"Preaching to the Converted"

Abstract

Not long ago, I was performing My Queer Body, one of my full-evening solo pieces, in the beautiful Yale Repertory Theatre. This show explores the stories that our bodies carry and how the huge losses to AIDS challenge our deepest selves. The performance, I hope, is a journey through the most intimate pleasures and pains of being in our bodies in these difficult and juicy times. My Queer Body ends with a rousing call to claiming ecstasy and an image of a fabulous queer future replete with a black lesbian president. That's it in a nutshell. There is one point in the show when I wander naked out in the audience, exposed by the glare of the follow spot as I get close enough to see people. I look them in the eye and acknowledge them as the community occupying that theatre for that evening. I see their glasses. Feel their hair (maybe indulge in a quip about their haircare products). Notice the audience's wisdom. Discreetly, of course, cruise a boy. At a certain point, I sit on one of the audience members laps and look in their eyes. My butt naked on their laps. I try to speak clearly to them: