Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Part of something important

I've been lucky enough to participate in four Lambda Literary Awards finalists readings at this point, but I forget how emotional the readings can be. Part of it is the intergenerational contact so rare in queer cultures these days, like when 84-year-old George Birimisa, coeditor of Return to the Caffe Cino, decked out in rainbow knit hat and rainbow knit scarf, comes right up to me and gives me a hug, even though I don't believe I've met him before. Also, the way queer writing worlds intersect and I have a different sense of my own history, like seeing Lucy Jane Bledsoe and Jess Wells, who I originally met during a reading for Queer View Mirror, the first anthology I was published in, back in 1997 I think. And the way history infuses the writing, like Jess Wells’ intense introduction for The Mandrake Broom, her historical novel set during witch-burning times in Europe, or Steve Susoyev’s intro for Return to the Caffe Cino, about merrymaking on an 8 x 8 stage in Greenwich Village in the 1960s. Or laughter from Rhiannon Argo’s shoplifting tips and Kemble Scott’s public television satire, a different kind of engagement with Toni Mirosevich’s meditation on relationships and Ursula Steck’s clever insertion of disability liberation politics into the mystery genre.

But the most intense part is reading, reading and seeing this multigenerational audience that isn't necessarily my usual audience really respond to what I'm saying, my scathing critiques of assimilation and invocation of the possibilities for transformation if we were able to eliminate the pressure to pass, i.e. the politics of Nobody Passes. I mean the audience is really really responding, all throughout and a whole roar of applause at the end I mean I feel so present, so present in this room filled with all kinds of queer writers and readers and I actually feel loved and appreciated and part of something important.

A star-studded reading on Thursday...

But it will be even more star-studded if you're there, darling...

STRIKE! Igniting the Fuse of Possibility
Thursday, May 1, doors open @ 7 pm / performance begins @ 7:30
First Unitarian Universalist Church
1187 Franklin Street at Geary
San Francisco, CA
Admission: $12.00 @ door

Join City Lights and friends for an evening of narratives that cut through the core of the neo-liberal agenda

30 local poets, performers, fiction writers, playwrights, and musicians deliver 3 minute pieces offering imaginative responses to the hunger of global capital and its effects upon community

STRIKE addresses strategies of resistance. We pose the question: what serves as meaningful resistance in an age of disaster capitalism? We shall explore the liberation of the commons- through poetry, performance, music, and magic.

Participants:
Charlie Anders
Maxine Chernoff
Justin Chin
Diane di Prima
Camille Dungy
Ananda Esteva
Guillermo Gomez-Pena
Lisa Gray-Garcia
Jack Hirschman
Paul Hoover
Kevin Killian
Joseph Lease
Jon Longhi
Michael McClure
Cameron McHenry
Annalee Newitz
Barbara Jane Reyes
Al Robles
Leslie Scalapino
Matthew Shenoda
Bucky Sinister
Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore
Amber Tamblyn
James Tracy
Roberto Vargas
Youth Speaks

Monday, April 28, 2008

Grandmothers are such sweet and supportive individuals, right?

Here's my grandmother Rose, on my current predicament: you don't want to get better, if you wanted to get better then you would. Such insight and charm! She wants me to try Lyrica, all of her friends with fibromyalgia have been helped by Lyrica. I tell her drugs don't work for me, but I’ll look into it. She says: if you wanted to get better then you would take Lyrica.

And, her assessment of my writing career: you used to write so beautifully. Me: oh, you mean high school, right -- you're always complimenting me on my poetry in high school. Rose: maybe you're right, but that wasn't high school writing. Me: I have some of those poems, I've read them and they're all right but they're overly grand, stagy and obsessed with big themes like God and that's just not that interesting to me right now.

This is after I'd given her a long description of my new novel, only to hear: that's the same thing you're always writing about. Then we end up arguing about whether everyone is always addressing the same themes, I say something about how she's still painting squares but they're not the same squares, right? It's a logic game -- I know she's not going to agree with me, but if I can just keep my tone measured and still confront her, then the conversation is kind of amusing at least I don't feel shut off.

Oh, and another grandmotherly gem, we’re talking about printers for digital cameras and Rose says: I don't have as much money as I used to. I haven't asked her to buy me one, although I can't say that it's not on my mind -- but at the moment I'm just explaining the technology. I'm not sure what she means -- I say: where did it go? She says: it went to your mother.

Oh, my mother with the four million dollars, that's a good place for it -- if I had more money, I'd send some to her too. I figure Rose means the money my mother's spending on creating a portfolio and a website for Rose's artwork, but I say my mother? She says yes, I gave Bill $250,000. I say why did you give him $250,000? She says because they needed it to buy the condo. Which doesn't make any sense. Rose says it was money that he would've gotten after I died anyway, but I was worried about taking care of myself in my old age and not being a burden on anyone but he said: you know, Mom, I will always take care of you.

Which is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life -- it sounds like a scene from some movie, and I can't even imagine my father uttering such a phrase to the mother he could barely stand talking to. "You know, Mom” -- like something out of a ‘50s cartoon. These people are so fucking crazy about their finances, I can’t even guess the real story -- I mean, my father definitely didn't need the money, that much I know for sure. And I can't imagine that my grandmother thought that he needed the money, either. Maybe it's something about taxes, I know a lot about family lies but not much about taxes.

I don't think of what I really want to say until later. I want to say: Why do you keep telling that I don't want to get better? It just makes me feel disempowered and overwhelmed, and I already feel that way all the time. Is your goal to make me feel worse, or to help me to feel better? It's insulting to tell me that my writing in high school was the best writing of my life, just because you weren't afraid of it. My writing is getting better and better, and if it threatens you then that's your issue, not mine.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Outside at 2 a.m. on a Saturday






There are so many people on some corners that it's like a street party -- on one corner, really butch straight guys hugging each other really really tight like as long as it's too tight it's okay. On the next corner, someone's trying to eat a slice of pizza, but the cheese is sticking to the plate and he can't figure it out, he keeps pulling and pulling the cheese like silly putty. Next door, so many mod fashionistas and fashion casualties. What's the difference? You decide!

It's all a hilarious spectacle until someone smokes in my face, but then I notice that there's a smiley-face balloon in the entryway to one of the pot clubs, bouncing against a rainbow flag, and through the window I glimpse a chandelier, yes really a chandelier! Actually that was at the beginning of my walk, but it works better here, just before some skater guy with long hair comes up to me and says sorry about that -- I'm not sure what he’s sorry about. I mean he's a skater guy because he's actually carrying a skateboard, he keeps asking his friend to push, push! It's my birthday, he says, and you know why I'm excited? I'm excited because it's my birthday!




But wait -- I almost forgot about the probably newly-styley woman swaying in a patterned white skirt with knee boots and a shiny red jacket and big dangly blue plastic earrings who hands me a framed photo right at the beginning, and says do you want this? I study it: I say did you take it? She says no, I bought it at a party for five dollars. There's someone in the foreground who looks familiar, I say is his name Ryan? She says I don't know, but he's a great artist. I say you're right, even though I don't know what his art is maybe it's this photo. I say but I don't think I would use it, thanks though. As she turns to go, she says bye beautiful, so how couldn’t I be in a good mood? Or not beautiful, but something that means beautiful plus risky, I'm trying to remember that word.

Saturday, April 26, 2008

Softer floors

I don't understand desire, I mean my desire, which I guess means I don't understand desire. But first there’s a publishing industry party, I'll admit that I get excited just finding out random details like the fact that Chronicle Books publishes 350 books a year or that Counterpoint is just down the street from Publishers Group West in Berkeley. It's interesting to see how the publicity people at Seal have moved around to other local publishers since the big "independent" publishing insider trading drama where Avalon, which previously owned Seal, got bought by Perseus, which also snatched up Publishers Group West (founded by the former CEO of Avalon) to develop a virtual stranglehold on distribution for independent publishers. So now Seal and PGW are in the same office, the office where the party is, which is actually huge and filled with air, since a lot of the party takes place in the courtyard, and I'm meeting all these people who I’ve mostly corresponded with by email, it's fun really and then I discover the refreshments include grilled asparagus, not just other things that look enticing but then I find out wait, that's pureed pork on cornbread. So then I don't have to hide in the Seal publisher’s office to eat my own food, or at least not as often.

In the past I think I would’ve been horrified by a party like this, but now you see I’m obsessed with publishing, of course that's part of desire but on my way I thought maybe I'll meet someone to sleep with too, at least I’ll know we have something in common. But there aren't many fags, and the fags there are seem to avoid one another. But most people are friendly, maybe that's because this is West Coast publishing or maybe it's because most of them are in publicity.

Anyway, I've already planned to go to Steamworks, since it's only five blocks away and when else will I be five blocks away from Steamworks? It's funny when I arrive, because I'm still buzzing from the publishing party and so I think oh, this is what it feels like to be horny: a rush. Then someone’s sucking my dick but I'm not really into him so I hug him and say thanks, then onto this guy in a booth I can't tell if he's hot but I know I'm turned on I'm trying to obey my own advice: don't think about it too much until it becomes unless walking in circles, just get on your knees and suck, suck, suck. So that's what I'm doing, which is pretty fun and then I stand up and he's sucking my dick, I can tell I'm close to coming so usually I'd pull back but this time I figure why not, remember your own advice, so then I pull away and shoot all over his chest but one thing’s funny I'm trying to avoid the come when giving him a hug, something I always make fun of other people for doing -- honey, it's your mess!

Then I crash, I'm back by my locker getting ready to eat something and that's when I'm thinking I don't understand desire, the first time at least. I mean the first time tonight. I wonder if this is the end, I mean the end of these spaces for me, which now just feel like loss. I'm thinking about what it means to have so many people crowded into one place, supposedly crowded for desire but really it's more about distance. What would it mean if we all started crying at the same time? Or screaming and laughing until we all vomited uncontrollably and then fell on the floor and went to sleep.

This super-skinny guy comes up to me and says I find you extremely attractive, it would please me if I could kiss you -- overly formal and awkward I'm guessing English isn’t his first language. I kiss him on the lips and he asks me if I want to go to his room -- no, I say -- I'm tired, I think I'm going to leave. Then he comes back around, this nervousness that feels submissive even in his assertiveness, he says do you want to go into my room and rest? I can tell that rest means he'll be touching me super-softly like I'm a bird, which is what he's doing now but I say that’s sweet, but no thanks.

Maybe there is a sweetness to him, at least in the way that he doesn't seem shady although part of that might just be inexperience -- he looks awfully young, what will he be like in 20 years? It's just that I can't help thinking about how he’s performing Asianness and whether that's for the benefit of my perceived whiteness, how this relates to masculinity and whether all of it forms the reason I'm not attracted to him. Or whether it's just the way he touches me. I mean I am a bird, but I don't like to be touched like one it makes me tense.

Also I'm exhausted, I don't know if I would be turned on by anyone right now it's like suddenly everything is dark and it is dark in here but I mean inside. I'm done eating but I don't want to leave yet because I feel so awful, I figure I'll walk around again just to see if something turns me on, and there that guy is again so I smile and keep walking. This happens a few times, then eventually I see some guy sticking his dick through the balcony that people use as an open glory hole, better that way it's more open, is that his dick or someone's arm and maybe it was someone's arm but up close it still looks huge I'm rubbing his stomach while someone’s sucking his dick but only the head and a little bit of the shaft really that's when I start to salivate thinking how far it will go into my mouth, all the way right all the way!

There's something about the way this guy is breathing that means he's breathing for me I mean differently for me and I realize he was cruising me really hard earlier but from the distance and I wasn't sure I was feeling anything, and now I’m feeling like I need to be on my knees but I don't want to be rude and pull his dick away from the guy down below who mostly is looking at me, I can't tell if it's because he wants my dick or because he wants to know if I want to suck this guy's dick I try to let him know with my eyes.

The guy from earlier is watching from a distance that’s maybe supposed to be discreet but it just looks weird, I motion him over while I'm hugging this other guy and then he kisses me on the cheek too softly almost like a child it makes me feel awkward I kiss him on the neck anyway then he's touching me with only the very outer surface of his fingertips and I move my head to the other side so he can't reach, I feel bad about that but I also feel like I can't possibly stand here if he touches me like that. I'm struck by the way that language isn't used in this space and the way I'm imprisoned by that and complicit too, but then he's gone and I feel shady but then the other guy’s dick is available so that's all I'm thinking about, way past the point when I should stand up because I'm hurting my neck I mean not now but my neck will hurt later right now it's just yes, this is what desire feels like I still don't understand but this is it I know.

Up and I'm hugging this guy so tight I love that and then tighter and I lose my balance but not really, falling with him against one of these fake walls then he's jerking me fast too fast but holding my balls just the way I like I keep hugging and hugging and then we’re just hugging I love this and then I'm back on my knees, this time his dick does go all the way into my throat before I guess I wasn't relaxed enough, but then my feet hurt why can't they have softer floors? I ask him if he wants to suck my dick, he says not now whatever that means and then the other guy is sucking his dick again from downstairs and I'm grabbing that guy’s head and kissing this guy's neck rubbing his head too I like feeling the place where his hair meets scalp what is it about him that feels so solid? Maybe that's desire.

Eventually he says he needs to take a break and I'm hugging him again he's jerking me fast I like the way that I keep getting so close to coming but not coming, at one point I think maybe I should go for it but then I think no, I don't want to come again then I'll just feel drained. And before the break I'm back on my knees, squeezing his legs holding his balls rubbing his chest and this goes on for a while I'm impressed by the way he can go all the way like this for so long but what about my jaw now it's all just moisture adding to moisture my lips are part of his thrusts. Maybe he came earlier is what I'm thinking but he's really starting to shake and moan and wait, isn't that come in my mouth but he doesn't stop thrusting, wow he just keeps pumping and pumping his hands on the back of my neck I love his hands on the back of my neck and his dick stays just as hard, maybe harder and I keep sucking and sucking until he starts to get just a little bit softer I'm impressed I didn't gag. Then it's time for more hugs.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Okay, I think it's going to be a good day because I dropped the whole container of miso on the floor, but...



Then I didn't panic, I just cut off the bottom part that had touched the floor, or as much of it as I could and then I put it back in the container.

At least I can still have hot sex in my dreams

So hot I'm sweating in the sheets just outside of my dreams except wait I'm always sweating in bed. But in the dream I'm standing outside somewhere in the sun actually it's at pride but that sounds ridiculous the point is it's in the sun and I say something to him he says that I'd have to be sucking your dick. I say that sounds good, we're up against a wall at the Castro Theatre all this gay imagery only in my dreams but I don't realize that all I realize is my hands on his chest down to his dick already hard, his hands in the same place on me I'm wondering if I'm getting hard I reach over to see, okay, and then we're both sucking each others' dicks at the same time, while we're standing out in the sun right all my sex takes place standing anyway but this is standing and it's in my bed so it's more relaxing standing outside in the sun where everyone's around and everyone's watching but not watching I don't mean they’re sketchy and pretending not to watch just that we're part of the scenery something special but not scandalous it's our arms around each other and when I start to wake up I wonder: should I come? I mean here in this bed but that sounds too messy, I try to go back in the dream but I'm in another dream still I want to remember his name, just in case there's some intersection between my dreams and the world around me I mean I can't say that it's happened before but just in case his name’s Aram.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

But what have you tried? (part one)

Sometimes people want to know what I've tried, what I've tried to feel better. Back in 1996 I was still trying to find the right drug, the one that would get me high but not get me strung out I thought Special K was the answer, it was rare in San Francisco but I found a good connection. My sister wanted to buy some, I got her three bottles which was a lot and then she decided she didn't want any so I had three bottles, Chrissie Contagious moved to San Francisco and she was supposed to help me sell it but every time I came home she was doing some. One night we went to the Hole on the Wall and Chrissie picked up some guy who wanted to go to Blow Buddies I'd never been there before and back then there was a line, a long line that went all the way up the stairs. In line the boy Chrissie had picked up took out some crystal and put it on a credit card and looked at me like do you want some. I’d always thought people should do their drugs in public, so annoying when people hide so for a minute I forgot crystal was the one thing I needed to avoid at all costs, I did that bump and then clarity or whatever hit me I thought oh no I just ruined my life, well I might as well have fun. We didn't have fun at Blow Buddies, they kicked us out for being loud queens, we were making fun of all the muscled masculinity but then I did more crystal than I used to do in a month, I mean when I did crystal, did it like I was some pro and we were alternating with K and cocktails I do remember the best moment was sometime in the morning becoming afternoon or maybe it was afternoon becoming evening and I was at the End Up waiting for Chrissie to get out of a porn video but then they sent her home she was too strung out, home was the End Up we were dancing oh we were dancing it was like I was 6 feet in the air, literally 6 feet up wow I kept thinking oh, this is what it's like to be high this is what it's like to be really really high yes. And then back to the bathroom to do more and then back on the dance floor it was better than flying.

Then maybe it had been 24 hours and we were back at the Hole in the Wall, I poured a huge bump of K, a whole capful really which would usually be way way too much but I thought with all the crystal I could do more. I could sense myself falling into a K-hole almost right away but that was fine I could handle it except then the bar was closing, the staff didn't know what I was on they didn't know about K-holes they dragged me out of the bar and then it was like my head was splitting open I was on my knees on the sidewalk I couldn't get up I could feel my life slipping out of my body I was holding onto someone's hand don't let go I might lose me. A homeless guy walking by said pour cold water on him, my friends looked scared I couldn't speak I nodded it brought me down enough to get into a cab and get home.

So then I decided to stop drinking because it just made me do drugs, three cocktails was all it took for me to convince myself that of course I would do drugs even if I hadn't had anything to drink, of course! So then I figured when else will I ever not be drinking or doing drugs, I’d always thought drugs would be part of my life but now I was taking a break so I thought okay, I'm just going to go all the way and try the candida diet, since you can't do the candida diet with alcohol because the alcohol feeds the candida, so why not now? This was the candida diet where you eliminate everything pretty much everything except alkaline grains that means quinoa, buckwheat, millet, amaranth, plus steamed vegetables and flax oil and sprouted almonds, I guess you can eat meat but if you're vegan then the only heavy protein is almonds.

Then I thought since my diet will be so pure, I might as well do a food elimination diet to figure out all my allergies. I mean my diet was already pretty pure, I’d become macrobiotic recently which I know sounds strange because macrobiotics is about balance but I still did drugs, although sometimes things are strange, right? Macrobiotics was supposed to make you feel calm and energetic but I still felt terrible my digestion was awful so much bloating and gas and I was exhausted and sad and edgy and craving cocktails. So that's right -- before I tried the candida diet I tried macrobiotics which sounds pretty limiting to most people since you only eat whole grains and beans and fresh vegetables and avoid nightshades and strong spices or anything too extreme but the candida diet was much more intense, it was time to clear my body of imbalances and find out what I couldn't tolerate.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Okay, sometimes there's a reason that instead of going to bed I decide to look at one blog, just one blog and then it's two blogs and then three...

But at least I discovered this beautiful post -- thank you, Joan.

This flower, what do you think this flower will look like?



Winding down

It's the time of night when I'm supposed to be winding down, winding down, winding down, right, winding down. Oh -- winding down right that's what I'm doing -- winding down.

Instead I'm enraged about craigslist, yes craigslist I know why would I possibly go to craigslist? I'm enraged because the fucking system keeps blocking my post and I keep having to click and clicking hurts my hand my body already hurts from just sitting in front of the computer, just sitting makes my body hurt but clicking is worse, clicking and sitting, and I keep clicking anyway because I can't figure out why I'm getting blocked, and then I post something about that, but also about cocksucking, and then that gets flagged which means it's immediately removed and then I'm sitting here enraged and I try to post something on a forum which is what the message says to do but that doesn't work either.

I know -- I should ban myself from internet cruising, it never leads anywhere anyway except right back to the pain drain I guess it's not a drain because a pain drain would mean it goes away, right? Maybe it’s a drain pain, no just a drain drain drain it's so draining!

Today's a hard day -- I started out obliterated, the music circling around me but not really getting in except when I went outside I felt okay, over to the copy shop downstairs, up the block to get bok choy and basil, down the street to my mailbox and then back. And then I felt like my day just beginning was over I mean it was hard even to keep my face from sliding into closure. Gina came over and we did things -- we did things, that was good, right?

Then I thought okay, I'm banned from Blow Buddies so I guess I'll try the internet, first the cruising sites where I just wait so I don't have to look but I think about it and that’s tiring, and then fucking craigslist I mean I don't understand how so many people have the patience for craigslist or any of this internet garbage, there was Robbie online again I mean maybe he just forgot to log out and I can't remember what I changed his name to so I'm just calling him Robbie, he was the guy in finance, finance was what he was in but he was sweet and the last time I was on this cruising site he said hello, any tips, but the only tip I have is to shut the thing down! I didn't say that, I just said I hate cruising online I wish all these people were out cruising somewhere in public that would be more fun. Except it probably wouldn't be more fun, because it would be these people and they would be looking for the computer screen, click. But I said: we could have sex, right because he said something about phone tag I said pick up the phone now. But he was deciding between going out and going to bed, but really probably just more clicking clicking clicking so satisfying the chronic pain I mean the pain of clicking but also just the culture so much worse.

Anyway, there he is online, I can tell because it says so in my inbox the only screen I'm allowed to look at someone left me a message but I'm not attracted to him, really I'm not attracted to computer screen anything except writing I guess. Writing about the computer screen computer scream computer.

Wait, what happened? Is that where this ends? I thought I wrote more, what happened to more? Oh right, I'm winding down...

Monday, April 21, 2008

Reinforcement

Oh, no -- why do I go back to Blow Buddies just two days later? No no no no no!

Okay, let me tell you why... First of all, it's midnight and my body hurts from repetitive motion and repetitive stillness in my apartment, so I have to go somewhere. Really I want to go somewhere to hear music and maybe cruise, but I can't think of anywhere without smoke, so I end up at Blow Buddies, which does have a little bit of smoke in the back because it filters through the garage door wall, but way way less than anywhere else I can think of. Second, I haven't been there in a long time on a Saturday, and Saturday is the only night that's crowded. Except, tonight it’s just crowded with endless evidence of what happens after decades of neglect, on the personal and communal level. I've talked about this before, but haven't felt it in such an overwhelming way in a while -- I'm not attracted to anyone, which makes me feel like maybe I don't have a libido. I keep thinking I'm going to leave, but then I'm eating more peanuts and waiting to see if there's anyone who turns me on. Eventually I watch this one guy get his dick sucked through a glory hole and the way he thrusts with so much force towards completion actually does get me hard, so then I decide to approach the two guys who are kind of turning me on, first a really skinny one in a white t-shirt who moves away when I touch him, and then this other guy who I thought was cruising me but he basically cringes when I touch him -- oh well, no big deal -- I'm just glad I made the effort, now I don't have to regret anything. Except for the fact that I stayed for an hour and a half, when I get home I almost can't believe it, what was I doing there for so long? Eating peanuts, I guess.

Remember when I was feeling some kind of excitement about engaging in this struggle to regain a sense of hope in my own sexuality? Now I just feel like I'm rotating the things that I have to ban, because I can't think of any other options. Right now I have to ban myself from Blow Buddies for at least a few weeks, so maybe that means I should get in the Nob Hill Theatre again -- but I never have fun at the Nob Hill Theatre, I just like the walk home and I can take a cab somewhere else and walk home. My internet experiment -- logging in to cruising sites but not browsing -- I gave up on that when I thought Blow Buddies was okay, after this one guy who emailed me and said you're really hot, do you want to hook up sometime? He was pretty cute, so why not? But he was already off the site, or maybe I was off first and then I got his message the next day, so I replied and then he replied but nothing much except chatting and then he wanted to know my name, I said you can call me whatever you want. He wanted to call me Juarez because of some maudlin song, I said my name’s Mattilda. But he couldn't deal with that, I mean he really couldn't deal, he said my name’s Waltzing.

So then I couldn't deal with that anymore. At Chris's house, we're looking online at these gay social groups that seem kind of desolate and scary or maybe that's just how we're feeling, although the penises of different shades, shaped into faces, indicating gay men of different races, that certainly isn’t helping. I'm saying "gay men" because that's the phrase they use, or otherwise it's just "men" -- I was thinking about the thirtysomething one that I guess didn't have enough people so now it's thirtysomething and fortysomething, although they forgot to add the fortysomething part to the description. Although I guess that means Chris and I can go together. Chris can't believe I ate those peanuts -- there could be MRSA or lube or someone's shitty fingers all over them! But Chris -- the peanuts are my favorite part, that and discovering new details, like last night I noticed the fan suspended upside down from the ceiling by three bungie cords, and I said something to the guy at the door as a joke and he said that's just for reinforcement, right?

It's cold outside, but I'm eating on the fire escape anyway...


Sunday, April 20, 2008

Someone else wasn't waiting

I've decided to like Blow Buddies -- they're not so gruff at the door anymore, and when I sit in the video room eating peanuts and looking at the bad mainstream porn, why such bad mainstream porn I don't know I mean bad as in commercial and mainstream as in the way desire is framed as something that occurs only between two buff, waxed specimens of masculinity. I notice the Ringold Alley sign, leading to the dark underground area it's not really underground but it kind of feels that way when you step through the curtain, when they put that sign there Ringold Alley would still have been thriving just a few blocks away I remember at least a few hot times there after the Hole in the Wall, stumbling out drunk, and one that scared me when someone's dick slid into my asshole without a condom I was torn by how hot it felt right there in the open air just three feet from the place where cars dwell, do you know what I mean? But I pulled away like usual -- now that alley is desolate and the sign for this indoor alley not nearly as grand it feels like an invocation of something lost.

Before the peanuts, just when I'm rounding the corner for the first time and watching this one guy get sucked off, someone with swept-back hair comes into the alcove and pulls me over, soon enough he’s sucking my dick and staring up at me with big googly eyes. It's fun enough, he likes all different angles and at one point he asks me to spit on him, sure, then he says I'll do anything you want but I don't really want anything. I mean from him, I'm just going with the experience he's been sucking my dick for a while now, what I like is that he's good at it but I don't get close to coming, maybe just when he tickles my balls with his fingers but he always stops that right away even though I'm sure I get harder, because he has to keep jerking his own dick, tweaker fantasy but at least his mouth stay lubricated.

I say I'm gonna walk around, thanks, and I bend down to kiss him on the cheek a few times, it's funny how someone sucking your dick can make you I mean me feel masculine in a certain way that's kind of funny and glamorous, not just because everyone in this space that worships masculinity is looking at me in a very different way then if they had just watched me sucking dick their own self-loathing. The best part is later, when this guy walks in I see him checking his jacket right then I know he's the one I want. Except then he has his shirt off, walking around super-fast with his chest up trophy-like but when I touch his chest he actually touches mine, not like the other guy who I thought was cruising me but when I touched him he got all uptight, said something like how you doing but I could hear it in his voice: not you, you crazy bitch. No, wait -- something more masculine, right? Masculine guys don't say bitch, unless they're talking about pussy.

Anyway, this is when the music gets good all clangy so I'm laughing, back to the video room eating more peanuts I figure I'll wait to see if the trophy guy wants company since following him around is too tiring he walks so fast. I'm sitting for a while and I don't see him coming around, I wonder where he's gone but no sign until I go outside and he's coming out of the back area, I say can I give you a hug? That worked last time, remember, but actually I don't remember it's just the first thing I think of saying it's what I want. Then I'm hugging him he seems excited but twacked, something about how there are a lot of horny guys here and up close I see he's older than from the distance, worn and that gives me a certain kind of comfort makes him more human..

Then we're in the back back, he’s sucking my dick, something about how his ex-boyfriend had such a big dick too and don't tell me you're a bottom, I say I can fuck you right now if you want. Instead I'm hugging him from behind for a while, I say I could come just like this, he says not yet I want you to fuck me later are you even old enough to be here? Which is kind of funny, actually I get that a lot here I think it's something about how when I channel excitement and it's kind of childlike, like I'll throw my legs up on the vinyl seat in the video booth or bounce a little when I'm walking or smile and laugh which no one else really does but also I guess I am one of the youngest people here. I smell smoke but actually it's this guy suddenly next to us, kind of scaring the guy I'm hugging who says I'm going to walk around. The other guy looks apologetic, he says sorry that was a hot sight. Earlier he didn't seem into me earlier but remember how the positions associated with masculinity change people's impressions in the space where masculinity is the only option given respect? So then he’s all about me hugging him from behind, he’s shorter and thicker than the other guy, shaved head instead of curls he says I want to get fucked. Or maybe he says I don't want to get fucked, because then he’s turned around and what really gets me hard is sucking his dick even though I saw him come earlier and I think it's funny how everyone shaves their pubes to make the hose look more bulbous but it ends up looking like some kind of museum specimen maybe it is. Then the original guy who was sucking my cock enters the stall with us but he's shyer, standing back, maybe the crystal has gotten edgier or he's giving us space and when I come it shoots against the wall but not quite as hard as the guy with the shaved head when I saw him earlier, that was impressive.

Back at the coatcheck, I'm reading the Chronicle with the guy who works there, we’re studying a picture of Nancy Pelosi leaning over to kiss the hand of the Pope, President Bush on one side and Condoleezza on the other with one of those other war criminals and I start talking about how it's Nancy Pelosi who’s keeping the war going and someone else checking out is looking at me all strange, I can't tell if he's annoyed at what I'm saying or just the fact that I'm talking at all, or talking about politics, or talking about politics in such a queeny voice, probably some combination of all these options, and below the picture of the war criminals there's an ad for Burberry cologne, but the bottle isn't plaid -- what good is it if it's not plaid, I keep saying, and then I kiss the guy goodbye and I'm out the door and there's even a taxi waiting, a female driver no less -- always a pleasant surprise in another realm of masculinity. She says did you call a cab? Good thing I tell the truth -- no -- because no one called her, she just wanted to make sure that someone else wasn't waiting.

Friday, April 18, 2008

Doesn't this look a little bit dangerous?


In talking about that horror it sounds more like knowledge

Sometimes there's nothing more depressing than washing dishes in the morning, music isn't helping today I hate this music I hate all the food stains on the stove I hate cooking or even just preparing to cook I hate all the time it takes and all the pain it gives me. Outside on the fire escape, I see that two buildings over they’re redoing the roof, a dark sooty charcoal covering white so that the sun doesn't reflect off it anymore. Even though I can't smell the poison, I feel flattened -- just the way allergies combine with interrupted sleep and maybe the new homeopathic remedy works better at night I know it's a beautiful day it seems like a beautiful day but all I can feel is the area between the eyes and nose into head but not where the thinking starts. Then the thinking starts, and I still feel the same.

Later, much later, something clears and I actually have energy, sort of, I'm talking to Gina about the difference between the West Village and Chelsea, the physical structure of the neighborhoods and the patterns of gentrification and the meatpacking district and how that fits into the mixture and of course the piers and the leather bars and cruising spaces now remade into luxury condos and it actually makes me feel some kind of fondness for New York or something, I mean I know I hate New York I mean I hated living there but something about the physical structure and all the memories lurking in between buildings, my memories but also the memories of everything erased and being erased and soon to be erased. But wait -- why does that make me think I like New York, picturing late-night walks between all these different areas, even the sickening spectacle of blood and guts in front of the remaining meatpacking plants, right next to glittering condos and fashionista atrocity design studio loneliness in talking about that horror it sounds more like knowledge. And the places where I would stop, that corner store at 8th Ave and 14th St where they actually had tables and you could sit down if they liked you enough a lot of trans women working the streets would sit there too and eventually the management put the chairs on the table but we would take them back off that was kind of fun. No one would talk to me but I would smile anyway, drinking a bottle of water because there was nothing else for me there, I just needed somewhere to sit waiting for some trick to confirm or before going out. Or, down lower into the rarefied part of the West Village oozing money disguised as culture the store with the sandwiches, oh I loved that store with the sandwiches after a trick maybe on the way to a bar every bite was splendid. I guess it's the familiarity, the way my body remembers 24-hour stores there wasn't much else for me really. I would try to cruise the Piers but only that guy who ran an escort agency nearby would be out there in the cold, still the sky not many places in Manhattan to stand under that sky just me, me from ten years ago, standing and waiting and longing now the longing’s just different. Ten years ago I saw the places where cruising was disappearing but I never thought cruising would disappear.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

There's no way I could recount all the layers to this right now, but read this important work...

From brownfemipower:

“Feminists,” on the other hand, are not movement building, they are actively destroying women and blaming those women for the destruction. They are saying the point of feminism is “equality with men” without even thinking to acknowledge that “equality with women” is just as admirable of a goal and maybe even possibly the first step to achieving the goal of equality with men. They are saying, Just do it, just do it, JUST FUCKING DO IT.

And so I withdraw myself from this “movement”.

And I reject and rebel at the label “feminist.”

I reject and rebel at the label “feminist” because I reject and rebel against silence and erasure.

I purposefully and deliberately burn all bridges to all people/movements with the purposeful and deliberate awareness that I will build bridges again, but ONLY WITH a person/movement and only if those bridges require no body parts to build.

Do you see this piece of string? What do you think it leads to ?

A little bit of so much truth

Just watched this documentary about the 2006 popular uprising in Oaxaca -- so incredibly inspiring and so incredibly sad.

Only one choice

Waking up into a head filled with allergies, nose dried out from too much sniffling it's even in my voice the way sleep interrupted doesn't equal sleep. I mean rest. At least I fall back into something from the wired thoughts intertwining plots that seem so crucial now I can't remember maybe that's good. I'm appreciating the new morning strategy, which is to start with music rather than news, music can bring me out of the clog in my head into something the way daylight's supposed to feel. Except to me it feels like night, the best part of night maybe that's daylight too. The key is to turn it off just before I get wired, wired before food equals pure crazed madness.

The good thing about the five months of the year that start right around now is that I can actually get out of the house to go somewhere, and when I leave to come home it's still light out, I'm out in the sun yes the evening sun and then I get the new homeopathic remedy in the mail and it kind of clears my head, not like the last two that have just made me sad. Maybe tired too, tired and sad doesn't bring me more rest and then the clarity fades or maybe it doesn't fade it's just that there's only one choice: the bed, yes the bed I love this bed so comfortable with the covers wrapped around me not like when I go to sleep because then I get too warm. This way it’s both comforters and even a towel wrapped around my head for more warmth. The bed even helps, for a few minutes at least.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

This loss

I'm struck by the way desire frames me, which makes me wonder if I can frame desire, since it's inside moving outward, right? I'm on the bus, searching for the person who will give me that moment to take me everywhere: those lips facing me from that seat across the divider, the seat facing backwards with those lips, oh those drunken lips. The way that guy's hair frames his face, really frames it because it's curly and surrounds him maybe that frame matches the frame that frames me. Everyone else looks too exhausted, it's the end of their workday.

Not that I'm not exhausted, it’s ideas that gave me this energy I have to remember that -- talking about David Wojnarowicz at Modern Times and beforehand really I was so exhausted I didn't know how I would do anything, I mean I knew I would push through exhaustion so familiar yet still overwhelming almost more overwhelming in its familiarity still I didn't know how I would feel afterwards. Sometimes afterwards I'm so drained I can't function. But now I have this frame, this frame on the bus and the lights go out maybe for a makeout session but no we're just stopped on the side of the road and people are hooting, a few people, no just one, just one drunk guy with a freshly-shaved line at the bottom of dark hair leading to neck, tan and smooth, and then the bus starts again.

At home, no it's not these terrible internet cruising sites, not these sites that will help me frame anything, even loss just gets stuck there until it's not loss just stuck. I'm too tired for the Nob Hill Theatre, another place for loss: loss of balance, loss of time, loss of memory becomes that walk in a square, that lean against the wall, that gaze into those eyes turned away. Maybe the next time I turn the corner. Maybe after I drink from the water fountain. Maybe when I open the bathroom door to get back to that walk in a square or I’ll stare at the DVD packaging in glass cases until maybe it's the next person to walk down the stairs, maybe the next time I turn the corner, maybe after a drink from the water fountain, maybe when I open the bathroom door.

Okay, now I'm really tired, I guess the good thing about my rule banning the browsing of craigslist postings helps me now, helps me because when I'm tired like this is when I get lost. Although I can't help but want something to rescue me from my own exhaustion, this familiarity, this loss.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Lighter thread

I don't like this ear doctor, that's what I'm thinking when he enters the room and looks me over like I'm in the wrong place, doesn't even ask me how I am even though I've heard him ask the last three patients effusively. Maybe it's because they're women, and he doesn't like fags. He only asks if I'm eating, and looks down with a grimace; obviously I'm eating.

For the first time I notice his degree in the hallway, he went to Yeshiva University for medical school. I wonder if he would like me more or less if he thought I was Jewish, my name on the books here is just Sycamore. Anyway, I go to this ear doctor because he's only five blocks from my house. And, you can always get a late appointment, I mean the latest one they do because they book five people at once and you have to wait a half hour, but that's not so bad. Anyway, he takes the wax out of my ears and says I should come in sooner because the wax is soft and wet and if it stays like that I might get an infection. I tell him it's wet because I put in ear drops, last time he told me not to use them because it's easier to get the wax out if it's dry but he was wrong because this time was the easiest yet, a burst of pain but otherwise it comes out smoothly. Using the ear drops just once is the key.

Afterwards it's so gorgeous outside with gusts of wind in the 5 p.m. sunshine and I'm looking for somewhere to sit and appreciate the cold and warmth, walking back towards my apartment but there's nowhere in the sun until the bus stop a block away, I mean not the actual bus stop because that's in the shade but sitting on the sidewalk in front of the lovely advertisement. I forget to see what’s behind me, whether I'm presenting or obscuring. I don't understand why I'm so tired, I feel like I've been sleeping better with dreams that just go on and on and aren't the dreams supposed to be the restful part. Not the content of the dreams, but the act of dreaming, right?

Although maybe there's something to say about the content, last night I was fleeing certain death which is a common dream but then I ran downhill and through these vines and then there was a covered area where maybe they wouldn't find me, I could walk through the brush and it was like the vines were housing, I was walking deeper to see if my friend could get through from the other side. When I woke up, I realize I didn't have chronic pain in that dream, that's always a relief even if I'm fleeing the evil that wants me dead, those people they're everywhere in dreamland. I won't say just like when I'm awake, because in dreams it's scarier like childhood -- out in the world it's just dreary and depressing.

This is my favorite time of the day, when the sun lowers onto my face and the light illuminates all these tiny details. Usually I'm still in my apartment or rushing somewhere, but sitting here I can appreciate all the colors in my hands -- pinks and yellows and greens and purples; the shine of the polyester threads in my woven jacket; the way the seams of my bag are sewn with lighter thread. Still I'm way too tired so I decide to count how many stitches go across -- maybe it will be a meditative exercise, although I'm not sure if my vision will blur and it does but the crazy thing is that just when I start I think there will probably be about a hundred, no that would probably be too even, but when I'm done counting that's exactly the number. I mean the number I count -- I'm not sure how many there really are.

Monday, April 14, 2008

These flowers, look at these beautiful flowers growing in my kitchen!

Some crazy tennis outfit

Today's one of those days when we get one of those magical San Francisco transitions – it’s 80 degrees out when I leave the house and then I get on the bus, go maybe five blocks and the temperature has dropped twenty degrees. I mean literally. The wind is blowing through the intersection and tourists are walking around in t-shirts and shorts looking confused. I'm just glad for all the air, yes the air.

Later, though, I'm trapped in the Castro with Chris, sitting outside of Harvest Market eating soup and that's fine until we're done with the soup so we're trying to think of somewhere to go, I can't make up my mind because my body hurts and nothing sounds comfortable. Chris says the only place he can think of is the Castro AA club because it has sofas, so we start walking that way but then we're really in the Castro and I get kind of overwhelmed and stop breathing and I need to use the bathroom but I don't really want to go in the Castro AA club, all those gays who will come over to talk to Chris and I'll have to smile I don't have all that energy. I think I'm kind of scared of going into that space too, I remember when I first moved to San Francisco and I'd walk by and it would be all these gay men in white t-shirts sitting outside, it was called the Castro Country Club I actually thought it was some kind of country club but really it's just the gay AA space with a cafe in the back.

Part of it is that I'm scared of the gays and I'm scared of the Castro, but then I'm also scared of AA because of the groupthink and then gay AA that's double gay Castro AA that's triple. It's been great for Chris and I want to be as supportive as possible, but my whole body gets tense just thinking about going inside. So much of my identity is about independence, I guess I get scared thinking that people would assume some kind of commonality that I don't necessarily feel. People don't assume that when you go into a bar, but maybe that's part of the problem. Probably I'd have more in common with people at the AA club then at some terrible bar, especially the bars in the Castro -- I mean I don't drink or do drugs, right?

Chris notices that I'm all nerves, he says is about seeing me around all these gays? Maybe that's part of it, but I think it's about me and my own discomfort so then we end up walking around some more until Chris is freezing and I feel like I'm about to cry and the wind is blowing the only good thing is that I spot myself in the mirror in yellow pants and a pale orange jacket with the blue floral sweater showing underneath everything is so bright I feel like I'm in some crazy tennis outfit. Or golf, Chris says -- that's right, golf, I guess that makes more sense.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Hugs and related or unrelated gestures

I guess Buena Vista Park is an okay place for existential questions, sitting on the bench perched above the city yet below the cruising I'm wondering about whether I'm not feeling desire because I'm not attracted to these people, or whether I'm just not feeling desire. I guess I didn't really come here because I was horny, I came because it’s hot outside so I figured people would be here. And there are people, it's just that doing things with them doesn't seem that exciting, someone’s sucking my dick and it's hot for a minute but then I'm bored -- I'm sucking someone else's dick, and sure that's exciting while he's pumping my throat but then my jaw starts hurting so I figure I should stop. I guess I don't know what I'm attracted to anymore -- that's not true, I know what I'm attracted to but maybe it's just not here tonight -- that frantic energy when everyone's holding each other and nothing else matters.

The air doesn't even seem fresh up here, what is wrong everything’s so still I guess it's the heat and then I’m looking around and I like the city lights viewed between towering trees but tonight it doesn't call me. Two different guys hug me in really sweet ways massaging my back but mostly that makes me want to lie down and rest, rest is what I need but I'm not even sure where to search for that. I've been here too long already, my body’s starting to hurt from standing so long and maybe climbing too so I don't want to go down right now, but I'm out of food and water like on a desert island not really it just sounds funny to say that. A desert island with all of these people, I wonder if that would be lonelier, after the initial hugs and related or unrelated gestures of mouths and hands and cocks.

The other existential question is about aging, the way desire changes over time but also all of my fatigue that isn't really about aging just overwhelm in the way that it overwhelms desire even when I want desire to pull me out. When I stopped turning tricks after 12 years of being a whore I thought sex would get better, that I wouldn't feel trapped by fulfilling other people's needs, other people who more often than not would rather see everything I stand for squelched. I thought I wouldn't feel so trapped by the lack of options.

Saturday, April 12, 2008

Look at this cute cat, perched so close to the edge...


A new strategy for internet cruising

Here's how it goes: I'm allowed to post ads, or log in to cruising sites, but I'm not allowed to browse ads or profiles. A window into my logic: first of all, I end up browsing ads when I actually have no energy at all, I'm looking for escape maybe sex will give me energy but browsing ads just ends up destroying my body and my mind, just drop me in a ditch. So, if I actually am horny, then I can post my own ad, right?

Also, when I look at other people's ads I end up trying to fit myself into all these gross, depressing, simplistic and limiting categories and that's a nightmare of its own. Same thing goes with browsing profiles -- it hurts hurts hurts my body, and I just end up browsing and browsing and trying to decide if I'm actually attracted to this person and then if I do end up sending someone a message I get nothing back anyway.

We'll see how this new strategy works -- I've got a one-month trial period, so I'll keep you posted!

Meanwhile, I'm on the way to Buena Vista Park in the heat wave...

Thursday, April 10, 2008

A dream I can relate to

Joanna Leeds is taking me to the BART station, which one is best? I guess it doesn't matter -- oh, wait, maybe 12th St is best because then I won't have to transfer. We drive past the entrances I'm familiar with, around the corner and across the highway and that's where we get off, except all of the terminals for buying tickets are instead dark areas for sex games -- video games, machines with sex aids like at a highway rest area, whack-a-mole type things with no moles -- and all of these drooling straight guys in rumpled suits wandering around, and somewhere Joanna Leeds, this is what she was looking for. I'm trying to find somewhere to buy a ticket, up a series of escalators that lead to rows and rows of soft drink vendors, maybe I should get a Coke -- I haven't had a Coke in a while, I'm trying to decide on the right type -- those big cups are too expensive, and the Coke is probably flat -- maybe Classic Coke in a can, I didn't realize they still made those. Although I guess it's classic. Then I figure if I'm going to get something with all that sugar, maybe it should be one of those pastries but I don't think I’d even enjoy them -- a corn muffin? Oh, no -- that would bring on my disastrous corn allergy, like my face has been sewn to my jaw -- and actually all of this probably contains corn syrup, and then as I'm waking up I'm thinking about what it means to take care of myself when a little bit of corn can ruin my life, don't even ask about a Coke really don't even ask. Yesterday I cut myself with a sheet of nori seaweed, or at least I think that's what happened -- the corner of my mouth got all red.

Socket said something to me recently about veganism: it's a dream I can relate to. A while back, I might've thought: why a dream? But of course it is a dream, the dream of creating a world where you can live without harming animals, I mean I've been vegan for 16 years but I'm quite aware that my shoes are made of a petroleum product, and made in China at that, my socks and t-shirts made of industrially-produced cotton with toxic dyes, boxers made in sweatshops, my vegetables are stored in plastic bags, the money from most of my bills goes to horrible corporations, whenever sits in my bank account is probably funding oil wars and on and on and on and on. So, the fact that I don't eat meat or use animal products, while it's something that I've done for 16 years, yes veganism is still a dream. It's an ethical choice that makes me feel better in some ways, but at this point I'm not sure how it does or doesn't affect my health, health is a dream I can relate to.

Whenever I'm doing my worst, I start thinking maybe I should try eating fish, just once to see how it makes me feel, since pretty much every health practitioner I've ever seen has recommended some form of flesh and as a vegan I know that's all a scam, but then sometimes I wonder if maybe I just tried it once. Maybe if it helped I could eat it once a week or once a month, would it help me heal? Would it give me more energy to do the work that's important to me, even if it felt like an awful compromise? Then I think about the fish, pulled out of the water with a hook or nets and then slammed to the ground writhing until something gives.

Sometimes I compromise my values and eat supplements that contain tiny amounts of dead animals, whether it's gelatin in a sleeping pill capsule or shellfish for chondroitin sulfate or maybe a few other things like that, none of which have ever helped. In my most desperate moments, I even plan out the restaurant where I'll go to eat fish, even though just the smell makes me sick I can't really imagine how I could do it. Acupuncturists always say beef broth to build your blood, the most recent one said even chicken broth what about matzoh ball soup? I used to love matzoh ball soup.

But I can never bring myself to try any of these things -- if my mind is disgusted on every level, how could my body react with anything but horror? Maybe a pill is what I think, a pill doesn't sound so scary. But pills never work for me.

Lately I've thought maybe eggs would help -- the protein, the fat, the enzymes -- free range eggs if I could find a farm that actually let the chickens roam around more or less free instead of just bigger cages. I imagine what the chickens think when their eggs are taken away, whether it's horrible and traumatic and they look around until they lay another and then that one's gone and that's the pattern of their life, looking around over and over again looking for something they'll never find. Sometimes that's how I feel.

What it comes down to is that I should be feeling better but obviously my body isn't able to process what I'm giving it in a way that actually nurtures me. From that time when nothing could matter except pain, childhood I had to survive. Some things stopped working, like my digestion, and other things raced on and on you know I mean my brain. Puberty and I stopped eating: I wanted control of my body. Sometimes I think that I need to eat so often now, pretty much constantly all day long and even right before bed I hate it but sometimes I think my body is still making up for those years when I didn't eat, those years when actually you need the most food because your body is growing. And even after, when I started eating again but I wouldn't touch anything with any oil at all -- maybe that's why I still can't digest oils, even the healthiest ones like flax or olive. If I can't bring myself to eat meat, maybe I can try an egg. I'm just looking for what is going to help me.

Joanna Leeds is someone who went to my high school, actually she went to the same school as me since at least fourth grade, maybe earlier. She was always one of the kids who were considered well-adjusted I guess, what they were adjusted to was the world the rest of us couldn't handle. She was preppy and aloof, but not as cruel as some of the other kids considered popular although whom they were popular with was really just each other. I don't remember having very many conversations with her, maybe a few more at the very end of high school when the kids who had never seemed to care about anything intellectual suddenly got pressured into overachiever status and suddenly Joanna Leeds was in AP Calculus and AP US History, the two highest-status AP courses at our school for whatever reason -- maybe because the principle taught AP US History it was the only class he taught, and maybe just because Calculus in high school seemed so ridiculous. Those of us who had been stigmatized for over a decade really, stigmatized because we were seen as smart and that wasn't considered well-adjusted, now he had to adjust to people like Joanna Leeds in our classes and she actually seemed smart we were disoriented.

I'm not sure what Joanna Leeds is doing in my dreams, or one dream at least, a dream about what to do when there are only salivating straight guys in rumpled suits and pastries and corporate sodas around, on the side of the highway, Joanna Leeds drops me off, she drops me off to take the BART back to San Francisco but I can't find any tickets.

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Wait, but I almost forgot the best part...

This queen who does the coach check, handing me someone else's coat and then freaking out with her head in her hands, grinding her teeth twisting around and screaming AAAAAAAH AAAAAAAH -- I CAN'T LEAVE UNTIL EVERYONE GETS THEIR COATS!

Look how gorgeous this building back here is looking with all the new decorations -- oh, and that shoe, that shoe at sunset...




Gay bar in a box

I keep thinking of going to the Stud, just because there might not be any smoke there -- the outdoor smoking area is behind the bar, and there are no windows there, and even if people smoke in the front that's still pretty far from the doorway. But then I've never made it, because -- well -- it's the Stud. I've never liked the Stud.

There's this electro club there that's once a month, but then every month on that day I just don't have the energy -- tonight's no exception, but whatever– 1:30 a.m. and I decide to go anyway. My cab is arriving and some drunk mess falls flat on his face in the middle of the street, the cab has to swerve to avoid him. I'm opening the door to get out and now three drunk messes are trying to climb in with me, one of them still has a cigarette in his hand -- wait, I need to get out first! They look at me with glazed eyes and I have to push my way through, the doorperson gives me a hug and says they just tried to get in to the club and fell flat on their faces, one after the other in a pile so I had to send them home. I'm telling the story to the woman inside who takes your money and she's loving it, I say do you want anything from me -- no, go ahead.

So I guess that's a good start, walking to the back I’m feeling the long hallway and the music's kind of interesting, very jarring pointy electro with the songs mixing against one another instead of gliding. I assess the smoke situation, taking deep breaths I think it's okay so I check my coat -- I wasn't going to check it, but since I got in free, why not live it up? Back on the dance floor, I haven't seen this many tweakers in years – old-school tweakers with plucked eyebrows and tiny clothes to match their tiny bodies and new school tweakers still skinny but gym-toned to extremity, sweating with their shirts off. It's kind of hard to imagine dancing with all of these people shaking around but not really connecting with anything, in the back there's this one guy in a trendy t-shirt with some sort of graphic design on it, moving slowly in waves he's the one I would dance with except now he's putting on his jacket and heading out. Actually everyone's heading out, the guy next to me at the bar says it's because of strip poker in the other room but then they make an announcement that it's the last drag show of the night so more people come back in but still not that many, I say is it more crowded earlier on? He says yeah, 10:30 to 12:30 it was packed. But what happens at 12:30? He's snapping all these photos, I can't really figure out why -- this is like gay bar in a box: take a bunch of tweakers and lushes, some straight-acting suburban gays in baggy jeans, tacky drag queens, waxed go-go boys, a few fags who think they're doing something indie but they look like they've just come from the mall, some high-fashion casualties leaning against the bar and a few straight women in dresses -- help!

Wait, did I mention the drag show? The music changes to something really bad with more of a rap or Detroit booty bass flavor, I guess there's kind of some lip-synching and the go-go boys up on the box stumbling around with the woman in one of those 1995 club dresses, like a tennis outfit except black, with racing stripes. Then the music gets really really bad and most people are leaving, someone looks familiar and I realize he’s some boy who replied to one of my craigslist postings, but then when I sent another picture he never got back to me. I wasn't really attracted to him -- I couldn't decide why, it was just a picture, so I said sure let's hook up. Anyway, here he is in person wearing the same backwards emo cap with one of those shirts that's black in the center and white on the arms, the indie baseball jersey or whatever -- someone's hugging him from behind and I keep smiling in his direction, just to be friendly, but when I'm outside by myself, trying to get a cab, he comes out to smoke but sees me and steps back so he's standing away, right in the doorway of the club, talking to the doorperson. I think of going up and saying hi, remember me -- you replied to my ad, and then you didn't get back to me when I sent a picture but it's not a problem -- just wanted to say hi, I'm Mattilda. But he won't meet my eyes, I’d have to turn around and walk back into the club and catch him when he's alone and all that effort for some awkward exchange doesn't quite seem worth it.