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passion
opened with an orgasm
as she faked it on his naked body
curtain rising
her period came early
he was a family man
looked at the stage hand and mouthed
"lower the curtain"
they cleaned up
changed the bed sheets
and started again
her cumming
on top
as the curtain rose
.
:.:
(told somewhat by Ian)
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I wish there were photos like this all over the city
.
:.:
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being naked along the river washes it all away…
.
:.:
I said this was my mantra tonight
right now
just this moment
“I wish I were a wife”
I felt this
when a man enamored with the term “polyamory”
let me vent a bit at him
I talk to people
I feel them
their thoughts and feelings reflect back into me
the ripples continue the conversation
long after…
I sat down
acute with frustration
having just voiced it
and looked at my friends:
I wish I were a wife
humbly taking the weakness of my lovers
pulling the slack
doing the work to support them in the way of their being
I’m still so angry and bitter
of the way my mother did that for my father
that I Am that arrogant bastard he was
expecting my lovers to exist freely of me with me
being responsible for every aspect they intersect
oh
I am very giving
happy in service often
oh
i am just tired
I’ve not slept well in weeks
I’m over saturated
I’m edgy and need peace and quiet
oh..
I wish I were a wife
strong and patient
taking on the immense weight
of the imperfection of Men
(Rodin’s “Caryatid”)
(e.g.: http://ronnisrants.blogspot.com/2007/10/rodins-fallen-caryatid.html?m=1 )
my friends are my lovers
I just get bitter doing all the work…
I love doing the work
until I get deluded into thinking I’m doing all the work
then I don’t want to do any of it
and resent every ignored action
and fall into fear
deluding myself I’m so lazy I want my lovers to do all the work always…
I’m wrestling.
I should be sleeping.
I should be dreaming.
I should be resting in my brother’s arms.
I should be nurtured by my family’s love.
.
:.:
:
dying
told you are dying
dying for a year now
(how tedious!)
mourning your own life
suffering pain
physical
and the ebbing of your physical strength
being a sensualist
and no longer being able to drink alcohol, eat meat, have sex
alone on a hill
and not being touched
or even holding court!
(I do not mean to dramatize, but set the scene)
in the process of dying
for a year
writing your memoirs
and thinking
as you’ve often though
of the first significant love relationship you ever had
writing it out
in humor and sorrow
in this age of computers
thinking to look him up
to see how he’s doing…
he didn’t die in the AIDS years, this you know
but there’s his obituary
from 2007
even dying
for a year
outliving the last of the friends you can dredge up from your memory
from the early days…
(when things were…)
that kind of sad.
I’m glad I answered the phone when he called.
.
:.:
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Ahhhh
when I’m with someone
til 2am
and leave with a stack of twenties
and there is a cab right there
there is no question I’m not going to waste time with the trains
but it’s not just convenience
I love it when I can take a taxi home
up the FDR, the Harlem River Drive
I don’t know the rules
but I remember
back when i drove across the country all the time
driving a friend’s U-haul from downtown to uptown
and someone pulled along side and said to my passenger "There are no trucks allowed on the FDR!"
back then I called it the "east side highway"
but it’s not
i don’t know if it’s that Brooklyn, Queens & the Bronx are more visually interesting at night than NJ
or the road is closer to the water
and casts more reflections
or the "river" is less wide
I don’t know
but I find it so beautiful…
grateful to live here
to romanticize my relationship with The City
as I left my client
I decided I needed to listen to LCD’s "Home"
but half way up the river the driver asked me something and I heard him
and turned it off
– he was asking me about a song on the radio
"what is this one? what’s it called? I remember hearing it when I was a child! it’s such a great one!"
it was "These Eyes" by The Guess Who
I wasn’t entirely sure if it was them or just "The Who" — always making that mistake I looked it up and verified it for him
as we sailed up the night river
I had a nostalgic flash of all the car trips we took when I was a child…
between Michigan and Indiana
I’d been talking about them this morning because of Meatloaf…
were those the only two cassettes my parents listened to?
"ah!" he said, "things were so much better then…"
where were you a child? I asked
"the Ivory Coast"
as the river rolled by
I tried to imagine what that must have been like
and what to say…
but he spoke again
"those were good times. so much better than now…"
which always strikes me odd
NYC is an intense place to live
if you like where you came from better
why live here?
(I know, I know… but…)
I asked How better? Why?
he said
"everything seemed OK… like everything was Alright"
I said
Everything is Still OK and Alright… we just know about the Pain and Misery now. but that’s a part of life… it’s good to know about and still know that everything is alright…
he said things were simpler… made sense!
and things are so expensive now!
and…
I cut him off:
You were a child!
of course you were happier
you were being taken care of
that’s what’s great about being a child
but things are always expensive
and life is always complicated
but our parents paid the price and did the work so we could play
we’re just adults now…
we have to do the work and feel the pain
but we get to make it alright as well
he murmured something in affirmation
and I thought about us a moment
and the river
and my childhood car trips
not understanding Meatloaf or The Guess Who…
American Woman!
the news was on the radio as we turned away from the river towards my house
and I thought about "the march" as my coworker called it today
what most are calling Occupy Wall Street
and I tried to imagine how I could interface with it
join the occupation
become a citizen of my nation
I burst into my apartment
filled with the Latins
sickness was evident
and I announced I must "take my power back"
I pulled one of the pheasant wings out of the freezer and used it for the first time
smudging them and my apartment with mugwort
then watched a few news feeds and videos about the state of the nation
is it even possible to not have it belong to idiotic power/money monsters?
can I jump on that idealism wagon
of how we’ll all be adults together and stop expecting some mythical parents to do it all for us?
can we say "we will" and mean it everyday for… as long as the next chapter lasts?
.
:.:
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.shifting through stacks of paper.
.he said "fall cleaning".
.stagnation, quiet.
.ten thousand unanswered emails.
.three boxes of books mailed months ago covered in piles of books and various other things.
.disquieted mind.
.chaos disrupting creativity.
.stagnation.impediment.inertia.
.months of unanswered mail.
.I would like to read that or do something with that.
.maybe later.
.maybe later.
.bags and bags to the recycling.
.the taste in the mouth.
.the reminder: it’s not great sex, it’s great love.
.satisfaction stilling desire.
.empty plateau.
.mired in clutter.
.a stack of plays.
.a stack of potential.
.a stack of obligations.
.one thing at a time.
.do the dishes.
.seven loads of laundry last week.
.sorted through the boxes last week.
.sorted through the papers today.
.deciding mind exhausted.
.body still and quiet.
.Monday.
.busy week ahead.
.things will make sense later.
.often an imbalance in libra.
.some depression or lost in the fog.forest.sea.
.often.
.we have cycles.
.at least this can be expected now.
.and maybe you’re digging out…
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("MIX TAPE" iPhone 4 case by www.freshfiber.com )
the backwash of this mercury retrograde
picking us up and carrying us on the crest into Europe
covering everything coming in the colors of nostalgia
remorse/regret
but only those vague feelings
like returning to our horrible home town and being struck with the innate panic of
I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO ESCAPE HERE
the million nightmares where we never left
but we have
and we will
we can
— we’re just visiting
I walk through the cobbled streets in front of him
jumping at the end of each step
dancing
bringing him a smile
a sigh
"you fit in so perfect here…"
we plot getting my EU passport
I talk with old friends about living here
I tell those stories
traveling with Eli
almost traveling with Matthew
almost living with
falling in love with
if I had learned the language
if I
but my desires all feel washed out of me
why bother with sex any more?
or wanting to be in Europe
why bother wanting?
my fingers are curling the tips of my hair
in the wind
on a caboose
on a boat
I’m all shorn
and it matters naught
the landscape rolls by
—
When we were in Paris
changing trains
from Barcelona to Antwerp
there was some warning announcement chime played
a simple note progression
matching exactly
"E is for Estranged"
by Owen Pallet
( or was it "Red No. 9"? )
I had the line "then I’ll score your string ensemble" flicking through my head before I even noticed where it came from
"cue the Bulgarian Men’s Choir"
and like Mercury Catching Up To The Present
my head has been filled with songs since
I had to make a playlist called "Holland" on my MIX TAPE
Ready, Able
Reckoner
Modern History
I Know Where The Summer Goes
Rococo
.
:.:
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
.
:.:
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