Love Is In The Air

Summer of 78


white face



to dance

to play


the clown


the lights

(do you like it

do you like it like that)


except for the watching

except for

the sound

filling loud


(keep on pumping

keep on pumping)

except for

the low

(let your body fly)


The white

is protection

no perfection

it’s his seduction

he begs for the eyes

he becomes the eyes

only to be alone

to share becoming


when the clown

moves alone

he is perfection

a deliberate sensual act

a performance of



the empty room



life in



motionless       (push push in bush bush)

the vacuum

that hovers behind

the siren’s song

that hides behind

the clown’s dance

take that chance

(do you like it

do you like it like that)

resistance is high

but what is there

to be gained by resistance

drifting in the centre

a noisy calm

an incessant tranquility

the fatal flaw

as you would

the trust is a vacuum

the sooth of sound

the desperate joy of the clown

(love is in the air

all around)

I could sleep

the energy pulls me

both way

(I’m a victim

I’m a victim)


running life first

into the male storm

of touch

be touched


in tranquility

sexual power

of touch

be touched


Clearing out a drawer I came across a little black notebook of mine from 1978 – this is the year I moved to Toronto – in fact, it is from my first summer of disco. On the inside cover is my dry date July 6, 1978. There’s about ten pages, half blank & the rest with a poem.

I was fond of this size notebook because it forced my lines to be shorter & my images clipped. The pages were too small for prose, the lines too close together as my handwriting wasn’t that controlled or small. In one I have sort of skipped every other line just I could write easier.


Also on the inside cover is the address of my first apartment on Jarvis St. The building is still there! Third floor walk up. The inside back cover is full of phone #s of people I’d met in recovery. Some of whom I remember many of whom are now dead. None of whom are in my life today. Life goes on.

The poem itself is sweet. I have no recollection where I wrote it. Or if all the sections came at one time or were jotted down at different places. The message is me discovering the gay discos – the male storm. It also includes words from some of the songs I loved to dance to the most.


Musique’s In The Bush & Keep on Jumpin’ – which was one of the first disco lps I bought – upgraded eventually to cd with bonus tracks & man I still love the production work & the fact that it was solid from start to finish – no filler. Love Is In the Air a one-off hit by Martin Stevens – I searched this out after I found the note book & downloaded it on a collection of disco hits of the time & these were songs I haven’t heard in decades. I’m A Victim – I had no recollection of this song at all – the lyric scrap I quoted didn’t even have a musical resonance for me – so thanks to google I tracked it down: Candi Stanton sings it & after a few listens it all came back to me.

This isn’t a music post but a memory post, right. But music holds strong power over me, always has. These are a few of the song of my first sober summer – LeFreak was another. I danced alone, like the clown in my piece, got some attention but that was about it. When guys saw that you weren’t carting a beer bottle or poppers or looking for a toke they had little or no interest in you.


brush in the bush bush

The men would walk in circles around the club, some would perch in dim light, smoking & posing. Finding a spot to stand was important if you wanted to be even ignored. Everyone was holding out for the next better looking guy & many seems dot go home alone. I was holding out for the guy who was the least drunk & could hold a conversation. Even then personality was more important to me than looks. I usually went home alone, head echoing with Fly Robin Fly & deciding what to wear for my next dive into the male storm.

mirror melt

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