Month: August 2011

her skirt that was barely there this morning

i wore a blue striped white pants and shirt
the shirt
cut in such a way it hung
open
loose
on the bias

something beautiful made by him
(this, here: how i say it)
now it’s mine.
we’re together
it’s a collaboration
he has ideas
his hands make into
clothes
i put my body in the clothes
give them life

my art is my life
he dresses me
it’s a collaboration.

we’re together here
together now
are we partners
friends
they ask
i talk in circles
side stepping direct attacks
queries
i never want to give simple answers people can put in a box
square holes
i always give dodecahedron answers
think about it, bitch
don’t make it fit
change your story

i woke this morning at 8am
8 something
pissed, thought to return to bed
but it wasn’t light that
the morning was cool and beautiful
i had to go out and join it
so i threw some clothes on
the yellow suit
afraid of the cold
i put on the african scarf
and the blue bag
i ran down the stairs and onto the street
alive with open eyes
skin taught and sparkling
i started walking
out the door
following that direction
(west)
i thought to grab my phone
i wanted nothing
but thought the map may be useful to get lost/ get back
i thought of cameras
but wanted to carry nothing
so nice, the phone
barely there that morning
but within a few blocks i had it out
snapping sketches of the morning
but there was a homeless man on an empty street around the next corner
i’d already put it back in my pocket
and took a right
then a left
and continued
leading me through and around
(the hot water moves fast, dispersing the herbs… )
i glanced at the map occasionally
where am i?
down the street of fish
the street of kings
to the Plaza de España
how did these appear?
some ideal of the dictator?
some imaginary union of people who had fought so hard not to be of the same family?
it was cold now
i was cold
i sat in a ray of sun
after watching a sexy little bear
natural bear
little belly
bald head, thick beard, greying chin
i sat in the sun
the sprinklers sprayed
i warmed up
and continued on
past the dog walkers
up the mountain
jumping up the side
to the top
near the old Egyptian temple (Amun & Isis)
gifted in 1968 (thank you, Spain)
watching is beautiful exorbitant ancientness reflect in the pool
and the large forest underneath…
flowing out into the horizon
where did Madrid end?
i thought we were in the desert?
i have been so thirsty while i’ve been here…
my lips are chapped…

the dog walkers
the cold morning fading
it’s day now
and my imagination of SPAIN with its early mornings and late nights
faded as well
perhaps in the month of August
when people were out at the shore
and just sleeping late
a whole city
taking it easy
or all fucking hippies
or kids out partying
knowing that there are brighter sides to life
than work in the morning

i walked past them
they squinted their eyes at me
was it the monday morning light?
or the blue against the purple/yellow/red against the yellow?
too much. too confusing. some fancy party clothes
on a monday morning
i walked past them
and glanced at the map
finding streets that would get me there
nearer
past old vintners
the rolling hills…
years ago covered with cobble
covered with brick
some ancient hall
Conde Ducque
this or that
i made my way home
eventually finding a bakery that was open
(the rest were on holiday)
and got some flakey empanadas, chocolate croissants, pan de queso, ham and cheese
and a coffee with milk for him
i walked home
and up the stairs
just in time!

he said he had thought i had gone to sleep in the loft
and he had got up
read the magazine
read his book
sat on the terrace
thought he’d wake me with a kiss
but didn’t find me in the loft
didn’t find me in the other
called out to me
and sat for a moment thinking
“what do i do if he doesn’t come back?
“what do i do if he’s found some man who’s rich and takes him far away?
“what do i…”
but i came back
i do.
i told him i gave up those fantasies long ago

Boys:
are there any boys out there?
do you have dreams of Uncle Mame?
i used to dream of Oliver’s real grandfather
not just rescuing me from the orphanage, from the street gang
not just taking me into middle class luxurious splendor
not just teaching me the real ways of the world
elegance and posture
but holding my young body against his wizened flesh
oh, yet still plump with power and fecundity
pressing himself into me with love and duty
imbuing his wisdom and wiles into me

no
no
no
i dreamed of it so often
feeling, even, his hand holding mine
taking me away from the fools who i was forced to live with
be it raising me as an aristocrat
all the way to a wizard
a prince
i had all of them
i dreamed them to my follies
falling for idiotic fundamentalist nutters
and tasteless midwestern empiricists
none of them had the wealth or knowledge i sought
not even the love
just foolish desires to please and be pleased

love:
what do i want now
Love: who i am speaking to
somewhere i know you hear me
maybe not in your mind, you, sir
not just in you, who are reading this
but somewhere in the spider web behind your eyes
where your blinking acknowledgment connects with that of
him
reading this when he does
as he hears it and sees it
through tears
laughter
or forgetting
through clouds of confusion
strokes of lust
somewhere it all connects to my love
my teacher
my father
my friend
who truly knows me
myself
who hungers to reach me
to teach me
to take me and love me
mother, father
family

this is a blessing
i’ve known forever my lover is beyond one simple hand

i took him to the HOT BAR tonight
we got a drink (2:1)
and went downstairs
he was enthralled by my skills
i shine more in giving it away to all
than just to one
(so i imagine)
he loved it
and i felt my old duty kindled
a daddy
a chub
HA!
a chub that completes a story
sorry sir, i’ve already forgotten your strange name
your beautiful boyish face, like all of my subjects
king of the dominicans as i am
the first dominican i ever had
right there in the Hot Bar Basement
he’s fatter now than he used to be
but i found him just as hot
i loved rubbing him and pleasing him and bringing him to climax
and saw him upstairs
his beautiful boy face
i asked him
“yes”
he said
i met him five years ago
he didn’t remember me
i forgot to tell him of my change of appearance
but there we are
hand connecting
past self to now
it’s been so long
and look: i’ve survived
i’m alive
through all of my weakness and struggling
in sickness and health
i’m still here

so is he
and we met the kids then
one
then the other
his head against a pole
in Chueca Square
we walked through these winding streets
to find the mural they have been painting
unlike any others i have seen
(buy their book here!)
we went up through the hills
to the plaza de la espiritos santos
where i had been this morning
again again
to have a drink
talking about the fall of europe
through potatoes and rum
new world poisons
not yet as safe as from syphilis
onward
back to disperse gifts (again again)
we left them at our door
and went the other way
back to the hot bar
where i talked to a beautiful man from pittsburg
but he didn’t want to play out in the open where all could see downstairs
and
being in europe
i had no time for his american puritanism
fuck that shit
DO IT IN FRONT OF PEOPLE
and i did
again and again and again
firing up My Friend
and loving every one
Old Men
if i could be forever surrounded by their yeasty crotches
scruff old scrotums
round bellies
their smiles
serving as i love to
giving them pleasures
feeling my consciousness blossom into them
and they into me
the orgasm blessing their hearts and bodies
and rippling through the planet
every day and always
if i could harness the energy instantly
to keep my legs from getting tired
to keep my lips from being rubbed raw

alas
i’m only human
love as i might
toiling on
into the night

it’s all well and good
i have done my duty
i booked us rooms
i struggled with the laws of the iPhone
i pleased some daddies and bears
i enjoyed the kids
and felt like a Man
all grown up!
growing up
this city of night
(jim morrison and i’m sure mr rechy too)
back to sit at the table drinking tea
and aching to sing him the entirety of Jane Says
only telling him the part about how i made it to Spain
I Did
then and now
and it feels wonderful
so fucking Civilized
this is Living
and don’t you forget it/ will you ever know?

not tonight we won’t

Koos has got up from where he was sleeping on the terrace
he’s hopefully curled up warm in bed
where i shall soon find him
and when will i ever get this back on line to be able to send it somewhere?
to myself?
and all of you, my dearest
cariñoso

.
:.:

(I think I wrote this Saturday…)

so it resumes
it can be just like this

you go
because you have a place to go
you stay
because you have a place to stay
it’s been two days
we may be living here already
already, here we are.

what are the questions we ask?
why do they eat dinner so late?
why sleep during the middle of the day?
and these shades on the windows?
the gay bars, when?
carry your wallet, they say there are pickpockets
the train station
the forest
where are the trees?
and what should we drink?
what is that?
and how should we eat?

things don’t work as we expect them to
even i
with all my smarts
and knowing all the buttons to push
i can’t make it work as i want it to
we have no internet here
i have to wander the streets
war-driving-for-wifi
snatching open windows of data stream
rebirthing, in this new mercury cycle
my hacker-dreams
jailbreaking his phone, unlocking it
all with the intentions of giving it to the artist kid he loves
inspired inspiring
giving more tools and opportunities
not knowing what or how to do
just knowing desire
and make it work.

we wandered and found shopping yesterday
today is only the second day we’re really here!
we bought stacks of drinks
we sat on a wall
because all of the terrace restaurant tables were full
the sunset is so blinding
i feel i’m being baked right here
as i sit naked on a cushion stolen from something like an ottoman

.
:.:

Koos uses the word “sympathetic” in a way that many Europeans do
using it often to describe objects
I grew up using it only to describe a way of people being with people

he gave me this hat
saying a new one looks tacky
but an old one is sympathetic
as are old shoes, clothes, etc

for things to be sympathetic they must be broken in
worn well
lived it
affected by life
resonant

broken in
I find I am sympathetic with him
in that those I most find my attentions drawn to are those who are broken in
worn by the spirit well
creased, scuffed, frayed

how beautiful
what has be so loved by life
to be used well

.
:.:

lots of green hill sides
a tall man in his 50s
played by Tony’s friend Benjamin
was excited to reprise his famous song
which I woke as remembering as “if you leave” by OMD
but in the dream it had even more falsetto
and he was from Flock of Seagulls

some large city event
or the christening of a new building
or perhaps convention commune

I felt like I wanted to be close to him
perhaps despite his fame

I woke up with that song in my head
thinking if the challenges of an old voice sounding so young

.
:.:

I’ve come to love the philtrum

.
:.:

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:.:

whatever happened to…
whatever happened to us?
whatever happened?
whatever happened you?
oh…
whatever.

.
:.:

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.
:.:

woke me up
horrible dream by which was represented the rich and wealthy devouring the life of the poor

ended with being trapped in a bathroom with a woman and her wooly black ram, silvery horns
it was her partner
or a manifestation
the whole dream went through long stories
theater, movies, tours
different people
strangers
famous people
close friends
in various ways
showing people living their lives
showing them dying
showing them getting killed
watching them dying in front of me
watching their life get drained and exchanged into the “more fortunates” in front of me
then, of course, having them kill the friend I was with in front of me and take his life
then try me
too gory and horrifying to relate it all
but I’ll tell my end that woke me up
I got knocked out
woke up in a trailer bathroom
the deamon was on the floor
in the shape of a woman
I was laying on a cramped bench thing
all tacky shitty plastic Formica ambiance
I woke up and said
.am I dead?
she smiled and said
.yes… well, not yet, but you’re good as: you will be soon.
I looked up and the ram was standing on a shelf above me and stepped down onto me and tried to hook his horn round my back to rip out my kidney
I fought it off and she smiled a sad tired smile as if she wished it would just be over
shaking her head slowly “no” as if saying “there is no fighting it”
the ram stepped down on me again and ripped a huge gash in my back and side
but I still fought it off
she laughed
but I knew she was right
I was dead now
the next time the ram stepped down onto me
I grabbed his horn and pulled it down with all my might
the ram flipped over and smashed on the floor
shattering
bits of black hair, silver metal, bones, fur and jelly exploding everywhere
the woman was stunned
I jumped up and kicked her face in
striping the skin off
she was screaming
I grabbed a broken rib bone from the beast and gouged her eyes out with the jagged end of it
and said
.All’s fair, right? enjoy your opulence.
or something about revenge
or something else sarcastic
anyway, I turned to leave
feeling horrible pain in my left back
(I feel it now in my clenching muscles)
and realized I was going to die
but they would not now devour my soul
I would get as far away from her suffering corpse as my life would carry me so she could not feed on my death

but then I woke up
afraid of the dark
cotton mouth

ugh.

.
:.:

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I look so terribly silly in this picture!
(I thought –oh no! like Trent again!–)

I just finished listening to the third Harry Potter book, read by Stephen Fry
and I finally get why it was all such a sensation
the first two books were pretty flat
this one opened up past three dimensions and was quite inspiring

also
I’ve become more aware of the act of dealing with negative energy
a term I’ve often thought of as "weeding my garden"
stuck in my head as I walked around yesterday, the lyric "dirty old shadow stay away from me, I am older now I see – the way you operate: if you don’t hurt me than you die. oaum. oaum."

it’s not about weeding the garden
seeking out the bad things and rooting the up purposely and perfectly
it’s about enjoying the beauty and being grateful for the blessings

the shit and shambles dry up if they don’t get nourishment
and what gives light to the sun
but your’s and mine attention
and what full the clouds with rain
but our pain?

dance and smile, lovers
I’ve remembered for a moment!

now to sleep.

.
:.:

I slept at least ten hours, probably more
I wonder if i will start to feel more human again soon…

.
:.: