and the rejection. We forget that these people are human beings at the end of the day.

 

Only people in his position can understand how he was feeling. Only people who have dealt with addicts can understand his mother and his family. We ALL dread gettin' that "call". 



It's EASY to say just go to REHAB but one has to be be ready to get off drugs and face the PAIN. Even when you get off the drugs, the pain is still there. I just had to put it out there and get this off my chest. My condolences to all the families who have lost their love ones to addictions. It's NOT easy.

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