Saturday, March 28, 2015

Your Mouth Just Above the Water; My Hand Upon Your Back

...He reacted from it toward the sublime and the ideal.  It was not enough that something should be touching, charming, graceful; it had to have about it a certain radiance, the power to inspire veneration.  One had to feel forced to one's knees before it, or lifted by it to the skies...                                                                                              ---   Some Prefer Nettles by Jun'ichirĊ Tanizaki



Last Sunday was a night the type in which one is reminded of the heights that are reachable by virtue of one's body. The altered states that can be achieved simply by the rush of strangers, of heat, of pain, of depths, of floating.

There is something quite healing about vulnerability and risk with a stranger.

With a friend.

With an audience.

And in the end, being gently returned :

Home safe and with the excitement of a child.


(pause)


Here is to all of those who know the true meaning of power

Who understand - in its true sense-

how little it has to do

with trickery or misgivings.


[Watch out for games, the actor's part,
the speech planned, known, given,
for they will give you away
and you will stand like a naked little boy,
pissing on your own child-bed
]


I will run my fingers down the outside of your throat

taut; controlled

so that you may swallow your pride

and enjoy the sweet asphyxiation

of an honest lie.


-k


(italicized in the brackets, above: lines from a favorite A. Sexton poem)
(image: via Redsnapper921 Tumblr)

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Don't Gimme Your Love- I Don't Want it: This is the Beginning (of the Rest of Your Life)



Yesterday I had an afternoon conversation with a friend of mine about the oddity of particular types of straight ladies.  The kind who poke holes in condoms and lie about birth control in order to lock a man down.  I feel so naive.  Up until a few years ago, I thought this was some myth that idiot straight men came up with to blame women for their "It Doesn't Feel as Good/Just The Tip" antics.

But a few years ago, I had heard a number of stories that were direct confessions.  I couldn't believe it.  I talked with more straight women and they looked at me like I was an idiot. "Yes, it's a thing", they told me after the disclaimer that they, of course, would never do it.  I was shocked.  I felt betrayed, somehow, and kind of grossed out.  It's the kind of thing none of the "confessors" ever confessed to the fathers of their kids.  The kind of confession that happens when straight ladies have one too many glasses of wine and feel daring.  They feel racy already hanging out with a queer, but then, there it is: The thing they've never told anyone.  They can tell me, of course.  Who would I know to tell?


(Pause)

In any case, let's change the tone and focus back to what has been igniting me, as of late, because there is plenty.

I haven't written in a while because of all of the directions things have been going.  Like some out-of-season fireworks display: Exploding and sudden, but beautiful.


While any decision can change your life, any moment can alter or excel it.

More on this, soon.

For now, as the weather thaws and heats and wets, I will tell you that the venomous combination that has been making me walk into walls in the best of ways these days contains:

Denim, leather, lipstick, and melted eyeliner.


(pause)

In the meantime a thank you, once again, to the ever-glorious diva, Big Feedia. Big Freedia has been on my mind due to the recent collaboration with Rupaul on the song Freaky Money. But today I'm listening to a classic. Whether it be because it has always been and forever will be impossible to hear this song and not move/be motivated, or whether it simply speaks the truth about now, the beginning of springtime, where there is, indeed, Azz Everywhere .

Be well; be loved,

k.

(image: By Caleria Cherchi via Untrustyou Tumblr)
(title: A mishmash of Rupaul lyrics that fit)

Thursday, March 5, 2015

The Lights Are Bright, But They Always Are: An Exercise in Waxed-Floor Religion

Tonight my faith in love was restored. Opened. Of all the idiotic places in the world, it happened in a fucking bowling alley. I don't know how to explain this spiritual experience that happened during an early evening, midweek spontaneous outing with someone I haven't hung out with in a while, but, it happened.  It may have been the soundtrack.  It may have been my family's historical relationship to the sport. It may have been the beautiful stranger who complimented my first bowl of a particular frame (9 pins), then stayed to compliment me again when I picked up a spare.

(insert the sound of a last pin being hit, here.  it is something between a click and a clunk.)

That's the thing that is something like love and life:  Nine pins go flying in every direction.  It's chaos.  Then: There is a calm.  There is a clean up.  It takes a steady hand to aim for what you want.  And it's the falling of that last pin- that evasive and slender pin- that is the actual cause of celebration.

Steady, steady.



Tomorrow holds something quite unexpected for me:

Let's see what falls.


(pause)


If you ever doubt what you're doing, just pay attention to what your heart says. If you know it will disappoint people, shed that as a reason against doing it. Be still. Be steady. Be forever with an aim that is, above everything, unapologetic.


be well; be loved,

-k.

(image: by Brendan Shea via Tumblr. Although I can't remember which Tumblr account, the artist's work can be found at BrandanShea95 dot com)