Wednesday, October 10, 2007

A window into the sky

There's that moment around 12:30 a.m. when suddenly I get a rush, this is probably part of what produces insomnia but whatever I've got to go somewhere, can't do anything around here anyway because it's too much repeated motion pain repeated motion pain I need to do something else. I want to go somewhere, but not the Nob Hill Theatre -- too much hunger and disdain, hunger as disdain. The problem with not going out for so long is that I really don't know where to go. I decide on the Powerhouse -- might as well continue my experiment. The Powerhouse actually has a backroom, but it's also the smoking area so I can’t go near it -- I'll try cruising in the front, even though I've always wondered about people in the front -- why not go in the backroom?

Walking up to the door I get that panic like what am I doing here, maybe I should turn around right now and go home. I go inside anyway and it's kind of empty, but the decor has improved since the last time I was there -- it's like a cute little club with a dance floor in the back with sort of a cage for the dj booth and porn on video monitors, I guess all that's the same really what's different are the little tables in the back unfortunately provided by Red Bull is what they say, plus the lighting is more dramatic, red and yellow with shadows. There's a hot guy working the dance floor on his own, shirt off with slim but muscley body, jeans pulled down to show his ass he's covered in sweat I mean truly dripping -- he's got these great moonwalk dance moves with little hip movements and the music's pretty good, actually. Deep house but it's got those snaps that I can't avoid, I mean if I was going out all the time I'd say these are songs I heard 10 or 15 years ago or at least that's how it feels right now I'm okay with that. The sound system is really precise or maybe it's just echoing because there's hardly anyone around, whatever the case I’m throwing some moves and moving closer to the hot sweaty guy he's not really engaging with me except he does keep moving backwards, maybe I'm supposed to start grinding I'm not sure. Then I realize I'm dancing too fast I'm going to hurt myself so I sit on the sideline, yell at the guy: you've got cute moves! And he smiles, says it's hot in here. I say you're certainly hot, don't mean it that way I mean it's true but what I mean is that he’s sweating, maybe that's what I say anyway I'm not quite sure.

Then I'm sitting against the back wall, on the porn screen there's this guy with an extremely long cock and someone who isn't taking much of it, maybe that's part of the act but I always want them to show some talent, okay? That one of the tables there's a 50-something couple, guy with long straight bleached hair brushed behind receding hairline and a black half-shirt framing his large belly, his lover's got a black baseball cap, shirt off he's leaning down to suck on the bleach blond’s nipple. I like watching these people, the small crowd is kind of diverse in terms of race and class -- middle-aged low-key leatherish guys, a few drunks about to pass out, this one dandyish fifty-something guy with a cane. Of course I'm still also watching the boy I'm hot for until he puts on his t-shirt and goes in the back, I want to follow him right away but I can't go back there with all that smoke, I know I'll regret it later.

Then I'm dancing a little more, yes it's those snaps and even the classic oompsh-oompsh beat for one song -- you know, the beat people are always making fun of house music for: Oompsh-oompsh. Oompsh-oompsh. This time I'm dancing slower but I think I hurt my back so I sit down and watch the porn, try to decide if I'm turned on until the bartender turns off the TV I'm watching, why’d he do that? I cross the room diagonally to sit next to this big muscley forty-something leatherish guy who's kind of hot, kind of clean-cut for leather maybe he's the leather side of circuit except he's really friendly. I say they turned off that screen, he says yeah that's why a moved over here I didn't want to hurt my neck. I'm trying to make small talk, figure why not talk about the porn the guy with the long dick he says he doesn't know the one I mean, but he knows he wouldn't leave it outside of his throat for that long, porn is all about the angles and that gets stressful after a while all those angles. I say how's the backroom, he says not much is going on -- there are some hot guys, but they’re really engaged in conversation, they just need someone to start things out but it's kind of rude when they’re so engaged..

I say is the guy who was dancing back there -- he says yes, you should go back there he was checking you out. I say do you think so? He says yes, he was checking you out. I say I couldn't tell -- he says will he seems kind of jittery, maybe he's tweaked. I say I would go back there, I could start it up but I can't deal with the smoke, I'm allergic. He says it's not that smoky in the back, but I understand if you're allergic -- I'm going to get a drink.

I figure I might as well check it out for a second, open the door and there he is right at the front with a few guys smoking, he's pulling on both of his own tits so I figure he's ready. I lean right up against him and rub his chest, kiss his neck. He's definitely tweaked, looks a little confused I say I missed you on the dance floor. He says BYOD, bring your and dance floor -- 4 squares of Formica. I say did you bring baby powder two, I didn't see baby powder. Or cardboard, he says -- he has an accent that I can't quite figure out, before I would have guessed whitebread US suburbs with the jeans pulled down and all, but now I'm thinking maybe Brazil. I say cardboard – that sounds difficult. He says I can do anything.

I say do you want to make out, and I lean down to kiss him. He says that's a little presumptuous. Interesting word choice. I laugh and kiss his neck again, rub his chest. I say I'm going to get away from the smoke, and I go down the few stairs to the far corner, sit on the bench and kick my legs up like a little kid, I guess he's talking about me to the guy next to him because they're both looking over so I wave. Then I go back inside

Wow, I feel so much better like I'm high -- I was right, the rejection doesn't bother me at all, but what bothers me is missing what might be an opportunity, okay I'm going to get good at this. What's interesting about a bar on Monday night I guess is that it brings such a weird crowd together, maybe I've been away from bars for long enough that now they seem intriguing. I'm talking to the dandyish middle-aged guy with a cane -- I didn't expect to go out tonight, but here I am and the bar’s about to close. He says is there anything wrong with that? He's smiling, I like his smile even though it illuminates probably 60 years of stress in his face, lubricated by alcohol. He has an interesting accent too -- maybe people in bars have accents.

I'm waving goodbye to the dj and then the bartender -- that's just the way I am, something from my years as a clubkid I guess -- the dj is friendly, but the bartender looks angry and tweaked. The dance floor diva is at the other end of the bar by the exit, he gives me a friendly enough look and says be careful. What does he mean by that? Maybe something like be safe, I've never liked that directive -- I say you be careful too, and I rub his back, his shirt is back on again.

But outside, oh this is why I go out! 2 a.m. is the most gorgeous time in San Francisco, the air billowing in foggy splendor and everything’s still except the occasional music from a bar, a few cars but just a few, guys on bikes looking tough. South of Market most of the buildings are ugly, especially now with so many new loft-style condo atrocities, the landscape is landfill-flat but the shadows from buildings and streetlights are lovely and oh the sky the sky the sky!

At home I'm wondering about that comment, be careful. At first I get hyper-processy about it -- was he saying something about my cruising technique? I mean, he was sitting in the backroom playing with his nipples, was I really being presumptuous? But actually I think he was being friendly -- then I get it, he meant be careful because obviously I was so high, right that's what people always think of me in bars: what are you on?

If you really want to know, I'm on a quest, okay? A quest for fearlessness in desire. I want my sexuality to feel beautiful and empowering and full of possibility -- it's been so many years that I've settled for a trap door rather than a window to the sky. When I was on tour for Nobody Passes, I felt so much possibility for the politics of gender and transformation, feminism and accountability, self-definition and fluidity -- now I want to bring all of that into my own sexual life also, where it also belongs.


grantatee said...


you are so beautiful. i love the quest that you are on--


mattilda bernstein sycamore said...

Oh, darling -- how could you say something so sweet? Thanks for the support!

Love --