At 6s and 7s

At a recent AA meeting we were discussing steps 6 and 7. (6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character. 7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.) The longer I’ve been clean and sober the more important these two steps have been for my continuing spiritual and emotional progress. Though some may feel my progress has been rather slow, or even negligible, it has certainly continued.

As step 6 was being read I had a small realization – a spiritual awakening to sorts – that when I came into recovery I had no character! What I had was the facade of a personality – a personality constructed by prevailing cultural restrictions of acceptability. I was formed by reaction or by compliance not by any sort of actual deep thought process of my own. Right or wrong were dictated by popular vote not because I felt something was right or wrong. I accepted many things without questioning them.

“Being queer was sick – I was queer therefore I am sick.” I accepted that feeling that it wasn’t something I could change but had to live with in secret. Not questioning that theory was the ‘defect of character’ I had to address in recovery not the fact that I was queer. This is how the steps have worked me – layer by layer – like an archaeological dig – dusting the surface is a good start but eventually one has to dig deeper. That’s were the ‘humbly’ comes in.

Often there is a reservation about the religious language in these – God, Him – why would one expect a doctrine that has labelled us as ‘abominations’ do anything to help us. This is a great, almost logical, way of avoiding the change these steps offer. I’m not Christian but I’m willing to let a Christian surgeon save my life. Of course if I chose to die I can use religion as a smoke screen for that decision. I choose to live.

AutoCorrect Perfect

there’s always something

my eyes don’t catch everything

words lose their meaning

thanks to auto spell

I often don’t know what I’ve just said

or if what you’ve written

is what you’ve written

so I don’t feel so responsible

for those little typos

that change love to leave

that change emotionally comithtemnt

I mean commitment

to being committed for emotionally disfunction


there’s always something

that’s why I count on your eyes

to pick up what mine miss

trust me no matter how right it appears

it needs you to make more better right

I couldn’t do it without

those sharp insightful comments of yours

you find what slips between the lines

while I’m so busy

making sure those lines are straight

to your perfect heart

Chapbooks available:


kiss3on going 🙂 when new podcast are posted:  Disability after Dark  iTunes

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


September: TBA

November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo


June 8-9 attending: Capturing Fire 2018

check out these poets from  Capturing Fire 2015 & 2016

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee  – sweet,eh?

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

No Longer For Free


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. These are from the 30 nissaggiyas. This is where 9 Not to ask for a good quality robe from two dāyakas who are saving money to offer one each. took me.

No Longer For Free

I decided to stop

giving it away for free

when the bar manager

made it clear my free

wasn’t bringing enough

in drink sales

drink that cost more

that I could afford

because I was giving it away for free


every poet every performer

was expected to give it away for free

that’s how it was done

our opportunity

to give it away for free

was paid for in what the bar earned

we were worth our weight in foam
which is ultimately worthless


each poet was there for themselves

not for the others

because what given away for free

became valueless not priceless

when I decided to stop

giving it away for free

it was as if

I priced myself out of the market

a market that went on

without me


giving it away for free

let me

forced me

to devalue myself

because people may be grateful

for free

but they only respect

what they pay for

and I deserve at least

as much respect

as your next drink

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

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Waiting for the Boats

Waiting for the Boats

most of the village had gathered

at the dock to await

the return of the fishing boats

wild storms the past two days

worry has made the nights even darker

the usual distractions

offered brief respite from our concerns

none could take the choir seriously

no one wanted to listen

to the moose bone prognosticator

even his words of good cheer

felt flat and hopeless

the village elders could read the clouds

with greater accuracy

than any of the soothsayers

reading those tumbling moose bones


we had being on the dock since early morning

since before the dawn of time it seemed

anxiety rippled through the crowd

as each cloud became clearer with the rising sun

‘that one looks like a grand piano’

which meant to some a grand catastrophe

and to others a rhapsody of a catch

by noon there wasn’t a cloud in the sky

and there was no sign of the fleet

some of the older boys had been sent as scouts

to the hill that overlooked the far side of the inlet

to see if they could see anything

their tiny ant arms signalled

that nothing was seen

this was not a good thing

no one was willing to leave the dock


some of the women started weeping

till they were told to get back to the washing

with that the crowd began to disperse

aimlessly we went back our normal routine

which for us children was

skulking and malingering

thinking of ways to get out growing up

and having to face the fishless future

we knew the fleet would never come back

that our way of life was now ended

all the prophecies were coming true

life was pointless struggle only made painful by hope


there were two suicides before night fall

the spirit had left our village so quickly

the leaves on the maple trees

in Whistling Woods shuddered

with no breeze


as the sun dipped beneath the horizon

a wisp of smoke scuttled across the sun

the first of the boats was returning

I wrote the Village Stories many years ago & although they are familiar for many of them I have no recollection of actually writing them. These versions have been checked for typos once or twice but were then left to simmer. Some where performed, collected into a sequence & some, like this one, were kept but ignored. I’m looking at them with fresh eyes.

I am working with some standard East Coast tropes in this one – the waiting for the boats to come in is real enough – though I never did it. Storms could wipe out a fleet overnight. I knew of men & women who would look at the sky & predict what the weather would be like the next day & sometimes they were right.

‘that one looks like a grand piano’ comes from Chekov’s The Seagull – seagulls the sea side cliche – so it was fitting to use it here in an attempt to show off my deep literary roots without distracting from the scene 🙂 Of course no Village Story is compete without a mention of the moose.

The sense of waiting also reflects families waiting after a coal mine accident – the deep concern for whose husband was not coming back to the surface. The fishing & mining families lived with this fear constantly. A sudden rough sea could swallow fishermen on event the calmest days. It couldn’t be predicted. There’s also sense of the loss of the fishing industry on the east coast – lobster is still harvested but the industry was destroyed by corporate greed & then the fishermen were blamed.

It’s also a lateralization of the cliche ‘waiting for one’s ship to come in’ – the kids questioning the value of the cargo of the future, the women getting on with routine rather that waiting, people unable to enjoy what they have because of their anticipation of the ship, giving up before it arrives. So, for me, the piece succeeds on several levels as all good mythology does.

Hello sailor.

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Lazarus Kiss.27

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.



Alex put in the last screw of the new lock. Switching the front door to a punch code punch would keep Linda out. He’d told his tenant on the first floor not to admit her. He tossed down the screw driver to answer his phone. Linda had called repeatedly, hanging up when he did answer or to leave messages to the effect that he could go fuck himself for all she cared. Now she was calling from a friend’s phone.

“Whose phone are you using now Linda.”

“Alex? This isn’t Linda.”

“Harris? Sorry I was …”

“Expecting Linda.”

“Yeah, well, we had a big blow-out this morning. I had to block her calls.”

“Sounds rough. I was just wondering what you were up to?”

“Other than changing a few locks. Nothing. Where you at?”
“Can we meet for a coffee or something.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” So Harris had come around. He wasn’t sure he’d hear from him after the mess he’d made of things the other day. “Any place in mind?”

“That Mug Thuggs near Sherbourne.”

“Sure. I can be there in, say, half-an-hour.”

“See you then.”

He hung up. Enough time to wash his face and hands. Should he change his clothes. Nah. Let sweat do the trick that fresh rain hadn’t done. He changed out his tee-shirt and put on one of the KD dojo tank tops. Snug around his pecs.

If he’d had more time he would have jogged from his place but got on the subway at the Broadview. They could spend time getting to know each other instead of sitting half-naked on a sofa. If it went well enough he’d get Harris to walk over to his place. The guy certainly could use exercise and pudgies always responded well to training, especially if it started out light.

He got there little early to be there when Harris arrived. He went to Harris, now Harris was coming to him. He got an ice cap and sat in the window where he could watch.

Harris crossed the street and waved. He waved back. Harris looked actually happy to see him.

A van pulled and veered over to curb. The driver jumped out and ran to the sidewalk. Alex couldn’t see what was going on. Had the driver hit Harris? When he got there he saw the driver had Harris by the arm, trying to force him into the van.

“Let him go.” He pulled the driver away. “I said let him go.”

The driver was taller than him. Pretty hefty, muscular, with tats on his arm and on his neck.

“Who the hell are you?” The guy pushed Harris toward the van.

“None of your business.” Alex slipped off his shoes and moved into a defensive posture.

“Butt out buddy, This is between this guy and me. See.”

Alex spun Dave around. “Not any more.”

In a blur one Alex’s feet shot out and knocked the guy over. The driver fell, reached out and gabbed Alex by the knees.

“So the midget thinks he has skills, eh?” The tall guy head butted Alex

Harris was pulling at his shoulders. “I’m fine Alex.”

“Yeah, listen to your boyfriend.”

While he was distracted the tall guy punched Alex in the stomach. Alex barely felt it. He gabbed the tall guy by the front of his shirt with hand and pulled his fist back for a quick jab. One is all it would take to set this idiot on his ass for awhile.

“That’s not the way.” Harris shouted. “That’s not the way, Alex.”

He released his grip on the shirt and let the tall guy sag back to the sidewalk. The fear in his eyes was enough.

A young woman with a bandana on her head got out of the van.

“Dave. Dave. We can’t block traffic like this. I’m sorry this is all my fault.” She explained to Alex.

“You’re Frances.” Harris spoke to her.

“Yeah. But this isn’t the place …”

“Look. Park your van and meet us here.” Harris pointed at the patio. “Okay.”

The couple got back in the van and drove away.

“Thanks.” Alex looked Harris in the eye. “I might’ve done serious damage.”

They sat at a table on the patio.

“Sorry about that Alex. My life isn’t usually this exiting.”

“It’s not everyday I see a guy I know gettin’ dragged into a truck. Ya know those people.”

“Know, isn’t what I’d call it. It’s a long story. Let’s wait till they get here and we’ll see if we can make sense it. And thanks.”

“For what?”
“For coming to my rescue. You were like Spiderman dropping out of the sky to save me.”

“Yeah. Professional hazard. Next time let me finish my ice cap first.”

He looked Harris in the eyes. Why did I risk that to rescue this schlub.


“I’ll get you another one.” Harris went into the cafe. While the barista prepared a couple of iced lattes he looked out at Alex. He was amazed that anyone like this had fallen into his life. He recalled the Alex from the other afternoon. he could visualize his naked body except for the cock. What might be between Alex’s legs was like a flesh colored super-hero’s crotch, a few lines sketched in to indicate what might be there but not enough to give a hint of size.

He brought the drinks out to Alex.

“You do have some skills.”

“I teach.” Alex plucked at the logo on his tank-top. “Kick boxing.”

“Aren’t you supposed to warn people, like, these feet are considered deadly weapons or something like that.”

“Only in movies.” Alex laughed. “But I do have to be careful. The dojo frowns on us getting too rowdy in public.”

Dave and Kate arrived.

“You go get us a couple of cool drinks.” Kate sent Dave into the cafe and pulled two chairs over to their table. “I hope he didn’t hurt you?” she glanced quickly at the two of them

“Startled for sure, not hurt.” Harris replied. “As you saw my friend, Alex, can take care of himself.”

“Do you remember what happened between us. Last week I mean?” Kate asked. “Like how your picture ended up on my Facebook page?”

“No. I …” telling her about the curse seemed like more work that it was worth. “The police showed me the security camera footage of us outside the subway station.”

“Police?” she asked.

“They only did that because the subway assulter killed a man who bushed us while we were talking. That’s how I knew it was you when you got out of the van. Of course you had long hair in the footage.”

“What the fuck?” Alex said.

“I warned you my world has been more exiting than usual these past few weeks.”

“Let me get this straight.” Kate leaned in. “You don’t remember what we spoke about? At all.”

“Not at all. The footage showed you asking me for directions.”

“To the reception hall. That makes sense.”

“You got your your cellphone and I guess that’s when you took that picture of me.”

“I don’t remember doing that at all.”

“Dave saw that picture, recognized me and …”

“That’s when he assaulted you?” Her eyes widened.

Dave brought coffees for him and Kate and sat glowering at them.

“Listen,” Harris began, “I’m sorry if I screwed up things for you two.”

“So am I.” Dave grunted.

“Well, I’m not,” Kate sipped her coffee. “Whatever it was it made me think about what I was doing. Not that I didn’t want to get married.” she patted Dave on the hand. “I was caught up in things people were expecting of me. I hadn’t been well for awhile, physically, and believed I wasn’t strong enough to think for myself. Now I’m shaking that off. Finding out what I really want.”

“Sounds like you’re a bit of a Spiderman yourself, Harris.” Alex said. “Dropping into people’s lives to save them from themselves.”

“Spiderman is aware of what he’s doing. I’m not.”

“Whatever.” Dave pushed his chair back. “I guess I was bit quick there with you and your boyfriend.”

“He is not my boyfriend.” Alex snarled. “If he was I’d have one of these.” He pointed to a knot tattoo on the back of Dave’s hand. “A little memento of special times inside?”

“You …” Dave stood and knocked his chair over.

“Enough, Dave.” Kate took his hand. “We gotta get going. When I saw you I knew I had to talk to you. But I didn’t expect there’d be this much trouble. Come on Dave. Time to hit the road.”

“You better call the police though. They’ll want to talk to you about what neither of us remember.”

They left.

“What was that business about his tats?” Harris asked.

“A stab in the dark. I’ve trained with guys who’ve done real time, in prison. They get these tats in there that mean certain things. Maybe his mean nothin’ ”

Harris checked him cell for the time. “Cripes it’s getting I late. I have work in the morning. It’s my turn to apologize.”

“It’s not that late.” Alex was crestfallen.

“Maybe not for you.” He stood. “Thanks again though, for swooping down like that. Dave was on me so fast I didn’t have time to think.”

“I get that but who are they? You guys talked as if I knew what was goin’ on. It’s part of this curse business, right?”
“Yeah.” He quickly ran through Dave’s first assault, talking to the police who showed him the security footage. Enough to fill him in. “I hope this the last I see of them.”

“I’m beginning to understand this curse. I can see how a chick like her had no …. ability to resist it … but I’m not weak like she was. Emotionally or physically. Why me?”

“Why ‘us’ is more like it. I’m caught up in it too.”
“Sorry, I can be self-centered. One of things Linda always disliked about me.”

“Sounds human. When someone gets hit by a car all the consider is their injury not of how hitting someone makes the driver of the car feel.”

“That’s heavy man.”

“Yeah Alex. I’ve been hitting people with a car for years now and not knowing it. Now that I know, it it feels like shit.”

“Sounds like they didn’t even know they’d been hit though.”

“Till you I didn’t remember her. I do remember you..” Harris was ready to go down the stairs to the subway. “Don’t worry Alex, this isn’t hit and run. But I have to run.” He reached out shake Alex’s hand.

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Essex Excess

On two cds of mp3s I have David Essex’s Rock On; Essex; All The Fun Of The Fair (these three I had at one time as lps); Imperial Wizard; Out On The Street; Gold & Ivory; Hot Love. Those first three were played & played. I was totally into this British pop sound, engineering was pristine, writing was inventive, sexy and his voice was great, plus he was sort of cute.

There was a sense of progression in those first three lps & the arraignments become more complex, the lyrics darker. Sadly though he never broke through into the US market – big in Europe he never mad eit big here after his first hit Rock On. I’m not even sure his later lps were released in North American because after All The Fun of the Fair he disappeared. He did have a film & stage career but that didn’t even ripple across the Atlantic.

So when I did the upgrades from lp, to mp3, I did a search to hear what else he had done & frankly, the later releases are competent but not as adventurous. I’m happy to hear them but they are for real fans. Those first three are worth seeking out those.

To round out these cds I’ve added some Canadian pop with Bachman–Turner Overdrive’s II, Not Fragile: fun heteronormative rock by some good old boys. Kiki Dee: best of – good voice, fine songs but not enough personality to break into the US market. Lemurian Congress: experimental electonica by a great Ontario band. Myke Mazzei: Septembering – a great collection by an criminally overlooked Toronto folk rocker – worth searching out.


Mike wasn’t accustomed to this sort of fuss. When he had attended gala film openings with Jack the attention was not on him or even Jack for that matter. He rather enjoyed it.

Each time the waiter came to the table it was under the watchful eye of the owner. The waiter would ask and then the owner would ask. He half expected the cook to be brought out at anytime.

‘You are enjoying this?’ Robert squeezed his hand under the table. ‘They like to please you.’ Robert dropped his voice to a murmur. ‘Almost as much as I like to please you.’

‘Am I blushing?’

‘One cannot tell in the candle light. If you are it suits you. You glow with happiness.’

‘Happiness and wine. I mean the wi-ar-jhra.’

‘Ah yes let there be more wiarjhra.’ Robert nodded to the waiter and another bottle of the thick red wiarjhra was brought to the table. ‘It is very good.’


The restaurant floated around Mike in an amber mist. The pressure of Robert’s hand under the table kept him from floating away. Was he drifting on waves of love, lust or this heady drink.

‘What is made of again?’ his tongue was thick. Was he speaking? Or thinking?


‘I see – mango to make a man go mad.’ Mike laughed at his own joke.

The waiter stood beside him, reached over to take his empty plate. He put his hand gently on Mike’s shoulder. Mike shuddered. He had a vision of the waiter flung across the room violently. Blood everywhere. Parts of his head crushed. More blood.

Mike stood. “I … I …. must …’

He stared at the waiter.

‘The messurs is  this way.’

The waiter pointed to the patio door. ‘If you would follow me.’

Mike walked, steadied by his vision. The effects of the wiarjhra cleared from his head and now were to be cleared from his bladder.

Chapbooks available:


kiss3on going 🙂 when new podcast are posted:  Disability after Dark  iTunes

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


September: TBA

November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo


June 8-9 attending: Capturing Fire 2018

check out these poets from  Capturing Fire 2015 & 2016

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee  – sweet,eh?

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

Bakkhai ‘in the key of green’

We kicked off this year’s Stratford excursions by seeing Jillian Keiley’s production of Bakkhai on my birthday. A birthday bacchanal can be good for the soul. The show starred Mac Fyfe, Gordon S. Miller and Lucy Peacock. Euripides’s tragedy is about wine, women and wildness by poet/classicist Anne Carson. Bakkhai’s chorus is comprised of seven women – one for each of the gates of the ancient city of Thebes. Them’s the facts.

I enjoyed everything about the production, in particular the smart techno tribal electronica that carried the chorus though its many chants. The show was set as we entered – a smoking stave with a large pine cone on top – the phallic symbol smouldered centre stage.

The chorus was effective, but for me, too controlled for a group of women supposedly frenzied by the spell of an angry god – Dionysius – wrecking his revenge on the ruler of Thebes for his lack of belief. At times the chorus seemed more intent on hitting their marks while maintaining their complex vocal interactions than creating characters.

motorcycles that buzzed beside us for an hour or so on the highway – like a pair of affectionate puppies

Period blind costuming didn’t add anything to the play: chorus in billowing shifts, men in modern day black suits & toting computer tablets, guards dressed as s&m dungeon masters, a couple of characters seemingly wandered in from a Midsummer Nights Dream. Not that historical period was relevant but consistency would have ground things.

There are several political themes in the text that did seem to be fully developed – was it about women’s right to their sexuality, was it about religious blindness & vengeance. Petty gods throwing their weight about – sounds like the USA today – for not getting the respect they deserve. A man wears a dress for the first time, likes the feeling then gets murdered – sound familiar?

Solid performances from a great ensemble cast that held my attention from the very start. The text has been adapted well, lovely poetics abounded ‘in the key of green.’ Running at about 100 minutes this is production I would highly recommend – entertaining but no bacchanal.

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#Tumblr #Trekking #July

To makes the lazy days of summer move faster I’m posting a set of photos on Tumblr every day. My Tumblr rarely repeats photos that I use on WordPress. I take so many pics the backlog gets bigger every week. This is a good way to share some of the mounting mountain. 

To make it a little easier for me I’ve organized the days according to a specific subject & for the most part stick to it – some are my standbys & others new threads that I noticed.

Monday: will be chairs, sofas. Tuesday: as Tuesdays have always been, will be garages & laneways; Wednesday: cast off clothing; Thursday: shoes; Friday: will be random items or pairs of items – one of a kinds that I haven’t come across since that first shot. Saturday seemed the right day for books; Sunday: Rubble.

Because I’m a poet many of these pictures are allegories not merely nicely or poorly lit objects in which the technology of the camera is the subject. Some are ironic juxtapositions: a pair of jeans under a car’s wheels; a single shoe in a field. I love the laneways because the street view of Toronto is very urban, polished but entering a laneway & one is often in small town Canada – decaying garages, paint peeling doors – what hides behind the facade.


Usually I post collections – all shoes, all paintings but over the past few years there have many single object, scenes, that I’ve never come across another to even start a set so Friday will force connections between these very random photos.



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Glistening Shaft

On a recent Disability After Dark podcast Andrew Gurza talks about, of all things, his ‘little friend’, or rather of how he dislikes his genitals given any sort of euphemism. Having seen pics it’s more a ‘big guy’ anyway 🙂  His dislike comes from care workers trying to deal with their own embarrassment around cock care. The playful names are a way to make light of, as well distance themselves from, what they are handling. In order to be professional that have to watch their language. At least they aren’t calling it a pee pee.

One of things I dealt in my own writing was to get over using poetic language to talk about cock. I was fed up with erotica full of glistening (or any other adjective) shafts, thrusting pillars of pleasure, sword of destiny. Even writers who would give vivid descriptions of bullet wounds, how the knife ravaged flesh or details of guns would write a sex scene in which ‘he entered her.’


We live in a culture in which some things are so private they have become unspeakable – body functions in particular – that’s why bathrooms have stalls, why men in public washrooms usually hug the urinal. Pissing & shitting are so distasteful the organs needed to those functions are shameful & dirty. Not that I’d espouse no doors on washroom stalls – I’m on the pee shy side myself & would always rather an empty public washroom or at least a stall with a working door. Some of my shy comes from paranoia – are you looking at me – when all I was looking for was a free stall – even if I was looking it was to make sure there was room to get past without brushing you accidentally.

In one of my novels I created a sexually active woman & a part of my research was to talk with women I knew as to what they called their vaginas – did they think of them as pussy, honey pot – etc. Some had never been asked. One had ended a promising relationship because she didn’t like the what her partner was calling her vagina & she was shy about saying so.   Asking the question felt a bit odd but I got over that easily enough. I had to ask because no man I’ve ever met thinks of his cock as a glistening shaft and if some guy called my erection that I’d laugh as I pulled on my pants. Ditto for Ass Pussy:

Preach Baby Preach

you know

if more people practiced safe sex

we wouldn’t need

all these precautions

it’s the fault of all them damn

fuck happy sluts

spreading disease

making babies no one can afford

wrecking lives

not caring as they go around

merrily fucking

away without a care in the world

with out a worry

for the medical system

for hospitals

that can’t afford a glass of water

unless someone’s insurance covers it

and my taxes go up

every time some horny idiot decides

to fuck without protection

for their momentary pleasure

if you can’t keep it up

because of some barrier

you don’t deserve to fuck

you hear what I’m saying

unless you’re in the right financial bracket

you shouldn’t be fucking at all

taking risks

bringing babies into a world

where you expected others to care for them

to support you

while you stay off work

to bring them up

so use the brain between your shoulders

not the one between your legs

make some sensible choices

that won’t cost me anything

get that baby carriage out of my way

stop blocking the sidewalks

the grocery aisles with it

if you’d used protection

I could go shopping without

having to shove you

and your screaming brats out of the way

my children are well behaved

Chapbooks available:


kiss3on going 🙂 when new podcast are posted:  Disability after Dark  iTunes

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


November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo


June 8-9 attending: Capturing Fire 2018

check out these poets from  Capturing Fire 2015 & 2016

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee  – sweet,eh?

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

Mugging For the Camera


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. These are from the 30 nissaggiyas. This is what 8. Not to ask for a good quality robe from a dāyakā who is saving money to offer one.  inspired 🙂

Mugging For the Camera

do I need another coffee mug

even from Mumbai

or another t-shirt

even one from Istanbul

do I want you buying me gifts

on your travels


it’s nice to be thought of

but you know

a photo of the mug would be enough

better yet

a photo of you holding that cup

to your lips

because when you travel

that’s what I miss the most

or a picture of you

mugging in the mirror

in your hotel room

with the tee shirt pulled up

with one hand

the camera in the other

and your dick below

catching the glint of the summer sun


I don’t want your overtime work

that pays for the travel

to be turned into some souvenir

that sits on the shelf

until I donate it to some garage sale

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Not Tonight Dear

Not Tonight Dear

I didn’t enjoy it

I never have

but so many do

I had to try it

I thought it might be different

with him

when I said yes

let’s do it

it was no different

I didn’t enjoy it any more or less

that I ever have

I expected

that if I did it often enough

with the right guy

I’d start to like it

start to see why others did it

but it never got more pleasant

in fact

I began to dread it so much

I stopped doing anything

with anyone

I didn’t explain


I kept it to myself

it seemed pointless to be contradictory

to have to explain it to anyone

I thought it might be better

with him

it wasn’t

I kept that disappointment to myself

even tired to act as if

it was great

oh baby oh baby

he was fooled


I was happy to make him happy

looking forward to being together

yet dreading it at the same time

going through the motions

for the emotional pay off

My take on Law 38 reflects on people pleasing – things we do only to keep other people happy. Some of them are done out of politeness & have little emotional cost. Things like saying ‘good morning’ to a neighbour or asking someone how there are when in fact one doesn’t really care & often they feel it isn’t  any of your business how they feel anyway. We do this lock step of harmless courtesy that is more productive than being clearly indifferent or out right antagonistic.

When someone asks me how I’m doing I can’t even be bothered saying ‘ as you fucking cared!’ We all usually nod and say fine & go on or way. Do I enjoy those moments? Hard to say. But like many people I don’t have the energy or the inclination to challenge those harmless social niceties.

This piece does have a more sexual subtext though than mere social niceties. I know that for women for decades this sort of sexual cooperation for the good of the marriage has been a part of the bargain – putting their pleasure last – as if that made them more noble. Perish the notion they might impugn taxi masculinity’s sexual prowess.

I chat with, sometime meet with, guys who are into ‘things’ that don’t appeal that much to me but I’m willing to try – sometimes things that didn’t work with one guy work very nicely with another – often its a difference in attitude as opposed to technique. Also the speed at which things are expected comes into my willingness.

On the first date, as opposed to the fourth date – give me time to warm up to it – I’m a good communicator & let guys I meet know that directly – I’m not in bait & switch. Some this pieces comes from that sort of bait & switch. A guy says he’s a total top then after messing around becomes a power bottom who is pissed off at me for not going with this – not that I mind a power bottom but this switch is the off switch for me.

There are guys who try to ‘guilt’ you into things – someone, what are you afraid of, don’t you trust me, try it – because to many ‘no’ means negotiate & if you don’t negotiate you are a prude, no fun, not hot enough to begin with, or you should be grateful & give in as a way of thanking them for showing up.

If you are a top master dom who wants to train me as his sub & I say no thanks – it’s not because I am a closed minded prude but it’s because … well actually it’s none of his business why.

Like many of the Laws pieces this reflects some of me, but a past me who was eager for sexual experience & said yes to things & then realize ‘not for me.’  Saying ‘no’ doesn’t mean I have a closed mind but is not an invitation for negotiation either.

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

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