Van McCoy Voyage

This mp3 cd collection is filed under Van McCoy and the Soul City Symphony. Sweet Rhythm contains the hit The Hustle – which is a disco icon of the  Philadelphia sound. Strings galore, flute & still a template for dance music that emulates old skool. To be honest I hated it then but now it is sweet nostalgia & more than bmp under a diva’s voice.  Van McCoy died young in 1979 of a heart attack. Sweet Rhythm is easy & sexy.

Peter Brown’s A Fantasy Love Affair is more brilliantly produced dance music. In 1977 his 12″ version of “Do Ya Wanna Get Funky With Me” reached the million dollar mark making it the first gold 12” single in history. This one brings back memories of my arrival in Toronto in 1979 & my discovery of discos in the gay ghetto. This is hip thrusting music, catchy & fun. Sexual & sexy.

These two were performers I had heard of before I downloaded their lps (with bonus tracks). The rest of there were unknown to be, even though I did know the songs. All were ‘discovered’ by tracks posted in my Tumblr feed. My music collection needed more r’n’b from the 70’s/80’s to round it out. 

I have the hits collection by The Main Ingredient: Everybody Plays the Fool that includes Just Don’t Want to Be Lonely. I loved both these songs but didn’t know who originated them. A sold soul band with strong vocals – reminiscent of groups like the The Four Tops – this is great music. Similar but more on the disco side is B.T. Express: Do It (’Til You’re Satisfied) B. T. stand for Brooklyn Transit. Great club music with a strong sexy edge.

I don’t know what the T stands for in T-Connection. This a band out Nassau, the Bahamas. I have the  Expanded Edition of their self titled album that includes the dance floor monster ‘At Midnight.’ The song brings back memories of getting home after Midnight and reeking go cigarette smoke & sweat. A good memory. Similar to them is Con Funk Shun’s Funk Essentials. As you might guess this a dance funk band – one that I’d never heard of before but am happy to hear now.

The holds true for Blue Magic. I have the remastered release of their first, 1974 lp. More in The Spinners mode of funk.  The longest lasting of many of these groups is Earth Wind & Fire here I have their 1980 Faces. I have several of their other lps scattered through my vast collection. Best known for their ballads this is another smooth, funky with a dash of jazzy band that produced dozens of constant lps.

Finally a San Jose, garage soul band Syndicate of Sound: Little Girl. This a bit of an anomaly here as fun, disco isn’t noted for garage bands the way rock’b’roll is – oddly street-corner doo-wop was never considered as garage band – maybe too much emphasis on vocal harmony 🙂 Anyway this a fun lp, energy with interesting r’n’b under pinning.

Had Enough

Except for the bartender the tavern was deserted. Doug ordered a bottle beer. Took a table that wasn’t too dark. He sat and watched the beads of condensation form and trickle down the side of the bottle. They pooled around the bottom. The pool heavier on one side than the other. The table wasn’t level. He wondered if there would be enough bottle sweat for it to form a stream away from the bottle.

As his eyes adjusted he could see the stains of other bottles left to stand on the table. The lights from the bar reflected and distorted on the wet surface of the bottle.

“You gonna drink that or what?”

“Huh?” Doug looked up.

“You been staring down that bottle for the last ten minutes. Won’t jump up to you mouth, you know, you gotta lite it for the full effect.”

Doug looked up to the voice. It was a young man. Late 20’s, he guessed. Shaved head big smile loose t-shirt and baggy shorts.

“Or would you rather be left alone.”

“I’m just having a beer and a think. Not looking to buy anything else.”

“Do I look like a hustler to you?”

Doug shrugged. He didn’t know what a hustler would look like but figured no one talked to strangers in places like this just to make conversation.

“Besides you look to be doing more thinkin’ than drinkin’.”

“Yeah. Well a think is all I wanted. Here …” Doug slid the beer towards the bald man. “I’ve had enough to think for one day.”

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Distant Black Flies

Black Flies

<>

expectations

reduced

to chance encounters

stories to share

suffering to compare

<>

mysteries 

unfold

careful scarfs

spare realizations

fleshy destinations

<>

darting black flies

looking for blood

Jun 76

I remember writing this piece during one of the summer workshops at the University of New Brunswick. It was after the first night there & having met the other writers for drinks, chit-chat & introductions outside of the classroom setting. I think it was around a bonfire or perhaps in the common room of the residence.

Once the usual get-to-know-you information was exchanged – hometown, writing experience etc we moved to more personal stuff mainly bad experiences. Surgeries that went wrong, partners who betrayed etc. I didn’t really have much to contribute about tribulations & as the tribulations escalated it became a contest of who suffered & survived the worst. You had a ovarian cyst , well I had cancer of the brain – top that!

It’s like The Dance of the Seven Veils where we are selective about what gets revealed & never reveal how many veils there actually are. People bonded over shared, similar, unpleasant experiences. At that time I had had no major surgeries, no criminal assaults, no car accidents, no relationships, no children – I was not all that interesting until the workshop really got going & my insightful, no-holds-barred self was revealed.

This shared-disaster pattern is one I’ve seen repeated often over the years I’ve taken workshops, participated in consumer panels, participated in pharmaceutical drug research studies. Strangers quickly bond over shared experiences & if you don’t share you are left on your own, most of the time. Which allows me to focus on why I am there in the first – which isn’t to be liked but to learn. 

I do have a limited number of the original Distant Music chapbook for sale for $25.00 each (includes surface mail postage). Send via the paypal above along with where to send it. paypal.me/TOpoet 

Picture Perfect 33

In the morning he called Dell and Strong to follow up on his email. He was able to get an appointment to see one of them at 3. If Sanjay was serious about this partnership Dan wanted to make sure it was feasible.

A courier came to the door with the proposal from Baxter. He flipped through it. Eye See would entail a six episode arc of one hour shows, each devoted a one of the missing children, and one to review all the findings. He was to examine documents and photographs while he interviewed members of each of the families. 

The shoot would start in late June or early July too take advantage of the ‘scenic’ locations and possibly attract some provincial tourism investments.  There was an initial itinerary of dates, locations that they would be following once they secured consent from all the families. They could shoot around lack of consent by reexamining newspaper clippings of the time and local people’s memories.

Dan sorted through the papers looking for a contract of some sort but there was none. What good was a proposal if it didn’t say how much they were offering to pay him? 

He looked in the envelope and there was one last page that got gotten stuck. It was a handwritten letter from Curtis.

“Dan –

Here is the basic package. Financial details to follow. Perhaps you would interested in a co-production and end up with more than just the standard ACTRA fees.

Let me know what you think

Curtis.”

What were standard ACTRA fees? Crap he was going to need a show biz lawyer to guide him through this shit.

His cell rang.

“Hi babe.” It was Sanjay. “I’m should be home in about an hour. Had to stop for a coffee.”

“Great! I’ll be here with eye patches on.”

“Nothing more?”

“You’ll find that out when you get here.”

“Tease. Bye.”

That meant Sanjay would be home by noon. They’d have a couple of hours to discuss the restaurant proposal and even a make out session. No, this wasn’t to be that sort of reunion. The memory of Peter’s glowing butt cheeks got him hard.

He cleared up the food containers that he’d let pile up over the week. He washed the dishes he’d been neglecting. The flowers Curtis had sent were still where he had put them. They could go into the composter. The vase he tossed into the trash. Not worth saving or explaining.

He put his bedding and damp towels into the washing machine. He didn’t want to risk any olfactory evidence of his play with Peter. Clean sheets on to the bed – clean towels in the bathroom. Tidy enough but not too neat either. 

His cell rang. Call display told him it was Curtis.

“Did you read the proposal?” 

“Yes.”

“What do you think of the title Eye See?”

“I hope it’s a working title. You avoided the important issue.”

“You want your name above the credits? Daniel James’s Eye See? That’s co-pro territory.”

“Threatening to make me a household name isn’t going to get you anywhere. Direct answers will.”

“I can’t help it. I get juiced by new ideas and project and get ahead of myself. My brain thinks faster than …”

“Logic? Practicality?”

“Something like that. But what do you think of the concept, the time line.”

“It sounds doable. I’m not sure I want to spend that much time away from my business though.”

“You won’t have to. It’s easy enough to fly in for each of the shoots themselves. They won’t take more than a day each out of your time. The crew will do the other stuff like location shots and prepping the next location.”

“So that means what? Six days of shoots.”

“That’s right plus whatever we need to do here in Toronto. That shouldn’t take more than another day.”

Dan remained silent.

“You’ll to be paid for whatever research you do.”

“Dan remained silent.

“At your usual rate.”

“What is the ACTRA rate?”

“It varies for hosts, but we’ll offer $2000. for each episode. We’ll be paying for flights, hotels that sort of thing.”

“I’ll want all that in writing. With actual figures.”

“Of course. I’m seeing the Quintex people this afternoon. If you came along it would make it a perfect pitch.”

“I can’t. I already have another commitment.”

“How’s the eye? I’m so, so sorry about all that.”

“I’m recovering. I should be able to play the piano again soon.”

“What?”

“A little joke. I’ll be back to work at the Depot tomorrow or Wednesday.” He almost added ‘I only believe about ten percent of what you tell me Mr. Baxter.’ But opted to keep his doubts to himself. 

“Okay. We’ll talk soon. Bye.”

As he shut off his phone he heard Sanjay pulling into the garage.

“You made good time.” He said as Sanjay came into the kitchen.

“To you perhaps, but I thought I would never get here. Not as bad as driving in Kolkata but still not pleasant. How is this?” He gently touched Dan’s cheek.

“Improved. No real pain anymore. Sore. Only hurts when I look.”

“It is nothing to joke about.”

“If it had been worse I might not be joking.”

They clasped each other, kissing and running their hands over each others backs and butts until Dan pushed away.

“No handy busboys for you in Bobcaygeon?”

“Too early in the season for tender college boys. Besides you know I like them well-seasoned and mature.” Sanjay was pulling Dan’s tee shirt up.

“Slow down.” Dan disengaged. “We have important things to discuss.”

“That can wait.” Sanjay grappled with him again.

“You always use sex to divert my attention.” Dan was glad that after his encounter with Peter his need for sex had been dampened. “Beside the pain meds sort of make me … you know.” He glanced down at his crotch. “I want to to be good for both of us.”

“They better wear off before tonight.” Sanjay grinned. “Or I can’t promise to maintain my restraint.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. We have an appointment with Dell this afternoon. Before making any decisions about your partnership opportunity we should see where we actually stand financially.”

“So you are seriously considering it? I wasn’t sure you would.”

“When did Sylvan spring it on you?”
They went to the living room and sat on the couch.

“He’d hinted at it a few time but when I mentioned to him that I was considering a move back to India be with my family he wanted to know if I was unhappy with my work here. It came around to him asking if I wanted in on the businesses. He plans to continuing expanding and it made sense to him to have his star chef as more than an employee.”

“It’s about time he realized how important you are.”

“I’d rather be that important to you.” Sanjay got up from the couch and went to the kitchen.

Dan followed him. “Look, I’m willing to help if I can afford it.”

“If you want it/ you’ll knot it.” Sanjay sang.

“Not knot it again. Or are you just after me for my money?”

“You’re joking?” 

“Of course.”

“Good.” Sanjay put away the dishes Dan had left to air dry. “You don’t look like you’ve been going hungry.”

“Just because I don’t cook doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use a telephone. Linda sent a care package over to me. Lots of KFC. I know you can’t abide that in the house.”

“I thought I smelled a deep fried rat when I came in.”

“Of course she didn’t deign to deliver it personally so she sent it over with Hamid.”

“Hamid?”

“He works for Linda. I think is last name is Ranj … Randapati?”

“Ranjit?”

“Could be. He says it so fast I don’t want to make him repeat it. A northerner. I could tell by his accent. Not at all like yours.”

“You know a lot about him. Did he serve you more than food?”

“No! I doubt if his jalebi would be as good as yours.”

“What time did you say we were meeting Dell.”

“Three.” Dan looked at his phone. “We better get going. I’ll drive.”

“After that drive home I was hoping you would.”

“So how was the opening?” Dan asked once he got the car into traffic.

“Excellent but tiring. Sylvan asked all the local millionaires to come and rub elbows with some Toronto glitterati. It was like a one of those Tift movie openings. Actors you almost recognize meeting people whose names were once in the news all wanting to be seen with the people whose names and face you knew.”

“You get some autographs?”

“Not from this crowd. Trust me if it weren’t free they wouldn’t have been there. But there were people from Michelin. Sylvan wants another star and will probably get it.”

“Great.”

“Now tell me more about this Hamid.”

“I can’t really tell you much. He lost family in some uprising. He might be from somewhere around … Gurdaspur?”

“Then his name might not be Ranjit.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Some areas aren’t know for their good reputations.”

“All the more reason for him not to want to be there.”

“Those northern guys are notorious lungi lifters.”

“Lungi lifter?”

“Yes. Sleep with anything if the cash is right.”

“He seems genuine enough. Linda trusts him.”

“My point exactly.”

“Are you actually jealous?” Dan parked the car.

“Should I be?” Sanjay said shutting his door.

“Not of Hamid.” Dan kissed him quickly. Maybe of Peter, he thought.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License

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Not That Elephant

‘Give me individuality or give me death’ seems go be the slogan for a well-publicized segment of the population. How large is that segment? Large enough to have a decent press agent to see that their anti-mask agenda gets maximum coverage – while child poverty remains in the shadows. Or maybe it’s all a smoke-screen?

The anti-maskers, line-up with the anti-vaxxers line up with the anti-speller. Sides are constantly being picked. There more energy that goes to picking sides, defending sides, denigrating the intelligence of those who don’t pick your side creates so much dust we can’t even see if we are standing up for anything or just groping in a thick cloud of a smoke-screen. Is the pandemic the real elephant in the room or merely the most obvious one to detract people from bigger social issues.

Is Covid19 a real disease? Or an excuse for draconian mind-control. How soon before not wearing a mask (expect for medical exceptions with proof of said exception) becomes ‘reckless endangerment’ then upped to ‘assault with a deadly weapon’ – breathing will be criminalized. 

Don’t get me wrong – I wear my mask when requited & without complaint – I see it as a fashion accessory (I have twenty or so already) as opposed to a part of a government conspiracy to perpetuate the invented pandemic. My need for individuality isn’t going to force me into a shouting match or fist-fight with some underpaid mall security personnel. 

But this masking is masking people’s addiction to injustice seeking & attention. I stopped following or seeking out the latest covid #s, restrictions, re-openings, conspiracies or prognostications. Life is about change and being pushed out my comfort zone is better than dying to stay in it.

Part of the Solution

<>

I don’t come here to solve anything

or to go on about the environment 

what’s the point of telling you

what you already know

<>

I’m not here to help your relationship 

some things are beyond human help 

I’m not looking for validation

to take away my loneliness

I have to live with that

<>

I don’t come here to pick up chick 

guys

or fashion tips

nothing will be solved by the right shoes

if it were that simple

we’d be dancing in the streets

in shiny new save-the-world sneakers

<>

I don’t debate about what is right to do 

what political sides we should be on

what sports team is the one true team

<>

I don’t have a clue 

what piece of pop trivia 

will tickle and delight

what book you need to read

what TV show will make a difference

<>

we all wait to star in our own TV shows

our first major sale to a minor literary journal

our face on the cover of Italian Vogue

<>

it’s not as if life is an equation

wherein x plus getting an Oscar

equals life is beautiful

besides life isn’t so bad

<>

in fact it’s pretty good

when I don’t get trapped 

by this sense that it has to fixed

by anyone up here

I don’t come here to solve anything

but to experience the mystery with you 

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Romantic Love

out of the archives

TOpoet

“I would die without your love.” “You’re nobody until somebody loves you.” “I want to know what love is.” You getting the picture? These are old love songs – the newer versions aren’t much different, perhaps a bit more cynical but the subtext remains the same – only romantic love is genuine & worth striving for. To knock that fantasy is to be jaded, hard, compassionless & designed for a life of futility and emptiness.

mirror

refection of love

I can’t count the number of men & women I’ve known who have drowned in the despair of love disappointment, who as a result of their investment in that fantasy have ended up in a morass of futility, the same morass they are ready to cast those who don’t buy into the fantasy. So drowned, they attempted suicide, prefer death to disappointment, death to the feeling of betrayed.

shaftoflight

love shaft of light

View original post 402 more words

All My Mayall

One of my friends on the east coast was a die-hard blues performer/fan. He introduced me to John Mayall. The first Mayall Lp I bought was Bare Wires, then Alone (a solo lp in which he plays everything). At the time I wasn’t what one would call a fan though. Blues was too adult for me. I was more California harmonies or psychedelic pop than serious British blues.

I now have as either stand-alone or mp3: The Blues Breakers With Eric Clapton; A Hard Road; The Blues Alone; Crusade; Bare Wires; Blues From Laurel Canyon; Blues for the Lost Days; Turning Point; Jazz Blues Fusion; 70th Birthday Concert. 

Top-40 was not his aim even though the Blues Breakers did feature, at various points Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, Mick Taylor. Although his blues roots ground all his recordings he experimented with where things could go – Hard Road is rock blues; Alone – traditional; Bare Wires added horns for a more soul sound; Turning Point: acoustic & jazzy. After that I didn’t really follow his career. Some of these I had when they were first released, others were added more recently as I filled in blanks in my collection. Clapton fans should have his work with Mayall.

The most recent addition was the 2003 2 cd set: 70th Birthday Concert where he reunites with Eric Clapton, Chris Barber & Mick Taylor along with the then current Bluesbreakers for a great set of old & new material. His voice is in good shape & they all play like wise teenagers 🙂 He’s a survivor & is still performing & recording.

Surveillance

“Did you know Donaldson or Hanson?”

“Not well. They were older bad boys. I mainly hung out with the guys in the chess club. Not exactly a bunch of daredevil trouble makers. You?”

“I didn’t hang out. School and home to do school work. We weren’t encourage to hang out.”

I realized that whatever sort of teenage life Vasili had it was so different from mine that I had no idea what it was like.

“I suppose not. We grew up in a much more liberal climate than you did.”

“Right. Plus you knew who your father was. I had only my sisters & even that was limited by what the state did with us after our father defected. They didn’t directly punish us for what he did, but there were no positive consequences either.”

We were in the kitchen. The organized clutter wasn’t as omnipresent here. 

“I think this was probably where my father spent a lot of his time when he was in the house & not in his shop.”

He opened one of the cabinet doors and there were rows of TVs. Vasili turned on switch and they all flickered to life. Each showed a different part of the house & yard.

“I figure he did this after the those guys assaulted him.”

“Wow! How did you find this?”

“Looking for a coffee mug.” Vasili laughed dryly. “I imagine he sat when I am sitting now and watched these when he wasn’t in the shop. There are vcr tapes going back years.”

“What? He kept surveillance tapes for the last how many years?”

“He reviewed them every day.” He took a book out of the table drawer. “He kept logs of what he saw & kept ones that he might need as evidence. There is only a handful of those.’

“Man he was paranoid as hell.”

“No, paranoia is fantasy. The RCMP actually had their eye on him. Besides after what happened to him he needed real physical evidence to protect himself.”


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Distant Healing

Trigonometry of Healing

1

started this morning;

no, maybe last night,

my memory fails easily

when it comes to this

growing of the seed;

its sprout stabbing me,

who, happily, being blind

didn’t begin to feel

the long planted germs;

never suspected

till the first bloom

of nightmare strangulation

the loss of a limb

a belief

can be a shattering time;

so while waiting

for the pieces

flying off the handle

to smash against the wall

I raged

as the needlessness of it all

I’ve been longing

for a knife across the face,

now, suddenly here it is.

my very wish come true

watch your wishes well

for any one might come true

2

a factory of timid death

sends tip-toeing whisperers 

to my heaving bed,

like me, that think

that I am aware

of how there is

an end of sorts

to the longness

of this road

blood & veins

muscle & organs

skin & bones;

cogs in a tired carriage 

hurtling over a cliff

I am aware

if the time it takes

to devise confusion,

to separate give from take –

give me

take me

one is for sale

the other is for free

3

how to take the poison out

without amputating the limb

has become more of a problem

than the vile poison itself

still, there is no use

in calling for a doctor,

for even if he came

the limb would be in hiding;

as it keeps in hiding from me

the reasoning of the poisoners

4

found straw in my pocket,

it’s been a long time 

since anyone’s been that close;

I get the feeling

that I’m catching up

with my primitive sacrifices,

revelling in my artifices

where pagan dancers

celebrate being outside

the ruins of my past,

as pipers play blue tunes

I rolled about

in flesh-cut wheat

stuffing my pockets

with broken glass;

till it was late night

when the gleaming bastard’s song

hung hateful in the air

steaming in the lamplight;

“make another mistake,”

his choking voice sang

“the time is ripe

your grass is green”

5

taking the potency of fear

from their talk of forward

I think of backward suicide;

scarfing attention for silence

feeling silent containment

makes deeper wounds 

in the palms of my hands

which is better

their small circles

or my brutal ending?

6

now that I’ve invented

a balance for the mastery

of give & take;

I wonder how much it takes

to sooth the pain it gives

to mop the butcher’s floor?

cut out my heart!

cut out my eyes!

package them in plastic;

make the product pure

make the crying laugh

make the sun moon;

I am for sale!

buy me

buy me

abuse me

use me

try me

please don’t turn your back,

for I’ll slip away,

which is the lasting I want

7

slashing once,

down my chest

then again

across my ribs;

leaving a bleeding crucifix

exasperated with

nervous expectations

of the next snail slow blow

what next?

neck?

genitals?

his halting

bumblings

scalpel dropping

make me want to grab the knife

and direct the blade more correctly,

smooth over these jagged ends,

fold the skin over the stumps

so healing leaves neat scars

in obtuse triangles & stars 

where my feet done dangled

where my hands once clapped

he doesn’t want my advice

for he cuts by proxy

working in another room

where I have no say or sight,

besides his eyes perceive

much better than mine can

8

the butcher boy

poisons the meat

with his very touch;

he loves to feel

his hands know

more correctness 

than any others

seeing me ready, as last,

for finally being sold

while in the same motion

being whisked

out of his reach

he fanatically makes the rounds

of all my prime cutters,

smearing them

with grimy hands

9

the damage done,

knowing he has had his share,

I still feel he’s after more;

but I am safe

until we meet

face to face;

so spread me thin

as fast as you can

for I am for sale

but so unsure

Aug 73

You can credit T. S. Eliot for my love of long, meandering, numbered section poems. Here the section numbers included the degree sign after each  but WP editing suite finds that difficult to render & I’m too lazy to figure how to make it obey. Such is life. Such is the march of time too, so with some of these pieces, from nearly 50 years ago my memory is unclear.

I have a vague recollection of writing this as a single piece over the space of about a week. It, unlike some of my writing then, isn’t stitched together with various scraps. I can’t say if I wrote it in the order it appears here – though it does have definite progression. It deliberately references other poems in the book – for example ‘nightmare strangulation’ is a nod to the hangman; ‘straw in my pocket’ to Waltz.

I also play with cliché ‘flying of the handle’ ‘give & take’ ‘the damage done’ – recasting them in ironic contexts or leading them to unexpected conclusions. ‘pagan dancers’ is a reference to my paintings of the time (link) – also the dancer on the cover of the chapbook.

Reading this now I see it as another poem about coming out, about the confines of cultural butcher-boy definitions of gender, creativity, productivity. At the time I wrote this I wasn’t aware that ‘the seed’ was those various elements. Many lgbtq people create themselves from parts of the world around them – our sense of self is the result of our inner Dr. Frankenstein creating from fresh. Not that heterosexuals don’t have to do some of this but they have clearer role-models to work with. It was like being give ten model kits of various planes cars boats that had been opened up & dumped into one pile without instructions.

What parts of me have to be cut out to get to the core? I also sense this use of violence, of bloody butchery as a way to appear more masculine. Being a teenage poet is not as butch as being a teenage football star. 

It also alludes to the fact that I was a cutter. Wounds that no one could see but myself. A self who also had an awareness of his suicidal thinking, which was buried in this piece. I don’t recall anyone, who read this piece or who heard me perform it, ever asking me if I was serious. I guess they thought it was a part of the poet’s pose. Artifice as opposed to a serious mental issue. 

The last lines echo a favorite song if mine – ‘How can I be sure, in a world that constantly changes?’ Today I’m not afraid of being unsure – that’s one of the things that makes me human. 

I do have a limited number of the original Distant Music chapbook for sale for $25.00 each (includes surface mail postage). Send via the paypal above along with where to send it. paypal.me/TOpoet 

Picture Perfect 32

“Are you flirting with me?” Dan asked.

“Sort of. It wouldn’t be appropriate at the cafe but we are alone. You can’t blame me for trying. You’re always friendly but distant and I’ve never found a way to … you know to get your attention. Or it was till you … I mean I saw how you … ah … stiffened when I wiped the latte off your face.”

“I was hoping you hadn’t noticed that.” Dan tried to laugh as if it hadn’t meant anything.

“Hard not to notice.” Peter said.

They both laughed.

“Stop!” Dan tried to calm down. “It’s hurting my eyes.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Dan opened his door to get out.

When he and Sanjay first met he had been seeing a couple of others guys, fuck buddies, but stopped playing after being with Sanjay for nearly a year. Monogamy was never discussed between them. He’d had a few other encounters more to prove he could than because he wanted to. He was sure Sanjay had done so as well.

Impulsively he leaned into the car. “Peter do you want to wash more than my face? Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Yes.” Peter replied.

“Okay.” Dan pressed the remote on his house keys. “Park it in there. I mean your car.”

The garage door opened.

“Yes, Papi.” Peter said and started the car.

“Papi! What? I’m not your Papi, Papa nor am I your Daddy. Understand.”

“Yes, Sir.” Peter said sternly.

“That’s more like it.” 

Dan went in the front door and through to the garage. While he secured that door he looked at Peter. He had none of the physical attributes Dan found attractive in a man. Peter was too tall, too red, too All-American. Too much like his memory of Timmy.

“Hungry?” Dan asked as they walked through the kitchen?

“No one who works at The Carafe ever goes home hungry, sir.”

“I suppose not, but they do go home smelling like a coffee pot that hasn’t been washed in weeks.”

“You want me to scrub down, sir.” Peter started to undress.

“Yes.” Dan could get used to being called Sir. “Stop.”

“Yes sir.” Peter said with his tee shirt pulled partly over his head.

Dan reached out, pulled up Peter’s tee shirt and caressed his smooth stomach. Peter was so white he seemed to glow.

Dan pulled the tee the rest of the way off. 

Peter stepped back. “You line what you see?”

“Undress.”

“Yes, sir.” He quickly pushed his sneakers off, lowered his jeans and stepped out of them crumpled over his shoes.

Dan stopped him as he was about to take off his underwear. “Go upstairs. Use the bathroom by the back bedroom. I’ll be up shortly.” He tossed the tee back to Peter. “Rinse this out while you’re at it.”

“Yes, sir.” Peter took the stairs two at a time.

Dan put the files he had brought home from the Depot on his desk. What was he getting himself into. More importantly why? Wasn’t being horny reason enough? Was he horny or acting out to get even with Sanjay? Proving something to himself? This isn’t what good queers do. Maybe he was tired of being a good queer.

He undressed as he went up the stairs. Kicked Peter’s underwear and socks out of the way and stepped into the shower with him.

They kissed. Rubbing against Peter’s soapy belly got him hard instantly.

“Thank you, sir. That feels good.”

“You like to wash. Don’t you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Be my face cloth.”

Peter soaped and rubbed Dan with his stomach, his ass, the top of his head. Then he guided Peter hand to his ass, let Peter’s fingers enter his asshole.

“You like that sir.”

“Yes.”

Peter took his fingers out and and pressed his hard cock between the soapy cheeks.

“Thank you sir.” Peter said. “I needed to be cleaned.” With a quick push he entered Dan.

“Oh God.”

Then as quickly he pulled out. “I can’t without protection, sir.”

“Good boy.” Dan said. 

“You aren’t disappointed.”

“No. You aren’t disappointed.”

“No, sir. Definitely not.”

They got out of the shower.

“I’ll dry you.” Dan began to towel down Peter. 

“Thank you, sir.” Perter spread his legs to give Dan access to his cock and balls.

Dan was taken by Peter’s smoothness. Sanjay was a hairball, as were most of the men Dan found attractive. Peter’s cock was cut, not as thick as Sanjay’s but longer. He was tempted to suck it as it got hard but resisted. Tease was control. Peter moaned as Dan nuzzled this ginger pubes.

“Turn around.” Dan dried Peter’s back and worked his way down. “Your ass is so hairless. I hope you don’t wax it.”

“No, I don’t wax it, sir.” 

Dan pushed the cheeks aside and licked Peter’s hole.

“You enjoy that?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Don’t shave anything but your face.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dan stood and slapped Peter ass hard. “You are dry enough. On the bed.”

He pushed Peter flat onto his back and straddled him running his hands along his shoulder and then pinching his nipples.

Peter reached up to do the same.

“Did I give you permission to touch me?” Dan twisted Peter’s nipples harder.

“No, sir.” Peter gasped painfully. “Sorry, sir.” Peter let his arms fall back to the bed.

“That’s better. You like being a good boy, don’t you.”

“Yes.”

Dan leaned forward and kissed Peter, sucking Peter’s tongue into his mouth. He felt their cocks rubbing against each other. When he thought he was gong to come he stopped and rolled onto his back.

Peter shifted Dan so that he was spewing him from behind.

Dan felt the Peter’s hard cock gently pressing his hole.

“You have a condom, sir.” Peter asked.

“Just be still. I want to feel closeness of you on me.”

“I won’t enter you without protection.”

“I know. I don’t want you to. I want to enjoy possibility.”

“You don’t really want me, do you, sir?” Peter asked.

“Look, just because I don’t want to get fucked or fuck you doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying being with you.”

“Then what?”
“I haven’t fooled around much since meeting Sanjay. That’s all.” He didn’t want to go into his RCMP history. “All this stuff about consent has made me leery, you know.”

“Is that why you asked me if I wanted to have sex with you?”

“Yes. Hinting and innuendo isn’t enough. A kiss isn’t permission anymore. An erection isn’t an invitation.”

“I get that. Do you want me to make you come, sir.”

“Yes. Do you want me to make you come?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Straddle me. Perfect.”

With Peter’s knees on either side of his head the Peter’s cock was in Dan’s favourite position for sucking. Taller than Sanjay there was also enough room for him to work at it the way he wanted to. Peter was sucking his cock and playing with his balls and hole.

“I’m going to come. Sit on my face.” He pushed Peter up and jacked himself off with that hole on the tip of his tongue. Two strokes and he came. A moment later he felt Peter’s come splatter his belly. Dan let his head fall back to the bed.

“Can I move, sir?”

“Not yet. I’m enjoying the view.” Dan bit one of Perter’s ass cheeks as hard as he could.

“Ow,” Peter gasped in pain. “Thank you, sir.”

He held Peter’s ass cheeks in his hands and massaged them. A light fell on the crack just enough to illuminate the hole and the hairs on Peter’s balls.

“What time do you have to pick up your father.” Dan asked.

“Eleven, sir.”

“Then you’ll need to be out of here by 8:30 in the morning to make sure you get there on time.”

Peter pushed himself off Dan and sat on the edge of the bed. He grabbed one the damp towels and wiped Dan’s stomach.

“Lake Come-O.” Dan said.

“I … I can’t stay the night. It’s not that I don’t want to but …”

“No explanations. Get dressed.” 

“Are you disappointed, sir.”

“No.” Dan was hoping to avoid opening and closing the garage and resetting the security system to let Peter leave. “Get a move on. You’ll have to work harder to please me properly the next time.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m happy to know there will be a next time.”

Once Peter was gone Dan took another quick shower to wash the come off his stomach.  It was interesting to him to take the dominant role. With Sanjay he was rarely the aggressive one, not that he was passive but Sanjay was the one who initiated sex play with Dan as an eager participant. 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License

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Woodstock Degeneration

Fifty-two years ago Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play – actually it was fifty-two years ago this past weekend that Woodstock became a cultural milestone – or was the milestone forged when the film was released? Whatever it did happen & now it serves as a landmark marketed as a product safe for everyone – it’s no long revolutionary or even cautionary. The music itself is mainstream nostalgia.

I have some of the cd releases that get progressively more encompassing to the point where they now include every announcement from the stage – I’m waiting for a cd set devoted to the helicopters landing. I have in my music collection the original lps release plus the full sets by Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix. I’ve even searched out cds by bands that played but that didn’t get recorded – Quill anyone? The live music overall suffers from uneven sound quality & at times bad miking – Hendrix’s set lacks the horn section which is clearly on stage playing with him. It has been mixed right out.

I’ve seen the film, the sequel, the collected bit that didn’t make it to the first two. Currently watching, for the 2nd time: ‘Woodstock: Three days that defined a generation’, an American Experience documentary (one of many) of people recollections about the festival: residents of Woodstock, the organizers, attendees, even some of the performers. 

I’ve read about it, heard about it from people who claim to have been there. One thing that is clear is that peace love was almost entirely a white heterosexual moment. The only openly queer person to appear on stage was the poet Alan Ginsberg. All the cuddling kissing couples in crowd shots are male/female pairs. I guess being hippies was bad enough they didn’t want the burden of real sexual openness. They might be counterculture but they weren’t degenerates.

I mention this because of the importance of representation. Were there lgbtq people at Woodstock? There must have been but they have mostly been erased. Free love was clearly not to be tainted by politically messy same-sex crap. There is one exception, that I know of – Taking Woodstock a 2009 film about the Woodstock Festival, directed by Ang Lee, based on the memoir Taking Woodstock: A True Story of a Riot, a Concert, and a Life by Elliot Tiber and Tom Monte. 

Did Woodstock define a generation? If it did it’s a very narrow definition & an even narrower generation. I heard about it in Cape Breton, I read about it in Rolling Stone, Time magazine. I may have seen some TV new coverage but there was no real political groundswell that lead to social change. Now it’s pledge fodder for PBS.

I’ll Scratch Yours

<>

it’s hard to accept 

that enough is never enough

I can scratch an itch

then minutes later 

need to scratch again

to get what I want 

leads to wanting more

if one-on-one is great 

a threesome is impossible to resist

<>

I’m a guy who can say no

but when I deny myself

I long to be praised

for not over indulging

on my way to sainthood 

when I want to gorge myself

the smug satisfaction of drawing a line

and sticking to it isn’t as rewarding 

as giving in one more time

<>

could be it that scratch

is not the solution to itch

should I try that zen approach

when the itch is ready 

the finger will appear

if only all it took was a finger

can I learn to live with that itch

for another cd another man in the sack

better car bigger house

whiter teeth faster downloads

snappier sneakers flashier T-shirts 

all calling  scratch me now

or forever regret all the opportunities 

missed by resisting

<>

even when I look away

I sense those glittering beacons

just out of reach

straining teasing demeaning me

till I’m on my knees

too weak to do anything 

except beg for some relief

<>

to live with hunger

goes against our get-it-now culture

admitting that I don’t really want to scratch

is met with disbelief

what’s wrong with me

I gotta get with the program

whatever the fuck that is

but how do I get rid of the itch

<>

isn’t there a way to feel free

be comfortable in my own skin

without the need to satisfy some urge

is this need to be free

just another in the long list of itches

<>

scratch my back

I’ll scratch yours

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