Sunday, March 07, 2010

They took it

Everyone knows that a song like Tyler Moore/Mary or Walk for Me can send me into that endless track of clubland memories, when the queens would come out those songs were for us we were ready. Randy found a mix with both of those songs, 1995 Boston late-night standards, and then I’m talking about when I moved to Seattle and the music was awful until I got to this one club and oh that DJ was slamming us, this was still before DJs were considered unapproachable stars so I went upstairs and asked him if he had any mix tapes. He looked at me like straight boys look at crazy faggots, I mean there are plenty of faggots who look at crazy faggots like that too but he was the real thing. I was so enraged -- what are you doing playing bitch queen realness when you’re some kind of fratboy?

I still don’t understand it -- like this new Claude VonStroke song Beat That Bird where he takes that awful Beat That Bitch with a Bat song and ramps it up, twisting it into jump rope sassiness and even though a bird is the same thing as a bitch, the album is called Bird Brain, with a picture of a bird in a nest on Claude VonStroke’s head, the label is called Dirty Bird -- in other words he is that bitch, I mean bird, I hope I’m reading the rest wrong and he’s not some straightboy jumping into the queen’s territory, Maybe he’s a Detroit runway diva landing in San Francisco and playing for the straightest crowds in town no not the straightest in town but close, I mean when Randy and I went to hear him I don’t think we saw a single other fag in the packed club.

Randy says they took it, that sound, and of course he’s right but why does this still confuse me? It’s the way those beats make me feel, here I am turning the volume all the way up so I can jump and shriek, it’s hot in here so I take off my sweatshirts and then I’m throwing down my moves in boxers, oh this is why people take off their shirts in clubs, it’s not just some embarrassing manly showiness it’s the way oh, this is my skin. I remember when I first moved back to San Francisco, and I went out with Chris and Zee and they were scandalized when I took off my shirt, I said it was because otherwise I would get a rash, which was true, but it was also the fastest I ever picked anyone up, then I was from New York and I was doing New York things like taking off my shirt in a club, hello gym queen, but we all know that didn’t last -- oh the pain, maybe it rescued me from something.

Here’s what I’m thinking while I’m dancing: I really would love to be able to do this some time, throw my body in and out and shake with the beats and not worry the whole time that I’m going to hurt myself. I want to dance for more than five minutes, is that too much to ask? I’m joking with Randy, saying I’m really going to find the clubs when I get to Santa Fe -- you know, where club life started: New York, Detroit, Chicago, Los Angeles… and Santa Fe. He says you never know. I just want to feel this way that I feel in the morning for maybe two minutes on a good day before I crash, I just want to feel this way for a while I want to breathe. I want to throw on some crazy outfit and fling everything out on the dance floor and then leave like I was some mesmerizing catastrophic shaking like flying dream what was that? At least a half hour, a half hour of that beauty that escape that hopefulness, not so soon those too-familiar caverns of broken body overwhelm.

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