The Other Night When You Asked Her and I if We Were Going to Sleep Together and I Said "I Hope So"

The past week has involved the police, the coroner's office, a body bag, fourteen long hours that should never have had to happen, strange timing, a thump in the night, a play, a hotel, and the sad story of the bag of soil bought to cover up the blood of the dead man that was in my backyard.

This week will involve (something of a) double date, trust, sounds that I miss, and a funeral.

Be well and be loved this week and always:

What unfolds within a 48 hour period can be more than you bargained for on either end of the spectrum

and will probably involve an excess of both.

k.

(image: Jonathan Pivovar)

Conjuring Gentlemen

Tonight was a needed night out with four gay boys and five gay bars.

I love being able to be every gritty, grimy, beautiful part of myself all at once. It is the difference between faggotry and lesbianism. There is a reason there is no Grindr for lesbians, folks. And, while you may argue essentialism and say "nuh-uh!", I will firmly continue telling you that there is a reason I hang out with gay men: Their ability to talk about attraction and fucking and function in a matter of fact (and at times hilarious) way, without someone flipping out.  It is the reason you never have, and will never, find me in a group of lesbians.

(pause)

I will admit that I loved my outfit and I will admit that I felt quite flattered when the gay boy at bar number one who I found to be the most stylish asked me where I got two different pieces of my outfit. Okay, and I will admit that it felt hilarious to be talking fetish gear from Latvia but I was also totally into it.

(pause)

Tonight, of course, was World AIDS Day. The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence were out with white prayer shawls around their shoulders and markers in their purses to give to people so that they could write the names of people they had lost to AIDS on their shawls. When the sisters approached us, D (the 55 year old daddy of our group) wrote three names and collapsed crying. The sister hugged him so tightly. Then, we all did- one by one and tightly.

I can't imagine what it would have been like growing up as a gay man in the height of AIDS.

I can't imagine what it would have been like to lose so many friends that way.

Would it be strange to say that I felt the dead among us?

I did.

They, too, were adorned in jewels and accepting the fact they are different.

(pause)

The night ended with veggie hot dogs from a stand; grilled onions and steam, and my friend and I getting caught in a sudden downpour at 1am. We ran smiling, jumping, splashing in puddles- eating our hotdogs while their buns were spattered with fat raindrops.

(pause)

It feels good to be alive.

It feels good to feel the strength of the arms of the dead.

It is the mixture of the two these days.

Holding and clasping

these hands of flesh and bone. 




be well; be loved,

k.

(Image: Daphne Guinness - L’Uomo Vogue by Francesco Carrozzini, February 2010 via gdfalksen tumblr)