Outside The Gates of Eden

Poetry influences for us 60’s survivors have to include Bob Dylan, for some he was the only influence. This was the voice of a generation fro sure with his early folk music, protest songs that still resonate & recently that controversial Nobel prize. Along with Paul Simon Dylan was one of my prime high school poetry influences.

In my collection I have as stand-alones: Highway 61 Revisited; Bringing It All Back Home; Blond On Blond; Greatest Hits; John Wesley Harding; New Morning. On mp3 collections: 1 Another Side/Nashville Skyline/ Gospel/ Pat Garrett (with Pete Seeger/ Phil Ochs/ & Leonard Cohen in the mix) 2 Planet Waves/Blood On The Tracks (with: Masked Marauders/ Bob Seger/Maria Muldaur in the mix)

I was more a fan of his lyrics than his music itself or even his vocal ability. It was a voice that grew on me even at it changed over the years. Like A Rolling Stone and Outside the Gates of Eden http://wp.me/p1RtxU-18Y  are the two songs I recall most from high school. His Blowin’ in The Wind was a must for every east coast folkie to sing so I heard it plenty – I was shocked to discover this protest song made him a millionaire – how counter culture is that? In one of the biographies I read he set out to write protest to establish himself & then moved on to what he really wanted to write.

There are too many great songs to name check. The albums where he went ‘electric’ still sound good, his earlier ‘folk’ stuff is good but never really invited me in & even then felt a little too deliberate. He was one of the first re-inventers as well. The changes from rock Blond on Blond to country John Wesley Hardy to jazzy New Morning flowed naturally.

I included Pete Seeger as an influence on Dylan’s folk style; Phil Ochs, Leonard Cohen who followed in his footsteps; The Masked Marauders is a wildly weird pastiche with a fake Dylan, or is it the real one. The Maria Muldaur is her cover album of his songs. Bob Seger’s Best of for fun.

He was the perfect bridge between beatnik and pop – he brought Ginsburg’s joy of imagery, politic & line into the lives of his fans. He also challenged & changed the way the music industry works with his non-teen-idol looks & his resistance to the star making machine.


The instrument panel flexed and shimmered as J’hhon attempted to change the flight settings. The in put buttons became little grey flowers that dazzled his eye nodes as they spun sound around his head.

‘So pretty. So pretty.’

‘Take the second ship mother. We will await you on the distant moon.’ P’rak conversed with apparitions. ‘I have missed you all so much. I didn’t realize that till now.’

J’hhon shook his head and shoulders. He had to focus. He had to do what captains did. He had to find a place to hang these darling darting shapes so he could study them longer. Would they fit in his quarters? He reached for the nearest of them and his hands passed through them.

‘Damn you! I won’t let your lack of corporal reality keep me from making love to you. You want me.’

‘Mother, has father returned with the new shield generators. I promised I’d help him put them up. He’s not used to that frequency is he? Poor old thing. Good thing I got the brains in this, family isn’t it?’

The nav cab shook violently. J’hhon and P’rak were tumbled against each other. The instrument panels dimmed and the ship darkened for a split second.

J’hhon pushed himself up painfully. ‘P’rak how are you?’

‘Nothing damaged, sir.’

‘Looks like we’ve flown right through the cos swirll.’

‘Good things my calculations  couldn’t be effected.’

‘That should prove to be an interesting tape to replay once …. ’

The ship shook again. More violently than before. J’hhon could hear the strain on the bulkwards. The outer pressure signal flashed from yellow to blue.

‘My, my. What have you flown us into P’rak?’

He flipped on the hull camera but saw nothing. The signal continued to flash.

‘There’s nothing there.’

‘The grav meter is registering something sir.’

‘The grav meter? You mean we’re near a planet with gravity?’

‘Yes sir. Some magnetic stress is being applied to us.’


‘Can’t tell, sir. But we’re being pulled down into its field.’

‘Field? Can the ship take it? It’s never experienced gravity.’

‘Neither have we, sir. Neither have we.’


Chapbooks available: http://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6


kiss314257567_1162384753819933_3271661288579707843_oon going 🙂 when new podcast are posted:  Disability after Dark  iTunes

June 9-10: attending: Capturing Fire 2017 – flight & hotel booked already


check out these poets from  Capturing Fire 2015 & 2016

August 31-Sept.3 – I have my ticket already



November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo




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Public Sex

On a recent Disability After Dark Andrew Gurza talks about public sex. He was spurred by the death of George Michael. I suspect that in the mind of the general public queers are eager to sex in any washroom they can find – hence the weird panic in the USA over washroom rights. Who wants to walk into a washroom & find some trans having sex with anyone – sex is the only reason queers use washrooms anyway.

Andrew’s podcast is more about the logistics – even a handicapped stall is too small for him, his wheelchair, and then another person (plus his prodigious pecker too 🙂 ) There isn’t enough room to swing a jockstrap around let alone … well you get the picture.

My own experience with public sex is limited – does making out in a gay bar count? Grinding erections, with jeans on, in a dark corner while tonguing each others’ tonsils? Once at the Barn on Church St (remember that place?) I did get my dick pulled out by a guy who played with it awhile then he deserted me when one of the staff walked by. There was a darker-than-else-where spot at the Barn where sex did happen. But it was so dark did that count as public?

I’ve had guys brag about doing or being done in various gay bar washroom but no one ever seemed to get those opportunities in, say, a MacDonald’s. Big Mac please, with all the extras. Though there are site that list good public washrooms for encounters. Many in places like university libraries. And there have been many ‘raids’ on washrooms by alert morals squads.

Why public sex anyway? Often people have no alternative – living with family for one – too many roommates – not living near where things can happen. Or opportunity presents itself & you can’t say no. Personally I’d rather do it in private. Making out in public doesn’t bother me. I’ve groped, been groped under restaurant tables. All as foreplay to going somewhere more private.

When I first moved to Toronto David A Balfour Park was notorious for men cruising, fucking & sucking in bushes at all times of the day. I did walk though a few times, in day light, but didn’t see anyone. I’m not sure what I might have done had that happened but I was willing to find out.

I have witnessed public sex a few times though – between hetero couples though – guys with girlfriends on their laps clearly fucking, fingering females openly on TTC (the better way) – women groping their men almost proudly. They always give onlookers this glare of ‘what you looking at’ or ‘stop staring’ or ‘Jealous.’

For some guys the notion of being caught, being seen having sex is a major turn on. I’ve been with a couple of such guys. One who nearly came when he pulled my pants down in the passage way between his house & the one beside it. It did more for him than for me. I like my comfort when having sex – pillows for my head, a warm damp cloth to wipe with asap. I’m not going to be carrying wet ones around in my shoulder bag for that sort of emergency 🙂 unless I’m with Andrew.

gotta light

cigarette rituals

a flicker in a bramble of dark

moon scattered light

embers glow

signals flare


dangling darting fire flies

flies on lips

‘it might rain’


‘nice all the same’


‘gotta light’

dank wood smell in the air

damp bark

breaking twigs

cars pass

beams catch shapes


the breathless anger of the unseen

eyes blinded a moment

to refocus on

swarms of red firelips

caution under foot

under knees

catch a momentary breath

replay a familiar sequence

flicker glow of hands

cupped to protect a mutual flame

‘gotta light’

‘don’t smoke’

‘oh well’

‘over here’


a branch shudders

a root stumbled over

smell of man earth

thick rich flesh in the dark

flick of lighter

eyes lit a moment

glow dance

slow turn to disappear

to be followed

or ignored

‘gotta light’


a moment

to get oriented

no street lights

no traffic signs

only a jam of sighs

cocks cupped

to share a mutual flicker

a market cornered for a moment

for a dash to the finish

but there is no finish

only the race to dawn

only the taste of gone

Chapbooks available: http://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6


kiss314257567_1162384753819933_3271661288579707843_oon going 🙂 when new podcast are posted:  Disability after Dark  iTunes

June 9-10: attending: Capturing Fire 2017 – flight & hotel booked already


check out these poets from  Capturing Fire 2015 & 2016

August 31-Sept.3 – I have my ticket already



November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo




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Don’t Smile


Started a new set of prompts – I love lists of things – this one will prove to be endlessly productive for another couple of years – 227 Rules For Monks. This is the second of the 2 aniyatas. 2. Not to be found alone with a woman in an isolated place that can arise suspicions about conversations on lustful subjects.

Don’t Smile

the camera will stay on

it’s for your protection

people will talk

they will question your motivation

they will question my lack of interest

I never meet alone with anyone

no it’s not being broadcast live

on YouTube Facebook


the camera will stay on

you’ll get used to it quickly

you don’t even see it do you

we’ve learned how to be discreet

we have nothing to hide

do we

this is to maintain transparency

so our being together

can’t be misunderstood

even by one another

I don’t want to face a charge

of sexual harassment

or guilt by association


the camera will remain on

it is always on

there is one where ever I go

I have no faith in people

everyone is eager to misunderstand

any innocent cue

have a nice day

becomes an insult

to someone’s sense of propriety

so this is being documented

to assure each of us of legal protection

there will be no grounds

for doubt for equivocation


the camera will remain on

don’t even smile

yes I know it’s sad

this is the state we have come to

privacy is only for those

who have something to hide

and we have nothing to hide

not even from each other

are you ready

for what may become

your mug shot

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Who Wants It To Be For Free

Law 27: Create a Cult: Play on People’s Need to Believe

Who Wants It To Be For Free

it can’t be free

the more it costs

the more its worth

but it will be within reach of all

even merely through a window

nothing to hide

nothing to give away either

time is as good as money

spread the word

that’ll be enough

spread it far and wide

stand on street corners

yell in basements

cut through the illusion

of now here reality

it can be freeing

to cut yourself loose

of all that holds you

to your ideals

try ours instead

they are built on

ancient tried and proven realities

they wouldn’t last

if they weren’t better than

what you think you think

that’s why they aren’t free

they aren’t cheap

surrender give in give up

it is pointless to resist

this tide has been washing the world clean

before there even was a world

in your heart you know

this is the one true way

the ultimate loss of self

why waste time resisting

we’ll be coming for you

whether you like it or not

so pay up now

or regret it later

we can wait

as it is written

so it will be

Law 27 spoke to me of belief systems such as Scientology, EST (remember that one). The opening lines came quickly – this idea that cost=quality. One of the things I’ve found in recovery is that AA is too finically inexpensive for some people to believe that it works or that it’ll work for them – it’s good enough for those that can’t afford the real thing etc.

I run into this “cost=quality” thinking in many areas – the more a creative writing workshop costs the better your writing will become, the more you’ve paid for your self-healing workshop, your crystals, the more authentic your experience is. Many of these ‘opportunities’ have increasingly more expensive levels of participation for the truly enlightened. Too bad for you if you aren’t rich enough to get fully healed.

We maybe allowed a t shop window view but to get the toys you better cough up & keep coughing it up. Cults want to replace your sense of self to the point were you distain those who can’t accept their view as the right & only view, only if you can pay to see what the view that is.

The piece takes on a somewhat more scriptural sense as it progresses. It’s as if the use of that sort of language & referencing gives a spiritual train of thought greater truth. ‘As it is written’ is a clever spin on ‘as it has been translated’ to suit our purposes. All history is filtered through the lens of the translator’s moral world view. This is why Egyptian mythology is deemed superstitious mythology while Christian thinking is consider real factual & not at all superstitious.

It is even easier to dismiss someone adopting ancient Egyptian beliefs as being delusional, a flake, while someone converting to Christianity is seeing the true realistic light. The piece reflect my own rather cynical attitudes around specific belief systems without naming them. Shampoo is shampoo regardless of the brand.



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Lazarus Kiss.16

Sis amplexibus Amor alios mututa memini et amoris in mutationes memini.

May you be embraced by a love beyond recall that alters others

and a love within recall that alters you.


“Wait up, Dog.” Trevor was running behind him. “Didn’t you see me on the patio. I was waiting for you.”

“Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

“Didn’t go well, eh?”

“She said that I was a less appealing fat slob now, than I was in university, when I was just a lard ass. A genuine ego booster.” He slowed a bit. “How did we end up as roomies? Do you remember.”

Trevor scratched his head. “Yeah, Dog. We were in that annex pub. A bunch of us guys and Jeff was dropping out mid-semester and his place was up for grabs. We subleased it and moved him out, moved us in.”

“Why me and you? We’d only known each other for what, two days.”

“I never thought about. Seemed pretty natural thing to do. You had enough money for your share of the rent and none of the others did. Simple as that. Why are you asking?”
“I … since my Dad told me about this curse.”

“You still on about that nonsense. People don’t get family curses Dog.”

“Right. Whatever. I’ll call you.”

“Sure Dog but … “

“But what?” Harris was exasperated. He wanted to agree with Trevor that the curse was nonsense but at the same time wanted to convince him that it wasn’t.

“Ah … did that busboy back there just kiss you?”

They stopped walking.

“Alex? Yeah sure. Unlike Laura, a gym-buff guy like him can’t wait to get his hands on my chunky goodness.”

“That’d be so twisted, Dog because the best part of sharing that apartment with you was because not only were you such a neat freak but the constant parade of babes, you know. Once in awhile I did get lucky with them or their friends. I’d seen your smooth moves in action before that. I figured I would be safe with you too. Like you wouldn’t be, you know, hot for my ass at any time.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I know, I know. But just now …”

“The curse in action. He claims he’s never been attracted to a man, either. And by either I mean I’ve never been attracted to a man. Especially to your skinny ass.”

“You mean this curse makes people go against their nature. That can’t be.”

“I don’t know Trev. It’s all news to me and a lot has been going on since I heard I haven’t had a chance to sort anything out.”

They stopped at Mug Thuggs for ice lattes and butter tarts, sat on a bench out side.

“So how does this curse work.”

He told Trevor about Frances, not remembering her, the security evidence that he and Frances had in fact met the night she disappeared.

“You mean the security footage was so bad you couldn’t make out her face.”

“Trev, they could have set up cameras right there, the picture was crystal clear. I didn’t know her. Nothing about her was familiar. I left Story zonked that night and I remember walking up out of the subway and going home. That’s it.”

“You were drunk.”

“You mean I had a five minute black out from the subway exit to my condo. Yeah sure.”

“That’s as possible as this curse thing.”

“Look, Trevor I can’t remember any one woman I’ve had sex with. I can remember fucking women but all I remember is the sensation, the orgasm but not the woman. Not a face. Not a name. Nada. Nothing. I’m sure I got laid last week before all this but that’s all. I have no recollection of who, where or when.”


“It’s every man’s wish come true isn’t it. Lots of available sex, no bad memories and no chick looking for him after.”

“All fine and good till this chick’s fiancee tires to kill him for what he doesn’t remember”

“That is a major drawback.”

“All these years I believed I was an attractive guy but Laura said I looked like one of those sad-sack, comic book geeks.”

“To tell you the truth, I never quite got what the girls saw in you. Not that you are a sad sack but you are pretty ordinary, you know. Plus I have seen you naked a few times and your … uh … equipment isn’t all that out-standing. Maybe you’re a grower not a shower. Not that I ever looked that close mind you but …”

“Fuck. So I’m fat slob Casanova with a small dick, is that what you are trying to tell me.”

Harris stood, hurled his coffee at a tree only to miss it and land on the ground with barely a sound.

“Sorry Dog. But you want me to tell you like it is.”

“Small comfort.”

“You can break this curse. How did your dad break it?”

“He says it ended when he met my mother. She remembered him and he remembered her. I don’t know. Perhaps I should see your aunt. She might know.”

“As long as she doesn’t fall for you herself.”

“Right. Knowing what I know I have to face that prospect everyday now. At least before I didn’t have to worry about who it might be next. Now I half anticipate it. I don’t feel right now till it has happened.”

“Paranoia strikes deep, it seems.”

“I gotta get home. Tavi wants me to come in tomorrow, if i’m up to it. I have Santa’s Sex Shoppe to work on. Seems the peppermint peckers pull too much focus from the vanilla vaginas.” He laughed. “Thanks for listening.”

“If you want I’ll talk to my Auntie Nilasha.”

“I’m willing to try anything, except Alex.”


“He sort of made pass last week. I could tell he didn’t really want me. There was part of him that’s fighting it. I’m fighting it too. I put him off hoping he’d forget all about it. But we both remember each other. Not that anything has happened but we both remember wanting each other. We both think about each other and don’t know what to do about it.”

“Fuck, Harris, it’s not as if this is the dark ages you know. Guys can get it on with each other.”

“How many guys have you made out with?”

“Only one. I was drunk. It was nothing. It was my cousin Ramos. He was going to prison for knocking over a corner store with a gun and wanted to know what it would be like ‘cause there was no way a pretty boy like him would be safe on the inside. It was nothing I wanted to repeat. But at the time I figured why not check it out and help him out too. After all he was family and not a total stranger.”

“Whatever. I agreed to meet Alex soon. I’m hoping that’s all it takes. A chat and we’ll both be over it. But I gotta go. We’ll talk.”

Harris walked back to his condo. He tried to empty his mind, breathing slow and deep, tried to visualize Laura, remember her perfume but Alex kept coming into his mind.

*16 Saturday*

He woke from a dream in which he was in a graphic novel called ‘Cyclops Meets Casanova Man.’ He was Casanova Man being pursued by Cyclops. Cyclops had to give him a blow job to save the world but the only way Casanova Man could get it up was if they could make eye contact. Eye contact with Cyclops meant death but if there was no blow job Cyclops would die and if they made eye contact Casanova Man would die and Cyclops couldn’t give him a blow job and the world would would end. The chase was through various washrooms. Every time Casanova Man stopped to take a leak Cyclops would be there and he couldn’t take his leak. Harris’s own need to take a leak woke him from the dream.

In the morning his mind was foggy. Too lazy to open a box of pop tarts he grabbed a delux mini pizza from the deli on the first floor of his office. Before he hit his desk he had a jolt of coffee from the employee caf. It cleared enough of the mental haze enough for him to be productive.

A new flood of samples had arrived Friday. Many of the e.catalogues they dealt with would regularly send them samples of new products to show dE.tail exactly what these things looked like. Seeing the actual objects made it easier to make adjustments in the catalogue presentation.

The samples would get put into the consult room. On the rare occasions they had clients to consult with Tavi felt a table full of thier happy clients’ wares would be impressive. Along with energy bars, candy and festive striped dildos there were several hooded blankets that now had booties attached. The neon colors were alarming.

He got a text from Tavi, “Feeling better?”

“Well enough.” replied. “New samples are scary.”

“Wait till you see what’s at your station.”

Wedged by his keyboard was an an opened box of chocolates. Silver foil wrapped saints in the shape of a woman. The lid said “‘Chocolate Virgin Marys’ in large lurid letters and underneath ‘with cherry liqueur filling.’ These were from the ‘confections division’ of Santa’s Sex Toy Shoppe. He tried one it was nearly too sweet to finish. Would it be sacrilegious if he bit only the heads off and let the liqueur trickle into his coffee?

“Very sweet.” he texted Tavi.

“What’s in the big box?”

Big box? He looked around and against the wall a few feet past his cubical was a shipping crate about six feet high. It was from Santa’s Sex Toy Shoppe. Oh Christ, they’d sent him a fully articulated Santa.

Taped to the top was an envelope that said “Read before opening the box.”

Inside was a handwritten note to him:

“Harris – you’ve done wonders thus far but the pigment problem still remains. Here is the real thing to give you have a better idea of what the skin actually looks like as contrasted to the way it photographs. In the hi-def it looks much oiler than it is. Take a look and see what you can do for us.

This is the protoype for the new ElfinU line. I hope you don’t mind a male as we are still trying to get the artculated Elfina’s more pliant. The ‘lady parts’ have to sturdy enough to withstand use yet soft enough to feel authentic.

Thanks Daria – aka Mrs Claus.”

The note smelled of chocolate.

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Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Duffy Dury Blockheads

The UK seems to have an insatiable appetite for young female pop singers that manage a hit album or two then fade away (Cilla Black) into hosting TV shows. Sometimes they manage a US hit but then are never heard of again. One of these was/is Duffy – a fine young Welsh singer whose Rockferry made some traction in the US market. She did do a pleasant follow up. The sound is generic soulful pop. She didn’t get the US push Josh Stone did – then again whatever became of Josh Stone?

Less disposable is Ian Dury. British male pop singers get more support & tend to be less flash in the pan. He was part of the new wave pop in the 80’s-90’s, with smart, funny, catchy lps & songs – name checking would take too long – Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick! is a prime example of sexual insinuation, clever lyrics, pop hooks & great singing.

The band’s lps are all great & hold up well today. His solo work is fine fun too. Like Andrew Gurza he embraces his disability proudly on Lord Upminster in songs like Spasticus.

In my collection I have Ian Dury & the Blockheads: New Boots/Do It Yourself as an lp to cd transfer. Best of: as a stand alone. His solo Lord Upminster is tucked into a Talking Heads mp3 collection. I did have it as a cassette. I love this oddly cheerful music that has touches of Genesis, 10 cc, even Roxy Music in it. Upminster moves into a more disco sound – Funky Disco Pops lives up to its title. I love his voice, his lyrics and if you aren’t familiar you are missing a great band. He died in 2000 😦


J’hhon left the nav cab and went to his quarters. He rested his tired shoulders against the door. There was barely enough room to turn around in the space. He either stood or laid down, no room to sit and stretch one’s extremities. Compact. It was all so compact. Might as well live in a drawer.

That’s all they really were, now that he thought of it. A dresser drawer in space. Everything in neat, confining, little, snug nooks.. He closed his eye nodes. The after resonance of the artificial lighting danced for a few moments before it settled. He felt the hum of the ship throb in his bones, the sound of it washed over him. It never faded. His dreams, when he had them, always had this warm hum sky suffocate everything.

‘J’hhon. J’hhon.’ There was a tap on his door.

‘Yes P’rak what is it?’

‘I can’t get through to Cenfrer Colmand.’

‘Cos swirll interference?’

‘Could be but more like they have filled the channel with pointless gossip. You know what those guys are like.’

J’hhon slid the door of his quarters open. It wasn’t wide enough to allow P’rak to enter, and even if it was there wasn’t space in the room for more than one form at a time. No congress of flesh here.

‘Then we’ll have to send a report to V and go ahead as best as we can.’

‘Good sir. I think we should investigate more before alerting anyone.’

‘Another feeling P’rak?’

‘Yes. There’s something to this that is more than meets the nodes.’

They went back to the nav cab. J’hhon saw that P’rak had already plotted a course that would bring them closer to the cos swirll.

‘What are the risks?’


‘Are we facing something truly dangerous or just some space blip.’

‘Dangerous? In what way?’

‘Why are you playing dense with me P’rak. You know very what I mean.’

‘Sir, you are taking in riddles.’

‘I suppose I am. Do we have much time before initial contact.’

‘Contact sir. With what?’

J’hhon pushed P’rak aside to check the cos swirll stats.

‘Shittt.’ One of the effects was a blurring of mental capacity. No harm in that though. Maybe he’d go back to his space, rest awhile. Yes that’s what he would do.


Chapbooks available: http://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6


kiss314257567_1162384753819933_3271661288579707843_oon going 🙂 when new podcast are posted:  Disability after Dark  iTunes

June 9-10: attending: Capturing Fire 2017 – flight & hotel booked already


check out these poets from  Capturing Fire 2015 & 2016

August 31-Sept.3 – I have my ticket already



November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo




Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr


‘I Am Not Universal’

The third season finale for the unstoppable Hot Damn! It’s a Queer Slam filled Buddies to the rafters. That this queer slam circuit would become so quickly establish & vital clearly reflects the power of poetry and the hunger there is for queer performers to have a safe, inviting, encouraging space to share their work. If you think, what the fuck is he going on about – trust me covert & not so convert homophobia is always present – in the local poetry scene.

As always Charlie Petch opened the show with an homage to the people whose stolen land we live on & then with the queer national anthem. No time was wasted before the open stagers (not in performance order) Fira Astrali, Niambi Leigh, D’Scribe, Ossian Maceachern, Shawna Dimitry, & Darcy Alemany (title of this blog post is from one of his pieces) tore up the mic with the first round of pieces:

black girls never win the Bachelor – Trump didn’t invent racism – I want to say best & breast comes out – saying I’m sorry more often than I say I love you – how much am I allowed to love you – I don’t speak the language of my ancestors – the nail is not a fashion statement – Justin: just in time for Time magazine – what right angle explains attraction – straight because I never had  to prove I was straight – a love that doesn’t need to be gendered – you can be attracted to people of who are more than a single gender – sudden onset of requests for threesomes – this mouth keeps you warm at night -nthis mouth starts forest fires on Saturdays – this mouth tries not to remember – Dear Love, don’t find this creepy, but I like to watch you – are you the devil, is that why I worship you – I’m am not universal I am just here –

Next up was Queen Sheba. Can I mention the feature’s fashion sense without coming off as a typical shallow gay man? Whatever, as if I have a reputation to lose, right? She was fly in smart hat, tight red skirt & heels for days. Her pieces were powerful, funny, emotional & directly from the heart. – riding the rainbow – bruises as medals of honour – only as strong as out last execution – no place in a woman’s house is a hiding place, God will give you the gift but you’ll never know what it is until you open it – dive too young to know what a diva is – directly from lips to your curiosity – I cool-side-of-the-pillow love you. She finished with truncated version of her Period piece that was hilarious, explicit & made me grateful I’m male.

After a brief break Charlie launched the second round – her scrubs are dancing too – maybe that’s just my IV lines – I smell like a Wes Craven movie – he has lost most of who he is – our pain is not illegitimate – compassion was a childhood myth – still leaving myself in dreams – this is what a leaving hurricane looks like – lets talk the theology of the margins – better to shut up & pay the bills – one day you’ll be okay – edges of edges you wish you didn’t know – pray your medication protects you from evil – my God is made of the arms of my friends – no one deserves to pray alone –
I look forward to seeing winner D’Scribe  wow them at Capturing Fire in Washington DC this June. Stay tuned for season four of Hot Damn!


on Friday I took in Queen Sheba’s writing workshop. One of the exercises was a free-write with a new word introduced every 30 seconds. This is my very incoherent product?

The Caffeinated Dragon

the cup is a vessel

of unstoppable thought

caffeine sets off in its way

my conscious mind

can’t contain the words dancing

irritation on the page

spelling trips over its feet

trying to keep up

with the love of the flow

the place we go off the page

where I scatter

these steps skipping lines

with double dutch infections

the ship of schools

requires attention

I can’t attend to

not that the open window

distracts me

distances me

I know the page

isn’t a glass

yet I see through it to

food for the next

trip trippy world

to the next dance

each a pas de paradox

a menu of random improvisations

that call for bigger letters

sloppier writing

to empty the free flying feet

to the reading of the

window of the mind

under the eaves of distraction

the shudders


shooters in schools of thought

not caring

not daring

to find more

than the flow

of the caffeinated dragon

snorting the fire dance

sword dance

half-a-chance to catch breath

deep in the mines

not digging

dragging more

thoughts up the stairs

catching the eyes

that dread the dead end

the last drop of coffee


Chapbooks available: http://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6


#Judgemental? Me! http://wp.me/p1RtxU-2jn

kiss3June 9-10: attending: Capturing Fire 2017 – flight & hotel booked already


check out these poets from  Capturing Fire 2015 & 2016


Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr


Judgemental? Me!

During the break at the last Hot-Sauced Words I had a discussion about slam with some of the other writers there. Some were familiar but none of them had ever either slammed, or judged a slam. Both of which I have done & do. They were very curious how one judged – what was the criteria? I later had a talk with another friend who wanted to know if points were docked if the slammer used a device ie: read from cellphone or, gasp, paper.

For those of you who have never been to a slam, or who have been judged by me, here’s a bit of insider info on how I judge & why I gave the scores that I do. First off being off book isn’t relevant to me as long as the poet performs with energy, commitment & focus. On the other hand if they hold their work in front of their face my score gets lower. Mostly they are off-book – but if it is the same piece they used the last time they competed I’m less impressed.

The writing has to be engaging – if it’s a piece about, say, one’s eating disorder & being called pretty – it better be fresh as I’ve heard enough body dysmorphia already. I am sympathetic to the issue but sympathy points may not be enough. Ditto for sex, or usually not getting it or getting the wrong kind.

At a slam there is usually a sacrifice poet – one not in the competition but one who does a piece for the judges to ‘practice’ scoring – the other performers are to judged on that scale. But I think for many of us judges we also have the scale of others we have heard. Not that I expect slammers to be at the level of say – Johnny Trinh or Charlie C. Petch.

A piece that I mentally use when considering use of explicit language & the element of surprise, is from early 60’s – this is only the start of a much longer piece which by the end one is transported. The start grabs, then in subsequent sections sustains, my interest. The Speed of Darkness – by Muriel Rukeyser


Whoever despises the clitoris despises the penis

Whoever despises the penis despises the cunt

Whoever despises the cunt despises the life of the child.

Resurrection music,        silence,        and surf.

Finally there is something I call stage presence, an undefinable aura that can push an 8.5 piece to 9.6 or even a 10 – though I have never given a 10. I’m mean like that 🙂


Gluten Free

I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen

I followed every moment

from the very first cellphone video

the Facebook feed was mesmerizing

the tweets head spinning

the pundits were informative

I couldn’t get enough

close ups of the bleeding

were heart rending

I was washed by this flood

of compassion

dismay dispair

that this had happened

innocent people

men women children

killed maimed

forced to leave their homes

clubs churches

no safe place

shown no mercy

by their attackers or the press

I had to watch

flipping channels

media devices

to get the latest feed

the freshest atrocity

to feed my growing sense of outrage

drowning in powerless


oh look

Burger King now has gluten free buns

Chapbooks available: http://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6


kiss314257567_1162384753819933_3271661288579707843_oon going 🙂 when new podcast are posted:  Disability after Dark  iTunes

April season 3 FINALS – Friday April 15th Buddies in Bad Times – early show – 7pm start – Featuring Queen Sheba. Slam winner gets trip to Capturing Fire & maybe coffee with me in DC.games


June 9-10: attending: Capturing Fire 2017 – flight & hotel booked already


check out these poets from  Capturing Fire 2015 & 2016

August 31-Sept.3 – I have my ticket already



November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo




Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr




Started a new set of prompts – I love lists of things – this one will prove to be endlessly productive for another couple of years – 227 Rules For Monks. This is the first of the 2 aniyatas: Not to be found alone with a woman in a remote place that can arise suspicions about a sexual intercourse.


kissing her

was unexpected

she had told me

my bed had appeared in her dreams


I was pretending

to be interest in women

claiming a bisexuality

to allow for a safe passage through life

at a time

when that was necessary


there were enough suspicions

about my sexuality already

launched in grade school

carried into high school

suppressed by fear

then by the bottle


intercourse with a woman

was bandied about like a flag

a boy scout badge

to announce

hey I’m a normal guy

I like chicks


but that sex was a remote possibility

until she had that dream

she made it come true

for herself

no one knew

no one suspected a thing

except for me

who finally knew

intercourse with a woman

was possible

but not a place I wanted

to return to

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it wasn’t my fault

she made me do it

all she had to do was smile

to thanks me for the complement

let me touch her hair

such a simple thing

just a kiss

just a peck

but no she resisted

she was dressed to be noticed

I couldn’t help myself

it wasn’t my fault

it was society’s fault

for telling me that as a man

I had the right to act on any opportunity

to make my sexual interest

in any woman known

that she should welcome it

that it was flattering for her

to be so desired by men

that was her only role in this world

to look attractive

fresh clean



without resistance

and when she resisted

I killed her

it was her fault


for ignoring me

for leading me on

by saying nothing

by being born a woman

at least she was a real woman

it’s not as if I’m some sort of perv

it’s not as if I killed some dude

struggling with fluid gender identity

I’m just a normal

healthy average heterosexual male

who did the normal thing

the expected thing

when a woman disrespects

my honest cock

by showing no interest

by not even acknowledging my presence

even when I say Hi pretty lady

as politely as possible

all she had to do was reply

all she had to do was admit how much

she wanted me

but no she didn’t even look in my direction

even as I followed her

even as I taught her the lesson

she’ll never distain another man

so it’s not my fault

my hands are clean

This take on Law 26 gave me chills when I first wrote it. I put myself into the head of the victimizing blamer – in this case the whole rape justificationist. Some of the defences of the protagonist are ones that I’ve read, heard one the past year – not old fashioned notions of toxic masculinity that have been cast aside – they seem to be cast in stainless steel in the mind sou too many men.


It’s also a culture in which people seek to evade responsibility but finding fault with circumstances but not with their personal choices in those circumstances. Some playgrounds now have padded surfaces to keep parents from suing them if their children fall down on the actual earth & hurt themselves. Someone spills a hot coffee not themselves & sues the coffee shop for selling them a hot coffee that spilled on them.

As a gay guy I’ve interacted with men on on-line gay sites who get pissed off if you aren’t interested – after all they’ve been generous enough to show an interest in you so why be so stuck up. When I was first active in Toronto my self- acceptance was so low I did end up with guys simply because they were interest not because I found them attractive. Those days are long behind me but – this to me, reflects, the sense of male entitlement – ‘I’m attractive, interested, you must say yes.’

My piece deals with rape culture & that sense of toxic male entitlement. In some cultures women are still considered only in the context of male control, even in USA female reproductive rights are dictated by men. Here in USA/Canada, where there are supposedly equal rights, perpetuators still get offended when forced to face that they are in the wrong and won’t be let of the hook because they were polite.


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