First Day at the Playground

The best & worst part of going away for even a weekend is what to pack? This time compounded by what to pack for the Playground Conference? With it’s focus on gender, sex play, sex education, expanding the meaning of relationships does one opt for style or leather 🙂 Comfort or conformity? What can I forget to pack & still feel ready when I get there? The endless cords, rechargers, cables & oh my.

I arrived at the Holiday Inn by 2. A room was ready. Comfortable enough. Text message from a FWB as I unlocked the door. Sweet start though I probably won’t see him until Sunday night. Wifi boots up okay. unpack some. quick shopping trip for juice, $tarbucks to redeem a free coffee. Back to the room for a very fast shower & then down the conference floor by 4.

I volunteered to help on registration on the opening night. It’s one of way making sure I meet lots of people with a role other than ‘can I sit here?’ I am ‘in charge’ of the pronoun & fun stickers & giving out tickets to the free raffle drawn on Sunday. People love the stickers – Are you flirting? is one we run out of first. The most frequently asked question: “Is there a coat check?”

Sadly there is no cell reception in this area of the Holiday Inn – wtf! I have to go outside to text. My flip-phone isn’t really built for easy wifi usage. I duck out a little after 8 & go to my room to relax, check my email. About 30 minutes later my text message come through. It’s a small drawback but a drawback all the same.

At least 200 people check in by 8 pm. So I have made my face & my shirt familiar to 200 people, most of whom will forget me anyway. I do this sort of greet thing well though – I get lots of greeting practice at AA meetings. But after 4 hours I’m too pooped to do anything more than go to my room. A good day.

Calypso’s Cave

I want to return to Calypso’s cave

for more erotic instruction

the ways of love I had been taught

never seemed enough for this world

like Lazarus I could not

remain in the shelter forever

I cannot rely on Neptune

to fulfill all my body’s longings

released from his tender endless coil

onto this shore where

I am unsure of my welcome

unsure of my name

unsure of anything except

I need another seven years

to prepare me for cities of silver glass

for the fumbling turmoil of men and women

who tumble excitedly grasping for quick satisfaction

not having the time

to indulge in the erotic lore

I have received and long to pass on

let me return to Calypso

for another seven time seven

this school of sorrow and longing

I have been cast into here

holds no secrets for me

or is this the next lesson

pleasure isn’t the end but the beginning

sorrow isn’t the result only a symptom

as I wander these streets

I cannot the rivers flow

I see their mouths open

but no water comes forth

I want to return to Neptune

after sailing seeking

from one golden fleece to the next

is there anyone awaiting me

or am I the one waiting

to bring new light the cave

where Lazarus wrote on its walls

Calypso’s joke

Neptune’s revenge

the lover of the world ready for love

yet no river bed for me to lay my body on

March 8, Thursday – Hot Damn! It’s A Queer Slam Slam: 8 pm Buddies In Bad Times Theatre Feature D’Scribe

HotDamn! It’s A Queer Slam

April 03 – every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked) 


“How could anyone … ”

I watched the W5 piece on the Village murders, which told me nothing new. That some of the victims were immigrants who come here to be free to be gay while still being the closet to their wives & families was a sad irony – that they died for the opportunity is even sadder.


The cultural bondage of gender roles and sexual acceptability is clearly reflected in the b&d scenes the accused offered online. Of course this was not explored in the brief W5 piece which focused on ineffective police response and the lurid sensationalism of – wtf – cannibalism! Let’s take what is already a disgusting situation and make it even worse so we can paint the gay world as sick as we possibly can.

This isn’t the search for truth but exploitation. I sensed that the reporter was relishing the opportunity to say what was said. Legitimizing the opportunity to use language just for the sake of being sensational. So far, there’s been no mention of the role of impaired judgement. It is presented as if these men where somehow complicit in what happened to them by letting it happen at all. “How could anyone” shifts the blame to the victim from the predator.

In watching the W5 I was also dismayed to realize that as much time & money was spent on nice graphics & music as is probably spent on helping the victims’ families. One of the reporters said they had been closely following the case for months – fuck! This has been going for years! Media and police were alerted almost a decade ago – maybe if they had started following this case closely before it became so sensational some of these victims might be alive today.

These are the identified victims (so far) Selim Esen, 44; Andrew Kinsman, 49; Majeed Kayhan, 58; Soroush Mahmudi, 50; and Dean Lisowick, 47. I’ll repeat their names. His will probably never be forgotten so there’s no need for me to mention it.


he told me I had too many shoes

I almost told him to drop dead

I have no sympathy for the shoeless

how did he know

that they didn’t prefer it that way

besides I’m helping the economy

he said I have too many cds

tee shirts

so many books

I am single-handedly responsible

for depleting acres of the rain forest

in my insatiable hunger for more

as mother earth stumbles

to a sobbing heap begging

no more please please

this rape and pillage has got to stop


so I have more shoes

than I can wear at one time

what fucking business is it of his anyway

his eyes glance around my place

going from the neat rows of shoes

neat rows of cd’s books

tidy piles of tee shirts

then to the  bed


we’d met at rally

to protest auto sector bail out

hit it off over free trade coffee

at a non-chain coffee shop

that gave a discount for our travel mugs

we were on the same page about issues

till I brought him back to my place


he started in on

my drive-in-sized TV

how TV was mind rot

how books were part of the problem

reading for solutions

rather getting out there making it happen


when we got to my bedroom

and he saw the shoes

and gasped

my that’s a lot of shoes

for someone who lives alone

I bit my tongue instead of his

laid back to glare at the ceiling

his head a lighthouse beam revealing

all my self-indulgent planet-wasting

depleting thoughtless humanness


finally he laid back

one hand gently on my stomach

and like mother earth

he let me have my way with him

because sex with guilt is always the best


March 8, Thursday – Hot Damn! It’s A Queer Slam Workshop: 4 pm at Glad Day with D’Scribe.

March 8, Thursday – Hot Damn! It’s A Queer Slam Slam: 8 pm Buddies In Bad Times Theatre Feature D’Scribe

HotDamn! It’s A Queer Slam

April 03 – every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked) 

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy ice cream in Washington at 2018’s – sweet,eh?

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

Nothing Is Sacred


Working through the  227 Rules For Monks. Who knew the simple life could be so complex. This another of the 92 pācittiyas.

Nothing Is Sacred

it’s not that I don’t know

but what I know isn’t relevant

to you


I’m not an explainer

what you want to understand about me

isn’t going to make any difference


what I don’t tell you

isn’t even a secret

it’s merely a boundary

of how willing am I am to trust you


I won’t even confirm

what you think you know

I have nothing more to tell you

not even why


each thing I say

makes it appear I’m open

for negotiation

that if you keep me talking

I‘ll tell you what you want to know


tell you some amazing realization

that let’s you feel ah ah

now I have him

he’s in my control

or he’s not so special after all


you were expecting something deeper

more profound

instead you are getting nothing

don’t forget

nothing is sacred

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington at 2018’s – sweet,eh?

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

Gunning For Fidelity

Gunning For Fidelity

what are you looking for

fidelity or ownership

fidelity as long as you are interested

but if the other party

should be unfaithful

then you can gleefully

slip off the chains of fidelity

blaming them for betraying you

for being the first one

because you have the power

only you

the other party must surrender all

for unity to be real


what are you looking for

commitment that serves your pleasures

as long as you permit it

as long as they satisfy

as long as they never look beyond

the scope of your pleasures

until you get bored

because they would never get bored

because if they did

then they really didn’t love you

they really weren’t as committed as you

life is so unfair

because you never met someone

who can live up

to the true fidelity you want

no one is as capable of it as you are

so you keep seeking

keep being disappointed

in each new opportunity

that disappoints


it’s always their fault

for lacking the deep spiritual values

you hold like a gun to their heads

waiting for the first flinch

as an excuse to escape

This is the 5th of the saṃghādisesas. Keep in mind these pieces are prompted by the saṃghādisesas, they are not explanations or expansions of them. This is a theme I have blogged about before in The Fragility of Fidelity. Stepping out of the lock-step of what relationships are often lets them last longer and become deeper and more satisfying.


So this piece is a variation on a theme for me, not breaking new territory. I’ve done reading on the history of romance, sexuality and marriage. What is currently assumed as the ‘norm’ comes more from idealized fiction, drama and poetry than it does less than ideal reality. We judge relationships according to a laugh track, good lighting or the right background music.

There is also a tendency to judge things by what we decided when we were twelve or thirteen and as we get older don’t even questions those formative decisions. At that age not only do we feel vulnerable but that first love is a permanent love. Our first falling out of love becomes a warning never to be that open again or a reason to seek revenge on everyone who shows an interest.

Is it love or is it obsession? If you think about me all the time, can’t get me out of your mind, not somebody until the right someone loves you – I may be flattered but I prefer men with lives of their own not one defined by my emotional responses to them. To last it has to be more than hormones. Lust can be a useful starter but it can run out of energy if that’s all there is to the relationship. There has to be chocolate too 🙂

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington at 2018’s – sweet,eh?


Lazarus Kiss.60

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.


Lazarus Kiss.60

“Signal? Could be I got that wireless stuff messed when when I set it up.” He nodded at the unit beside his TV. The TV showed them from behind.

“Where’s the camera?” Detective Alverez looked around.

“Andy Humphun!” Harris pointed to the elf. “Don’t ask how. It’s a long story.”

Andy was leaning against the wall. His face melted in several places by the attacker’s taser. His cock still hard and immobile except for his hips that were still moving.

“When the Stalker tasered Andy, maybe the remote signal went haywire and jumped to the building feed?”

“I suppose.”

“How does that feel?” the medic cleaned the last of the burns. “Try to leave these uncovered for a few hours. They’ll heal faster that way. Try not to lie on your back for twenty-four hours. After twenty-four you should shower and reapply the lotion. You have family who can do that for you?”

“I think I can find someone.” Harris was sleepy. “I want to go to bed.”

“I gave him a sedative for the shock.” The medic explained to Detective Alverez. “We should take him to the hospital. If he’s been tasered this many time his heart has to be checked.”

Harris stretched out as best he could on his side on the gurney and those were the last words he heard.

*56* Saturday

He didn’t know what time it was when he woke. Fingers held his eyes opened as a light was flashed into them.

“Back with the living Mr Harris.” It was a nurse he remembered from his last visit to St Mike’s. “We didn’t expect to be seeing you so soon. Not only you but your father as well.”

“My father?” He pushed himself up to look around. This time he was in a private room.

“He had heart tremors. You mother rushed him directly here.”


“He’s fine though. Not to worry. Dr Chow will be in to see you directly.” the nurse helped him sit up. “Don’t worry. You’re fine, too. The only real damage are the burns. No concussion”

He leaned over, grabbed his shoulder bag off the chair by his bed, fished out his cell. It going on for 10 a.m. Saturday.

In less than an hour he was ready for release. His Dad was waiting for him at the emerg exit. A TV crew was there as well.

“How does it feel to ….” “How did you ….”

The questions came too fast for Harris to answer any one in particular.

“It was hell. I feel like hell. I can’t wait to get out of the country and away from all this.”

His Dad hailed a cab while Harris fended off the reporters.

As they were getting in Alex jogged up to them.“Harris how are you?” He reached out to hug Harris.

Harris pushed him away. He saw the puzzled look on his Dad’s face “I have burns Alex. Uh … Dad this is a … pal of mine Alex Tzorvas.”

“Pleased to meet you.” they shook hands.

“Look, is there anything I can do.”

“I don’t think so Alex. I’ll call you.” He could tell that Alex’s concern was genuine.

He got into the taxi after his father and drove away.

“What’s this about your heart?” Harris asked.

“Mother couldn’t get you on the phone and was insisting something was wrong. Well, I guess she did get that much right, and that we had to get over to your place right away. I had these sudden pains in my chest, couldn’t breath.”

“So did I.”

“Yours were taser assisted.”

“No this was after all that. It happened while I was giving the curse to that guy. The Stalker.”

“You gave him the curse?”

Harris told him about writing the curse out and giving it to his assailant. “Smeared it with my own blood like Rowell did to Tobias. I hope intent is more important than spelling though.”

His Dad’s phone rang. “It’s your mother.” He handed it to Harris.

“Hi Mom … yes we’re both alright … clean bills of health …. What! … When? … Thats’ amazing … Yeah I’l tell Dad.” He shut the phone off.

“Tell me what?”

“Marshall collapsed on set in Vancouver. Around the same time you felt your pains. I bet it was the same time as I gave away the curse.”

The burns on his back were numb from the salve the hospital had put on but they didn’t respond well to the pressure of sitting or the seat belt shoulder strap.

“I grabbed this in the lobby.” His dad handed him a newspaper. “You made the front page. Not a headliner.”

In the bottom quarter there was picture of the police taking the Stalker out of Plaza Place under a headline Stalker Stopped.

“Late last night John McNeil , 45, was captured at Plaza Place with citizen help. McNeil a Toronto native is a long time resident of the High Park area. He is married with three children. Unemployed for the past year he had become depressed by many factors in his life. Harris Stevens a resident of Plaza Place had become the object of his frustrations.

“Police profiler Fredrick Deeds explained that the random attacks gradually became more targeted as McNeil needed a direct focus for his anger. Harris Stevens had recently interrupted what was thought to be a attack in progress by The Stalker which resulted in him become a target.

“Undercover law enforcement presence at Park Plaza allowed for a speedy and successful capture of John McNeil. Police Detective Val Alverez in charge of the Stalker investigation believes that city can breathe freer now that the Stalker has been taken into custody.

“John McNeil remains in police custody. There is no word on his plea. The Crown Prosecutor says the strong evidence they have will certainly lead to a conviction.”

“They did everything but give out your phone number.” His dad was angry. “How did that creep get into your apartment if they had under cover-cops there?”

“Disguise. He’s been tailing me for a the last few days.” He told his Dad about the photos the Stalker had taken of him and Marshall, of him going in to work. “I’m pretty sure he knew where I lived. He must have seen the Muslim families coming and going. Pulled a chador over his head and voila. Security never checks them when they come, getting by was pretty simple.”

“Why don’t you stay with us for the next day or two.”

“Whatever. Can I at least drop in to my place to get a change of clothes?”

“If it’s still a crime scene they may not let you back in yet.”

Harris opted to go home with his father.

“How are you?” his mother greeted him. “You both look so pale.”

“I just want to get some sleep.” He kept his mother from fussing over him.

“Your room is all set. Fresh bedding. The Mario Brothers set you loved so much. How are you feeling.”

“Sore and tired Mom.”

He stumbled going up the stairs to his room. She arranged pillows to help lie on his side and not worry about turning over onto his back as he slept. She helped him take his tee shirt off.

“My God. Your back!”
“That bad eh?” he fell asleep instantly.

“You’ve made the 6 clock news.” His Dad pushed in a TV on a stand.

A reporter was talking to a woman standing in the door way of a house.
“They are such a happy family,” she was saying. “The kids tend to be rowdy but what kids aren’t. But they loved their Dad. He never struck me as the type to do this sort of thing.”

“How did you react when you heard about him being the Stalker.”

“There’s no way to be safe is there.” The woman pulled her sweater closed. “All this time I was scared to take the TTC. Had to have Dan, my husband, meet me at the station now all time and it’s only a five minute walk from here. Then to find out that the Stalker lives right across the street from me. Makes a body really think about living in such a dangerous city.”

“Thank you. The city is relieved that the the stalker has finally been caught. Back to you Brad.”

“Thanks Meggan. We now go to a police press conference.”

Detective Val Alverez stood in front of several microphones. Agent Chiba directly behind her to her left.

“We are pleased to say that we have put a stop to this man who has been terrorizing our streets for the past months. He has not been co-operative. We have enough evidence to hold him.”

There were questions from the reporters that he couldn’t hear.

“I can’t comment on that. ….  Yes Mr Stevens is recovering well from his injuries. His injures were not life threatening ….. Yes Mr Stevens was cooperating with the police in this matter and was aware he had been targeted by the Stalker …. No. I haven’t heard how Mr McNeil will plead …. “

The news announcer came back on the screen “In other news …”

“We should sue those idiots.” his mother said. “Letting that deranged man get to you. How could they have let him get past them. How?”

“They were doing the best they could.”

“Well it clearly wasn’t good enough. There should have been protection in the apartment with you. That’s what I think.”

“Like who? Trevor Daniels?” Harris joked. “If he hadn’t got to me there, he would have created an opportunity. Remember how systematic he was in attacking people out of the range of security cameras. I’m grateful I was where I could be seen.”

Want to read the whole thing? pre-order the PDF for $5.00 – – say you want Kiss


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Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Relax – Keep On Dancin’

Gary’s Gang’s Keep On Dancin’ kicks off an mp3 collection of, you guessed it, disco. This is a cd that is full of great, delightful memory for me. Memories of when I moved to Toronto way back in 1979. Disrespected by the rock press this music has more resonance in my life than say, John Cougar Mellencamp – who was also big at the time.

Much of this is funkified jazz. Bouncy & in some cases insanely catchy. I had Gary as an lp & like many disco lps it was mixed like a party. High energy & all the tracks are great. I’m still not sure they were real or just a studio band but it is fun.

Instant Funk: The Anthology is a real band. I remember the lp cover of these shirtless, well-toned black men so hot they needed to surrounded by ice to cool down. More of that jazz funky stuff, standard let’s dance lyrics. Like so many though they didn’t move past the dance floor. They are fun sex music too.

M People: The Best Of – I picked this up as it was the only release I found that had their amazing take on the Small Face’s Itchycoo Park. Dance music, meets the 60’s, with great flute & that voice. More about M People when I move on up to M. Disco Motion: Various i.e: Fly Robin Fly, Rock Your Baby; Hot Nights City Lights: Various i.e: I Love The Night Life, Boogie Woogie Dancin’ Shoes. These two compilations are like walking up the stairs to an all night disco crammed with sweaty bodies. Some cuts make me want to dance & others bore the hell out of me – just like the old days. Without the distractions of bodies, smoke, people shouting some of these tracks are beautifully engineered. Disco saved the string section for sure.

Finally – disco it wasn’t all funk & games. Dance, music, politics were put together by Frankie Goes To Hollywood: Reload! the 12 inch remixes. Relax was a game changer with direct queer sexual content that propelled this band beyond the dance floor. Two Tribes was a brilliant piece of work. I had the original 2 lp release but got it bogged down in the concept – it felt stretched out & unfulfilled. But this set of remixes is perfect. Sadly Frankie disappeared promptly after this in a haze of artistic differences. Making great dance music just wasn’t enough.


The Khalif took the key from the lock. ‘This door is never to opened.’

He put the key in the pocket of his silk robe. ‘You all have heard this?’

‘Yes, masab. Yes.’ his minions muttered and bowed.

Shalifa, his new wife, shook her head. ‘No.’

‘If you love me sweet tender Shalifa you will heed my words. No one, under any circumstance is to go into that chamber again.’

Shalifa was puzzled. Why would her husband choose to lock the broom closet? How would the palace be cleaned?

‘But …’ she began.

‘I brook no insubordination from anyone.’ He took her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. ‘You do love me my wildest treasure.’

‘Yes my husband I will obey thy command. But …’

‘I know, a woman is naturally curious. Do not fret your head with such matters when there are more vital matters of state for us to consider. The war with the Infideltas is escalating. I need your advise on such matters.’

‘Thank you my husband.’

Shalifa walked beside him into the war room. On the table in the centre of the room was an exact model of the surrounding hills and sea coast. All she could see  was the litter of papers on the floor. Was all this not to be cleared out? She nodded curtly to one of the servants.

‘Yes madam?’

‘Please clear this litter away. I find it hard to think of war with such underfoot.’ she commanded.

The servant fell to his knees and began picking up the various papers, discarded models of planes, boats and weapons that had been shoved off the table.

‘Wife what are you doing?’ the Khalif forced the servant to his feet.

‘Husband am I not to allowed to give a simple order without you questioning me?’

‘No my rarest cloud …’

‘I did not question why you locked the broom closet did I? Then show me the same love and respect.’

‘Treasure of the North, I see you have not become accustomed to our ways. These,’ the Khalif shoved the papers on the floor with the toe of his gold leafed sandal, ‘are trifles. A nothing that deserves only to be ground and crushed under foot.’

‘Under your foot perhaps, but not mine. I did not marry you to become a woman who tramples garbage underfoot. These feet must touch the only the pure clean white basalt of the floor and not the tiny tedious pieces of discard you have tossed there.’

‘Ohh you are a fiery one my peacock dancer. I see that I must obey this wish if …’

‘Yes if you wish me to obey you.’

‘As you wish my sweet. The perfumes of the night shall be spread once the floor is cleared. All will be made to your liking. But now pray tell what shall we do. The rebel forces have captured the east granaries.’


March 8, Thursday – Hot Damn! It’s A Queer Slam Workshop: 4 pm at Glad Day with D’Scribe.

March 8, Thursday – Hot Damn! It’s A Queer Slam Slam: 8 pm Buddies In Bad Times Theatre Feature D’Scribe

HotDamn! It’s A Queer Slam

April 03 – every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked) 

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy ice cream in Washington at 2018’s – sweet,eh?

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr



On a recent Disability After Dark Andrew Gurza in conversation with Mari Ramsawakh covers a lot of territory including sexting, in particular sexting as a way to experience shared fantasy. Both of them use it as an opportunity to talk about sex they are physically incapable of performing but would like to have. They are clear with their sexting partners about their real limitations.



I enjoying sexting – sending, receiving – on my cell with guys I’ve met up with before. We’ve exchanged dick pics etc. Nothing can perk up a routine day like getting a sweet selfie for a guy bored at work – who then slips into the washroom for an even more intimate pic. It creates a fun sense of anticipation.

On line, some dating sites allow for c2c – camera to camera – but, to be honest, watching some guy I may never meet jacking off doesn’t appeal enough for me, even if it’s one I know. There is one guy, who I’ve played with in the past,  who would ‘page’ me to watch his ‘show’ with me providing hot talk to really get him off. After the second time I lost interest. Which can also happen without a camera on – too much sex talk with no chance of meeting up doesn’t hold my attention for long.

With no face – other than profile pics – one is never sure if who they are fantasizing with is actual the person in the picture. Usually these guy want you to talk about what you will do them, ask them what they want to do to you and conversations end quickly or they say doing them should be enough for me. It’s not as if we’re doing anything real anyway so if I can pretend, so can they 🙂


when I caught Icarus

I thought he was a snowflake

as he tumbled through eons

the taste of fast singed flesh

on the tip of my tongue

filled my mouth


I set him on the ground

red-faced and sizzling

he wasn’t sure where he was

memory sun-stung into forgetfulness

the propulsion of the sun

sent him spinning through time


I offered buttered ice

to cool his shoulder smoulder

offered clothes to cover the cinders he wore

the wing stubble on his back

not sufficient cover for the shame he felt

at his blistered red raw nakedness

he stood chastened before me

barely able to open his eyes

to accept what he couldn’t see clearly


he was no longer the ambitious boy

but now a man on earth

his generations gone in the spin though time

he didn’t understand my language

didn’t know how to say yes or no to my help

followed me unsure

as I lead him from the field

into my arms    my home


I caught Icarus

now I need to find the right myth to repair

his broken heart    his broken spirit

to assure him

I mean no offence when I order

the extra hot wings


March 8, Thursday – Hot Damn! It’s A Queer Slam Workshop: 4 pm at Glad Day with D’Scribe.

March 8, Thursday – Hot Damn! It’s A Queer Slam Slam: 8 pm Buddies In Bad Times Theatre Feature D’Scribe

HotDamn! It’s A Queer Slam

April 03 – every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked) 

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy ice cream in Washington at 2018’s – sweet,eh?

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

Who Are You


Working through the  227 Rules For Monks. Who knew the simple life could be so complex. This another of the 92 pācittiyas.

Who Are You

this is not my real name

in fact

I use my given name so infrequently

no one is sure what it is

I’m not sure of what it is


I won’t tell you what you want to know

not that it’s a secret

there is no deep shame

that I am hiding


names that I use

change from time to time

location to location

in fact

we may have met before

when I was someone else

that’s why I sometimes

seem so familiar

I don’t go out of the way

to disguise myself

to cover my trail

only who I might be

so that when you say

you understand me

I know

you don’t even now who are talking to


everything you know

is about another person

someone with a name you know

that’s not my name

it wasn’t then

and it never will be again

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington at 2018’s – sweet,eh?

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

That Tone Of Voice

Chalk It Up To Experience

‘don’t use that tone of voice

young man’

grade seven

the visiting maths teacher

the one the guys in the class

called blubber boobs

oh oh blubber boobs this afternoon

hope she can see my homework

over those blubber boobs of hers


she came to our school three times a week

Miss Dunlop

we also had a Mrs. DeMoine

who came twice a week

to teach us French

we called her Madam to her face

and Mizdammit behind her back

Miss Dunlop was another story

with her small waist

and gigantic breasts


she was berating me

I hadn’t written my homework

in the strict form she required

I can’t remember my reply

nor can I recall my tone of voice

perhaps I had slipped into

that school yard sexual intonation

we used when talking about her

erasing the blackboard with her boobs

there’s chalk on them there hills


I stood silent before her

after she ordered me

not to use that tone of voice

I couldn’t even apologize

not knowing how to control

how I sounded

I did know it was pointless

to ague with her

like my mother

winning wouldn’t get me anywhere

all I’d prove

was that I was a smart mouth

not that I was smart


Miss Dunlop taught me well

it’s better to be thought stupid

than it is to prove a pointless point

This is the 4th of the saṃghādisesas. It practically wrote itself. School memories are usually great to revisit, even the unpleasant ones. This one was more embarrassing than unpleasant. Like many of these  ‘true to life’ pieces it is a composite of different moments as I struggled through school. Not all of them were in Grace seven.

In Cape Breton many schools had travelling special teachers for things like maths, art, music & French. Usually female, young & sometimes pretty. Each brought different routines, different disciplinary tactics – that usually involved getting one of the male teachers to tell us to behave. The guys would always joke about these teachers breasts or lack of them. The bigger the boob the greater the respect for some reason.

I was told, more than once, to watch the tone of my voice, but many of the guys got the same command too. As I say here I just didn’t know what was meant as I couldn’t hear myself talking and once I was told to watch my tone I couldn’t hear anything else for at least ten minutes. Being singled out never helped my focus or ability to absorb information.

Being made so self-conscious opting for silence was the only choice I could think of at the time. Confrontation would only result in one of the male teachers, or the vice-principal, being called for to keep us all in line. The vice-principal was prone to giving the entire class detention not just the ‘smart mouth.’ So keeping my mouth shut was as much due to peer pressure than anything else.

One result was that I became very dismissive of my actual voice. I hated to hear recordings of myself. If you’ve been one of the fortunate ones who have seen me perform you know I got over that 🙂

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Lazarus Kiss.59

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.

Lazarus Kiss.59

“I apologize for disturbing you.” The woman’s voice became a whisper as she collapsed into his apartment.

“My God. Are you alright?” He’d never seen anyone faint before. He shut the door. “I’ll … get you a glass of water.” He started towards the kitchen. “Or should I call for help. Security will know what to do.” He reached for his phone.

“Don’t bother asshole.”

A sharp blow to his shoulder sent Harris tumbling over his couch. One of his arms whacked his coffee table as he landed.

“What the fuck?” He looked up at the cloaked figure standing over him.

The figure lifted the hem and placed one booted foot under Harris’s chin, not quite on his throat. The woman quickly pulled off the veiled hood of the chador.

“Listen you fat fuck I’m not here to play games with you.” The face was covered by a tight black ski mask the mouth bulged out awkwardly. Only the eyes showed and they were outlined in a mottled black and green.

The voice was female.

“Becky?” Harris couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to do this.

“Shut the fuck up.” The woman pulled off the rest of the chador. She wore a dark blue jumpsuit. From a pocket she pulled a length of thin rope.

“Sit up.” She took her foot off his chest.

He reached to rub where she had been grinding into his collar bone.

“Don’t bother. You aren’t pretty enough to worry.” she gabbed his hands and began to tie them behind his back. “Your pictures in the paper make you look a lot handsomer than you are.”

“Miss …”

“Oh don’t you Miss me.”

The face leaned into his. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.” As she spoke the voice changed, deepened before it became distorted. “I’m all man. You got that fat ass Harris.” He looped the rope around Harris left wrist and pulled that arm behind Harris’s back.

Harris lurched forward, stood up and knocked the guy off balance. The man was not much bigger than Andy. Before he could move he felt a searing shock on his right thigh. He fell back to the couch dazed.

“Hurts doesn’t it.” The man reached under his mask and extracted the speaker of the voice distorter. “Amazing what science can do.”

The man waved a cellphone in Harris face. “Looks like a cellphone but hurts like hell.” He touched Harris lightly on the shoulder.

The jolt wasn’t as strong as the first one.

“Don’t worry this is non-lethal unless you have a pacemaker but packs enough to punch to keep you pacified. People drop like flies. I sneak up behind them. A little touch and down they go.”

“You’re the Stalker?”

“Clever man.” he grabbed Harris by the chin and give his head a sharp twist. “Now what did the bitch Detective tell you about me?”


“Lets dial this up just a bit.” he tapped a key and shocked Harris again.

This time the shock singed his tee-shirt.

“Nothing.” He rubbed his shoulder where had been shocked. “She played that recording of you. That’s all and told me to be careful.”

“Ooo to be afraid of little me. Let’s get this out of the way.” He yanked Harris’s tee shirt off, pulled the rope from under him and this time tied his hands behind his back.


“Did she tell you anything about the case. About me.”

“No. Just that the guy I … who I stopped at the park … wasn’t you.”

“True. He didn’t have one of these, did he?”

He took a battery pack out of his back pocket.

“On its own it just jolts.” He plugged the battery pack into the taser. “With a power boost it will do more. Even kill. You have been the nearest connection to me the police have.”

“Connection?” He pulled at the ropes. “You took the risk to get those pictures of me. Great way to stay out of the way of the police.”

“Pictures of you and your famous movie star friends. You a Nobody, getting noticed.”

“Right, I am a nobody. I didn’t ask to ….”

“I know. No one asks. Like those poor assholes on their way home from work, from school. So innocent and bam I get them. They’ll never forget me. Even if they never know I am.”

“Play time.” Harris called to Andy.

“This’ll be fun.” Andy replied.

“What the fuck!” the man was stunned. “Who is that?” He looked around the apartment and noticed Andy for the first time. “Get over here.”

Andy remained silent.

Harris racked his brain for what order to give next. If only Andy could walk? If only Andy could make phone calls he could get a message to Rick.

“I said get over here. You little friend seems scared or something. You want me to hurt you?”

“Yeah I’d like that?” Andy giggled.

The man walked over to Andy and smacked him.

“Is that the best you can do. I can take it a lot harder than that.”

“What the fuck.” he punched Andy in the stomach.

“You like to play rough do you.”

Those had to be the pre-programmed phrases for s and m play he’d seen listed in the manual.

“Fuck it’s a goddamn doll.” The man gave Andy a dismissive shove.

The shove unbalanced Andy and the elf topped forward knocking the man over and landing on top of him

Harris stood while tugging at the rope around his wrists.

The man struggled under Andy. Turning over but not able to get Andy off him.

“Harder Andy.” Andy’s face was at the man’s chin. His hands began to open and close to pinch the man under him.

“You like that don’t you.” Andy said.

“Time to bite.” Harris’s wrists were getting looser. “Squeeze me.”

The doll’s mouth opened and closed on the man’s chin. The man twisted his head away. His mask was pulled off. ‘Squeeze me’ brought Andy’s arms closer together. The man’s face was covered with camouflage make up.

“Let’s jack.” This command jerked Andy’s forearms up and down rapidly about an inch.

“Optimus Prime.” Harris said. Those were the words he’d programmed for Andy to get an erection.

“Fuck me.” The man struggled trying to push the doll off him. Andy’s hips began to thrust.

With a grunt the man heaved Andy off him, and rammed the doll against the wall. He held the doll with one hand and tasered it it repeated with the other till Andy’s arms stopped moving. His fingers continued to twitch.

While he was occupied Harris dashed to the door. He had it partially opened before the guy grabbed him. Harris hit at his face with his elbow. Connected with a punch to the face. The man’s head was slippery with the camouflage paint.

The guy swung him back into the room and on to his stomach, shocking him on the back each time he tried to get up. Harris could smell his flesh burning.

He grabbed Harris by the hair.

“You like to play it rough. Well, I’m no wind up doll.”

Out of breath Harris sagged to the floor.

“That’s more like it. Get up.”

He pulled Harris to his feet.

“Let’s get out a breath of fresh air.” He pushed him the balcony. “That’s a fair drop I’d say.”

Harris nodded. If he appeared dazed by the taser he might lull the guy into a careless move.

The guy kicked the lounge to the balcony wall.

“Up you go.”

Harris stood on the chaise. He glanced over the edge.

His apartment door flew open. It was Detective Alverez and Agent Devros followed by apartment security.

“Hold it right there.” The man barked. “Or he’ll go over.”

“That’s what you think.” Harris leaned against the retaining wall and the chaise slid, knocking the man over. Harris clambered over him and into the living room.

“You’ll never get me.” The man shouted.

Harris turned around and the man was balanced on the balcony railing. Harris lurched forward and caught him by the calf as the man launched himself into the air.

They fell back. Harris hit his head. He lay still while his heart slowed and he caught his breath. An officer helped him to lie on the couch.

“Where is he?” He shook his head to clear it.

“Sir, it’s all under control. Please keep still.” A medic shone a light into his eyes. “You’ll be fine. Let me help you sit up. You’ve got bad electrical burns on your back.”

The police had his attacker handcuffed nearby. He was glaring at Harris as they started to take him to the door.

“Can you get me paper to write on and pen.” Harris asked Detective Alverez.

She took a pad out of her purse, tore off a page and handed it to Harris with her pen.

Harris wrote down the words of the curse as best as he could remember them. He trusted that intent was more important than accuracy. He rubbed blood from his head wound on it when.

“Can I talk to him?” He called to the policemen with his assailant.

They brought the man closer to him.

“Sis amplexibus Amor alios mututa memini et amoris in mutationes memini.” Harris said as he tucked the curse into the man’s pocket. As he spoke he began to tremble. Pain shot across his chest. A strong cinnamon scent made him gasp for air.

“What the fuck.” The guy looked around. “The faggot is giving me his phone number.” His face paled and he grabbed his stomach. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“I hope the number does you good where you’re going.” Harris’s trembling increased. The pain in his chest was worse as he gasped for breath.

“He’s going into shock.” One of the medic shouted. He fit an oxygen mask over Harris face. “Relax. Take deep breaths. That’s better. Now rest on your side while we tend these burns.”

Harris nodded yes. He let himself be laid on his side. His body relaxed as he breathed in the oxygen.

The police took his assailant out. He felt safe.

“You’re a lucky man Mr. Stevens.” Detective Alverez stood where he could see her. “How did you get that signal into the building’s security system?”

“Signal?” Harris took the oxygen mask away.

“I was keeping my eye on the feed from your floor Mr. Stevens.” The building security explained. “I noticed that Muslim lady get on the elevator. She was alone. I thought that was mighty odd to begin with. They’re always in two or threes. She didn’t get off her at floor either but yours. When you asked her in I thought that’s odd but …. anyway a little while later the system burped and all the monitors were showing this fight scene. I thought maybe cable system had broken into our feed because the images was a lot clearer than ours. Anyway I recognized you and called the police.”



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