“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) capfireslam.org 

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

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Regifting 101


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. Who knew the simple life could be so complex. This is number 25 from the 30 nissaggiyas.

Regifting 101

That’s alright

please keep it

I don’t really need it

I have too many already

it’s not quite the right fit for me

the colour is right for you

I don’t know

when I’ll ever use it

I want you to have

you’ll get more use out of it than I would

I can’t begrudge you anything

of course you can have it

I only wore it once

let me see it on you

it really suits you

it looks better on you

than it ever did on me

no I don’t hate it

it’s just not right for me

they were on sale

you’e be doing me a favour

I never want to see it again

too many memories

time to move the energy out of my life

if you don’t want it

I’ll have to throw it away

I don’t it to go to waste

it’s too good

to drop in a donation box

I want someone I know to have it

you won’t regret it

don’t thank me

thank whomever

gave it to me

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Myths And Realities

I went to Glad Day on Thursday Oct 19 to take in the ‘Myths And Realities Of Artists’ Health Panel Discussion’ by Mahlikah Awe:ri, Charlie C Petch and Dr. Chase McMurren. The event was co-produced by akinprojects.org & artistshealth.com. It was to start at 7 but by the time I arrived at 6:30 there was already a full house. Each of the panelists presented different myths & realities. 

The first myth was our expectation of social media – allowing ourselves to be caught up constantly comparing our progress with the posted progress of others & feeling we never measure up. Personally I think the real myth of social media is that it is a platform for selling yourself & if it isn’t then you are the problem not the medium.

I suspect the only people who make a million selling stuff on the internet are people selling books about how to make a million dollars selling stuff omg the internet. On-line life can be distracting though & somewhat addictive: what so-&-so is faint can be much more compelling that re-writing that poem or working on that painting.

Another myth – the one I really related to – is the yearning to fulfill the expectation of ones passions – if we aren’t always consumed by passion then we aren’t creating – the reality is that passion is the spark, the fuel – not the fire – passion needs to be contained to be productive or it consumes itself & the artist leaving them drained & unproductive. An affirmation that I use is: writers write, not wait, for inspiration.

One of the realities discussed was finding time to create, make a living, & having an opportunity to just be. The myth creatives are constantly productive leaves little opportunity to be still – being still leads to stress one isn’t doing or fulfilling their passion. Stress leads to …. well we all know what stress leads to.

The focus was more on the mental & psychological than the physical health of creative people. With only an hour for the panel & some discussion it was rewarding but it could have gone on for two hours easily & covered these few issues in greater detail. Check out the resources at akin & the Artists’ Health Network – one step towards better health & greater creativity is to step out of isolation.


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Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr


‘silence is manslaughter’

Hot Damn! launched it’s 4th season (may the 4th be with you) at  Buddies In Bad Times Theatre Thursday night with rainbow-high-energy, out-to-win slammers, fearless open stagers & a wildly enthusiastic full house. Charlie Petch was in fine form keeping things flowing & the energy somewhere over the rainbow.

First set of open stagers & slammers: by the time you are able to read this, you may not remember me – I was told I could pave the way for women, why can’t I pave the way for all mankind – teens decomposing their own songs – this place smell of chance & lost dreams – less that nothing is still something – if it all means nothing, why not have fun – I dream of things I never want to see again – I wake to fear walking above ground – pour smoke over my heart – Wendy’s pigtails never fit the little boy that worse the – you wanna say best & breast comes out – I say I’m sorry more than I say I love you.

Andre Prefontaine’s feature set was amazing – emotionally resonant, overflowing with rich images, vibrant precise anger, & sassy theatricality. Honey, he was tougher than any nail they used to stab you – my Dad uses your homosexuality like a pair of scissors that cuts you out of his picture – worry about the future is a tragic waste of your imagination – I’m so calm it’s almost like disassociating – don’t you know how difficult it is to blow someone and do origami at the same time – hold the bible like brass knuckles – silence is manslaughter – people killing people for killing people.

After a much needed break – during which I got to hand out flyers for my feature (see below) – I picked up a couple of copies of Andre Prefontaine’s new chap book & got caught up with Vanessa McGowan. (when is her Hot Damn! feature?) I started out the second set of open stagers with my hair piece (see below).

From the rest of the night: that little crack makes you so human – I’ve never been struck by lightning – my body tells the truth when it shows the scars that anchor me to the reality of what happened – biting is cool, bite marks are not – we can’t use my name as a safety word – you left tiny blades my throat where you name used to be – the art of drowning in perfect make up – the rest of you is still living – never explain lost battles for your recovery – somehow your pain is never about you – being gay is more than whatever gender you choose – anatomy trump compassion – that word holds a power I cannot overcome – do you know where you are – chill of frosting in my bones – I smell like a Wes Craven movie –

Scores were added up & an array of prizes were handed out. Teddy Syrette took the Queirdo Prize for funnest bingo poem. Ezra Stewart took first spot in a tight race for a chance to win the big big prize: a trip to Washington DC (if Canadians are still allowed into the USA next summer) to attend Capturing Fire.

Next Hot Damn! is Gueph! Sept 30th. Hot Damn! returns to Toronto at Buddies In Bad Times Theatre on November 30.

Don’t Touch (My Hair)

she was a stranger

who felt no compunction

in reaching out to touch my hair

I must have been in my mid-twenties

at the time

my hair was freshly washed

shoulder length

‘it’s like baby hair,’ she said

I was a natural blond

even blonder

after a month of summer sun

‘I would kill to have hair like yours’

she smiled

‘thanks’ I replied

not adding

that I hate my hair

I hate it being so smooth

hate being asked

are you a boy or are you girl

being called fruit

by guys because of my hair

not that I was mr masculine

to begin with

shortly after that

I dyed my hair for the first time

I wanted a change

I bought a home kit

to make it permanent jet black

the look was striking

my mother said

‘what were you thinking’

I went to work

raised a few eye brows

but no comments

the black faded after the first wash

so much for permanent

in a week it was ash

in three weeks

back to baby fine blond

my hair

was like my sexuality

something I couldn’t disguise

no matter what women

I flirted with

no matter what I tried to call it

bi questioning pan

no matter what I drank to blot it out

it would always be

like my hair

something I was powerless over

something I hadn’t constructed

something I had to live with

I remember my first perm

a head of tight blond curls

they bounced in the light

it was my face

but a different me

the stylist conferred with a colourist

both agreed

that my hair was too fine

to hold colour for long

that it would be a shame

to tamper with it anyway

the permanent curls

would flatten within a week

I wasn’t willing

to go to bed with hairpins

so I’d get that perm

every month or so

I loved my hair for the first week

then a week of doing what I could

to keep the curl in

it was too much work

too much time checking in mirrors

I had a friend who was

what he referred to as a hair burner

he touched my freshly washed

uncurled hair one day

‘you have baby hair

I have clients

who would kill to have hair like that’

I said

‘I hate my hair

it’s too much work’

he said

‘do you trust me’

I let him do what he wanted

it took a couple of hours

that first time

to cut it short short short

then incise with electric razor

patterns into the hair

sometimes a maze

other times circle or triangles

always different

then he died

murdered by HIV meds

I shaved my head for his funeral

no one would ever touch my hair


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Suicide 1

Suicide has been in the news with a couple of celebrity deaths. Pop stars whose music I know vaguely – now regarded as troubled geniuses – as if their actions were the final proof of their genius.   I guess I’ll never classified as a genius because I choose to live & to live relatively sanely. It seems that in our culture the more one teeters on self-destructive instability, or survives a tragic past more authentic their creativity is regarded.

Before starting drinking suicide was already a part of my thinking – it seems a viable option to the other possibilities the culture I grew up in offered queers. Homosexuals were considered doomed to lives of unfilled emotions, relationships that went nowhere, incarceration or mental ward commitment. At one time prison also seemed a viable option: behind bars with men.

My creative heroes were self-destructive suiciders: Dylan Thomas, Yukio Mishima, Hemingway, Gauguin. Mishima did it is the grandest way too. This would be my romantic ending. So when I started drinking I was following in their footsteps too. My attempts at suicide were all fuelled with booze & done while drunk – as you can tell I failed.

The last one was on a New Year’s eve, my last on the East Coast. My attempts as relationships wither either sex were stonewalled – unlike most drunks I never met a rescuer. I staggered out of party early & back to my apartment, started to fill the bathtub with hot hot water & my favorite bubble bath. Razor blade ready for when the tub was full. While it was filling my roommate arrived home with his girlfriend. I didn’t want an audience so turned the tap off, went bed & passed out. In morning I decided to get out of Cape Breton.

The Moose in the Moon  http://wp.me/p1RtxU-P5

for untold millennium

the moose were happy on the moon

they were free to roam without predators

living on moon moss and small cheesy rocks

they had nothing to fear

except in mating season

when the males had to prove

who had the biggest antlers

after untold millennium

of basking in earth shine

they began to wonder

if there was more to life

the moon began to bore them

it was so small

they had roamed and combed its surface

there was no longer an abundance

of moon moss and cheesy rocks

the battles during breeding

had become limpid half-hearted events

soon there were only four moose left

on the whole of the moon

where once there had been millions

the forlorn moose looked to the earth

when the solar winds blew

the smell of water and pine

wafted to their nostrils

two of them longed for escape

while the other two

felt it was fated they should remain there

these two pairs argued endlessly

plotted revenge to teach the others

the error of its beliefs

they spent hours grunting at each other

glaring over moon rills

stomped so much dust

the sun was clouded over

the sun didn’t like to get moon dust in her eyes

she decided it was time to step in

so with a flare

she carried two of the moose to father earth

he could now take care of these creatures

on earth the two moose were overjoyed

they had new fields to run in

they began to multiply once more

they were safe till distrust came amongst them

when they were attacked by a cunning creature

that appeared as a robin to some

and a smelt to others

in fear they would bellow

to the moose in the moon

to return to where they were safe

chapbooks for sale http://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6


Thursday – September 7 at 7:30 PM – 11 PM – HotDamn! It’s A Queer Slam


Tuesday – September 19 – feature – Art Bar Poetry series – 8 p.m., Free Times Cafe, #20 College At., Toronto – $5.00http://It’s No Accident


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

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr


‘The gateway drug to gay’

The heat, the Fire & Pride were all impossible to avoid on Saturday – one had to experience the heat & Pride to get cozy with the Fire. Temperatures, with humidity, were in the 30s. iced coffee was a latte in microseconds. After the late night at Coffy I got nearly enough sleep to face the first workshop of the day at the Keegler, that is once I found the Keegler – it was closer than I realized but parallel to my hotel not north of it. I think the start of the Pride crowd in DuPont Circle got me slightly disorientated. Sweaty shirtless men can have effect on me before 9:30 in the morning.

The workshop with Sonya Renee Taylor dealt with body – not how we view out body image but how we relate to the body as writers. Where does something resonate outside of the intellect? A provocative workshop that was way too short to fully explore things beyond the intellectual level.

Next I took in the First Kiss reading – which wasn’t as sweet or even-bitter sweet as the title suggests. The pieces, for the most part, were emotionally direct, angry & disturbing. Mine was the anomaly – sweet & a little nostalgic. Those who were the most ‘troubled’ garnered the most appreciation – I clearly haven’t suffered enough to be an authentic poet.

mail came through the slot during the workshop

I followed the with Jillian Christmas’s workshop on Perspective – it looked at how we as poets need to find ways of writing from perspectives outside your own to enlarge out world view. How to do this without seeming cultural appropriation is part of the challenge. I enjoyed the conversation around this issues and the writing exercise as well. By now it was time to rest – I had misspelled ‘hand’ twice – first as ‘hard’, then as ‘herd’.

After a recharge, mediation, shower & change of clothes I was ready to face the SLAM part of the summit. Crowds at DuPont circle where even thicker so I took a different street to evade them, but they became inescapable as walked over to 14th Street. It was the largest blocks party that makes Toronto’s pride seem small & provincial. I learned later that a par tof this spread was due to anti-corporate sponsorship Pride posters who managed to stop he parade at one point. More about that in another blog post.

I got to Busboys & Poets by 6 pm – which amazed me considering the heat – maybe the fact that I didn’t get lost once helped. Ate sensible food, consumed fluids & got asked to be one of the judges for this portion of the semi-finals. I have had some experience 🙂 8 slammers, 2 rounds & the top 4 were to go on to the final slam.

Round 1: supper was a getting of grievances, I wish you wouldn’t yell was wish never granted, like the earth sounds when we are six feet under, love themselves with the lights off, remedy this by sleeping with anyone who will sleep with you, their lips sealed but open, I’m the gateway drug to gay, more mistake than man, it’s only real if it hurts, I can tell them anything as long as that anything isn’t the truth, without F’s A’s are meaningless, F won’t get a kid out of bed in the morning, the ring on her finger was a noose around her neck, holding hands makes me a target, own the words that burned us’

Round 2: punishing us with green bean casserole, you have to fall before you can fly, sometimes it’s better to shut up & pay the bills, one day you’ll be okay, shaping the idea of themselves in the air, jars of gas station wine, all I’m ready to do is cry, silence acts lie a step to one side, let unwanted visitors come inside, my memory creates an illusion, any more than a hurricane is a breeze, mental illness is a good scape goat it lets white entitlement off the hook, fuck the idea of blaming this on trauma’

I was drained by the end of this – multitasking isn’t my thing: so eating, listening, judging, make blog notes & looking fab in my tee took its toll. After the top 4 were announced I made the difficult choice of getting out of there. The Pride block party had spilled out over the areas blocked of traffic for it so there even more of those shirtless men to spot but by now they were stumbling and out-of-focus – clearly the heat had gotten to them not the booze, party favours and protest.

Past Washington posts http://wp.me/P1RtxU-1e3

Ghost Kiss

I was eight

Peter was ten

his grandmother

in tight plum slacks

was a million

the occasion

his hallowe’en party

I was dressed as a ghost

my mom’s easy-to-do costume

I didn’t want to wear that

old faded to pink red sheet

with uneven eye-holes

‘you’re the scary crimson ghost’

my mom smiled

with a nudge

I trudged off

anticipated mockery in my ears

Grandma greeted at the door

popping her teeth out

‘who wants a kiss’

she would purse her lips

if you wanted one

you’d get the wrapped kind

if you didn’t

she’d cackle

‘ha ha I’ll give you one

before the night is over’

pirates ballerinas

cowboys spacemen

kids in real costumes

Peter was dressed as a ghost too

only he had curtains

nylon and sort of transparent

they were really spooky


we slipped off

to a cool upstairs room

stripped off and reappeared

in each other’s costumes

to fool everyone

and when Grandma

caught sight of my naked little body

under those curtains she shrieked

‘you horrid horrid little boy

how could you do something like that’

and sent me home

no treats

except for the moment

when Peter and I


hugged kissed

then got into the ghost costumes

many of us still wear today

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

Supreme Music

26-fab01My John Coltrane collection is so large I considered dividing it into 3 posts but instead I’ll list what I have & share the history of his music in my life. First the list – some are stand-alones, some are mp3 collections: w/Monk w/Monk Complete 1 2; Prestige Complete 1 2 3 4 w/Gillespie; Blue Train; w/Adderley; w/Harden; w/Davis: Kind of Blue Atlantic Complete: 1: Giant Steps/ My Favorite Things/Jazz/Bags/Ole; Atlantic Complete 2: Plays the Blues/Sound/Avant-Gard/ Odds; Impulse compete 1 Coltrane/Ballads/Hartman/Crescent/ Plays/ Ascension/ Living Space; Impulse complete 2: Stockholm/ Birdland/ Transition/ Living Space/ Sun Ship/ First Meditations; Africa Brass 1 2; Live Village vanguard 1 2 3 4: A Love Supreme Deluxe 1 2; Live at Newport; bits & pieces; Live in Japan; Blues For Coltrane. You can see why I wanted to split this into three posts.

26-fab02On the east coast I bought, at the Metropolitan (I think) – a department store that had a rack of discontinued lps that was briefly filled with a raft of Impulse deletes including a double Impulse lp of Coltrane ‘hits’.  It included a section of Supreme, After the Rain & now forgotten others. I also had a track of his on a Sonny Rollins best of. That was it for years, decades in fact. I enjoyed the Impulse cuts.

Then in late 90’s I mounted a production of The Servant & wanted some music for it. I heard Blue Train on the radio & loved the brass sound & bought it. Blue Train, on Blue Note, is one of the few lps Coltrane record with a brass section & it is a fine way to get into him, or jazz itself. This catapulted me into total fandom.

26-fab03Over the years I’ve added nearly the complete works, his own group stuff, his sideman recordings & his work with Miles Davis. I also have some excellent biographies. I really had to know more about his creative arc – from session player, his work with Davis, his own work & the dramatic spiritual change in his later career once he escaped heroin.

The Prestige work is session work, fun pairings, various quartets & not overly challenging. With Gillespie he is part of the big band sound with a few sweet solos. He’s learning & expanding. With Monk he begins really exploring. With Davis he starts to come into his own.

26-fab04He steps out into real solo with his Atlantic work  & becomes more challenging. Giant Steps is superb. I love all of his releases – too many to list. Blues, Sound are classics of any jazz era. But he seems to run out of steam & when he moves to Impulse we get lps of covers of things like Favorite Things. Though his work with Ellington is amazing & I love his Johnny Hartman lps too. Africa Brass is superb. Then he gets clean, gets his teeth fixed & bam the big shift with A Love Supreme. An lp I have to play twice in a row. The Live in Antibes Supreme is magnificent.

Crescent, Meditations, Live at the Vanguard: the list is above why repeat it. The live material is wonderful & exhaustive & often challenging in its aggressive free jazz flow. The Love Supreme Deluxe edition includes a live Love that is worth the price of the set. Live in Japan are performances shortly before his death. Blues For … is a tribute cd of covers. Coltrane is as close to God in music as one can get.



“Will the frail blocking Aisle Six please get a move on. Will the frail blocking Aisle Six please get a move on.”

Aisle six? Aisle six? I looked up from my shopping list. I was having trouble reading my handwriting, again. I really have to start printing. Was that tomato paste or tomato pasta?

“Will the frail blocking Aisle Six please get a move on.”

Aisle Six? That was one aisle over, wasn’t it? I just had to get these last few things on my list. All I needed now was the tooth paste, or was that tomato paste? What did I need? I visualized my bathroom, then the kitchen. God it was time to replace those tiles over the sink. I wonder if they have any of that adhesive glue I saw advertised on TV last night.

“Will the frail blocking Aisle Six please get a move on.”

A hand gently touched me on the shoulder.

‘Can I help you sir?’

‘No, no. I’m doing alright young man.’

‘Perhaps if we moved your cart over a little others could get by.’

‘You saying I’m in the way? Is that what you’re saying? Spit it out.’

‘Sir please. Let’s just move along. You have your list there? Good. Perhaps I can help you with the it.’

‘I suppose you might be of some use.’ I handed him the list. ‘Does that look like tooth paste or tomato paste to you?’

He squinted at the list. ‘They’re both on the list.’

‘Are they now? Well now we are getting somewhere.’

The young man pushed my cart to the end of the aisle.

‘You wait right here sir and I’ll get these things for you.’

‘No, no. I can do this myself. Don’t want to end up with the most expensive brands you know. Money doesn’t grow on lawns anymore you know.’

‘Yes I know that sir. Follow me then and we’ll have this done in a jiffy.’

He ran to the next aisle.

‘Not so fast I’m not as quick on my feet as you are, you know. You know that don’t you? Can’t you see that? Not so swift on my feet.’

‘Right sir. Here we are. Now which brand of tooth paste would you like. We have mint gel, antiseptic fluoridated Crest with plaque guard or do you need a denture cleaner.’

‘These are my own teeth. Just give me something that works and doesn’t cost an arm and a head.’

‘Here’s the store brand. Wintermint.’

‘Good. That’ll do.’

‘God damned frails,’ he muttered under his breath.

Frails? Frails? Was he muttering about me. Well I’d soon put a stop to that. I pushed my cart over his toes.

‘Ouch!’ he hopped up and down on one foot.

‘Sorry sonny gotta get a move on.’


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



March 4, Saturday, 8 pm: my first local feature in over two years: Glad Day Books



attending: Saturday, March 25: 9 a.m. 2017 TORONTO SPECFIC COLLOQUIUM


April season 3 FINALS – Friday April 15th Buddies in Bad Times – early show – 7pm startgames


June 9-10-11: attending: Capturing Fire 2017 – flight & hotel booked already



check out these poets from  Capturing Fire 2015 & 2016

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



November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo




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

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bag blue fabric


Harnessing Fashion

03-greendcw-01I once had a pair of grease monkey coveralls – a button up the front onesie – tattered, stained, clearly once well-used for what they were intended. I bought them at an Army-Navy surplus store (are those still around?). I wore them when I went out dancing – no glitter for me or snug denims – I wanted, & enjoyed, the image of the grease monkey. I’d wear only a jockstrap underneath & felt very, very sexy.

On a recent Disability After Dark, Andrew Gurza talks about his experience with fashion & dressing for sex appeal – baiting the hook. Like his mobility, his options were limited. What was comfortable was functional not fuckshallwe – dressing for suck sex. He is frustrated in trying to get clothing that make him feel sexy rather than make him feel shapeless in sweats. No one is designing for his market – male or female. I think that would be an amazing Project Runway challenge.

When What Not To Wear was broadcast I was a big fan. They were very articulate03-greenplants-02jpg about the emotional & psychological power of clothing, on both the wearer & people seeing them. I get a different response when I wear a white shirt than I do do when I wear a paisley shirt. My black leather jacket elicits a different response than my denim. The world is shallow, first impression do count & if one wants a second impression the first should invite it. But when you can’t find clothes beyond the functional it is hard to create that impression.

03-greenbottle-01Andrew found that a leather harness made him feel very sexy & desirable. I’ve seen the photos & he does look hot in it – but my experience with leather is that guys who look good in leathers look good period. Andrew is hot regardless (even in sweats). But the key is how it makes the wearer feel. Because we end up projecting how we feel.

Leathers, though, are also indicators of S/M, B/D sexuality & those attracted to it have that expectation. Andrew is comfortable with that indicator. My experiences dressed in harness, as good as it looked on me, made me opt not to wear it as a fashion accessory – it brings too much subtext to be used as a mere accessory. For the same reason I don’t have handcuffs dangling from a belt loop.

03-greenplants-04I blogged about my underwear experience – Daily Jocks. Taking the step away from functional & utilitarian to underwear that is clearly sexy, fun & better tailored, has in fact made me feel sexier. Even if I’m the only one who sees it, it changes me. I know the power of the garment. It is for the wearer as much as it is for the viewer. Maybe I should help Andrew pick out some undies? Finding & fitting a pair that could contain his package would be hot.


After The Fallen

I’ve fallen down many times before

I didn’t even notice

until you helped me up

you are so strong

you did that seamlessly

I only had to reach up

not that falling is something I do often

and when I say many times before

I mean this time it came as no surprise

took so effort on my part

I felt like an old hand at it

but your new hand

pulling me to my feet

was worth the effort

was worth looking a tad silly


I sure hope I was elegant

falling with all the grace of death

of a leaf in the wind

landing delicately on the ground

distracted at the moment

by the sheer smoothness of the fall

my descent was casual

didn’t call too much attention to it self

it flew like a dance

with you as the perfect partner

for the swanning gesture

of your effortless lift

me the shooting star

unbroken by its perfect landing

but one thing I have to say is

I did not fall for you


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



March 4, Saturday, 8 pm: my first local feature in over two years: Glad Day Books



April season 3 FINALS – Friday April 15th Buddies in Bad Times – early show – 7pm startgames


June 9-10-11: attending: Capturing Fire 2017 – flight & hotel booked already



check out these poets from  Capturing Fire 2015 & 2016

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



November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo




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Personal Appearances


Personal Appearances

it never feels right

to stay very long

sometimes the personal appearance

is enough

say hello to everyone

give a few choice words

then get out of there

that’s always been my policy

make the right impression

be noticed

then get out of there

before people get too bored

always be the one they want more of

not the one the’ve had enough of

so I never say much

just enough to show I’m aware

silence is the birth of wisdom

I can do that

give them something to talk about

when I’m not there

I like to get the ball rolling

then get out of the way

if things go well

I get the praise the respect

if they go wrong

no one hold me at fault

in fact

they apologize

for not fulfilling expectations

of themselves

not of me

I’m never there long enough

once I get the praise

I’m out of there

getting another ball rolling

somewhere else

11-elec04It’s not that I’m anti-social or that I have to be centre of attention either but Law 16 reminds me I’ve never been a fan of the ‘party.’ Socializing, networking, schmoozing, have never appealed that much to me. Hanging out with a bunch of people who are drinking, ducking out for smokes, ducking into the washroom for stimulants – has never been my thing. Even when I’m the one giving the party.

11-elec03At the Loyalist workshops there was always a gathering on the last night where our group and the painters would meet up at a local restaurant to share a meal & socialize. I hated it. Up to twenty people, half of whom didn’t know the other half, making small talk. Spare me. Four at a table dining out is more than enough for me. 20 is impossible.

11-elecred02When I do go to these social occasions I try to do what this piece says. Personal appearance. Arrive on time, shake a few hands, chit-chat, eat, then get out of there. Even when I went to readings regularly I found it awkward to make conversation with people who were looking over my shoulder for more important people to make conversation with.


The piece ends with a bit of fantasy, in that I doubt if I’m that crucial to an event that anyone even notices when I leave & I certainly don’t get many balls rolling – at least not in such a public setting 🙂

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Lazarus Kiss.02

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.


“Excuse me.” A man brushed them as he hurried past them almost knocking her purse off her arm.

“I’ve known Dave since high school.” She had to follow him. “Like ten years now. Some people don’t believe we’ve never ever done it. You know how hard it is to stay a virgin. Yes, I’m a virgin … Can’t you tell? It’s not that I’m afraid of sex or anything or even that I was saving myself, but it just worked out that way, you know.”

Why was she telling him she was a virgin? It wasn’t something she’d set out to be but with Dave in jail for several of their years together and then her bout with cancer there wasn’t opportunity for anything beyond giving Dave hand jobs to convince him she wanted him.

“I see. You don’t want to be late for that rehearsal.”

“Are you married?” Yes, check if he’s free. It’s not too late to start her own life. This one was predetermined and fixed. Everything done for her because everyone felt she was fragile and couldn’t deal with anything not even her own wedding. It wasn’t her fault her parents were dead. That she really had no one to call family other than the aunt and uncle who had brought her up. Plus she did enjoy people doing things for her.

“No. But you are going to be soon.”

“Don’t you find me attractive.” She shouldn’t have said anything about being a virgin. He probably suspects she’s a sort of a religious nut. She shouldn’t have worn the red wig. It made her look sallow.

“It’s not that …”

“Please.” she grabbed at his hoodie sleeve and he pulled away. “There’s must be a bar nearby.”

“No, I have …”

“It’s just a drink. I’ll pay.” She pulled a credit card out of her purse. “I’m not …”

“No. Not tonight.”

“Later tonight?” She got out her cellphone and looked to him to give her his cell number. She hoped he didn’t notice her taking a picture of him once she turned it on. “I can call you after the wedding rehearsal.”


“Here’s my cell number. Call me around ten.” She wrote the number on the first piece of paper she found in her purse and pushed it into his hoodie pocket. “Even if we aren’t done I’ll leave. Dave won’t mind. I’ll tell him I’m not feeling well. That …. his mother is making me sick. He’ll understand.”

“No.” he started to walk away again.

“I’m not like this usually. I want you to know that.” She had never felt such a sense of being on the verge of freedom. That this man was her new protector, saviour from the life she had been living. Till now she never felt she had the strength to escape. She didn’t want marriage, she wanted escape with this man.


“Then maybe …”

“No. Get going or you’ll be late, won’t you?”  He walked quickly away.

She felt useless, defeated. Her cell phone rang.

“Where are you, Francie? Everyone’s here.”

“I’m … I’m on my way,  Dave. I got lost leaving the subway station.”

“That’s my gal. Having a blond moment?”

“Redhead tonight. I’ll be there a few minutes. Sorry.”

It didn’t take her long to get to St. Anne’s. She looked at the lights in the hall. She looked at the stranger’s picture on her cell phone. Could have been better lit but looked okay. Sweet smile. She posted it to her Facebook page then switched the cell phone off and walked back to the subway station.

*3 – Sunday*

After the lunch dishes were done his mother left him and his Dad at the kitchen table.

“Time for my afternoon nap. There’s apple pie if you want any.”

“Only your mother would serve quiche and follow it up with pie.”

‘Thank’s Mom.” Harris cut a slice. “You want a piece Dad?”

“No, thanks Helen, I’m crusty enough as it is.”

“For sure.” His mother gave his Dad a kiss on the forehead and left them.

Harris’s father pulled his chair closer to the kitchen table. “I don’t know if you’ll understand this but it’s time to tell you anyway.”

“If you’re going to tell me about the facts of life …” Harris laughed. His father’s face was serious. Shit! Time for the big ‘C’ announcement.

“Ah no Harris, if only it was a simple as that. Occasionally impossible things happen, you understand?”

“You stole me from gypsies.” Crap it is the big ‘C.’ Who is it going to be, his father or his mother?

“Have you ever wondered why you haven’t had a girlfriend for more than a week?”

“Sort of, but I figured the right one hadn’t found me yet. Hard to meet a woman who knows who Morbius is.” he plucked at his tee-shirt. God they were lining him up with a neighbor’s daughter. Better that than the big ‘C.’

“You’re closer to the truth than you realize.” His Dad scratched himself under the chin.

“Truth?” This should be easy enough to nip in the bud. “You mean the truth that most guys are only interested in getting what they can. Look Dad I know you think it’s time for me to settle down. You were married by the time you were my age but when I’m ready, I’ll do just that. Guys are getting married later these days. Being single and in your thirties isn’t end the world any more, at least for men.”

“It’s not a matter of you being ready. You’re a lot like me, I wasn’t ready, though I always thought I was. You’ve never had a hard time with gals, right.”

“Yeah. Guess that’s what makes it harder to worry about finding the right one.” Harris leaned his chair away from the table.

“How about guys?”

“What do you mean. As in gay? No! You think I’ve never had a girlfriend because I’m gay!”

“Just asking. Your mother and I want you to …”

“Yeah. Yeah. I will when I’m ready unless you have a potential bride lined for me?” He set his chair back down.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that you may never be ready. It may not be up to you. It’s … Hell … I don’t know how to say this … It’s a curse.”

“Oh yeah! The curse of good looks, you mean.” Harris flipped his hair and patted his belly.

“It has nothing to do with looks, trust me. Till I met your mother I was like you, always found it a breeze to meet women, enjoy them, more than I could ever keep track of.  Seemed to happen every day like clock work. I knew that if it hadn’t happened by a certain time it was going to any minute. But it wasn’t always women. A few times it was a man. Which I declined …. ”

“You telling me you’re gay, bi or what.” He stared his piece of pie. Was it okay to eat it while his Dad was going on? Yes it was.

“Harris you aren’t listening. It wasn’t something I could control but I could control what happened when it did happen. I turned the men down instantly but carefully. I recognized they weren’t acting their usual selves. It was a compulsion to be near me.’

“Yeah, now that you mention it I’ve experienced that. Women who wanted to be near me. I guess there have been a few guys too but …” Harris stopped. He could dimly picture a time that had happened but only that it was a male – no face, no conversations, came to him, not even what had happened after. He cut another big piece of the pie and started to eat it.

“See! You can’t remember, can you? Can you tell me who you dated last month or even last week. That’s what it was like for me too.”

“You mean I have inherited a short-term memory problem? I can remember who I work with, where I live.” He recalled the pretty woman on her way to her wedding rehearsal. He could almost see her face. What had he done with her number? She did give it to him didn’t she? He had stuck to his decision not to screw her. Hadn’t he? Possibly he did and now had forgotten it.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that people will find you attractive, irresistible. Strangers on the street. Once a woman in a car that passed me, turned around to follow me. She only had a glance of me. It’s the family curse. Your grandfather suffered from it too. It might go back even further for all I know.”

“Does Mom know?”

“I tried to tell her once. You know your Aunt Clara?”
“Mom’s sister – the one who lives in England.”

“Right. She did visit once. When you were thirteen.”

“I don’t remember her very well.”

“She was going to spend two weeks but only stayed about three days. Your Mom and me left her with you while we went for groceries. When we came back she and you …” His dad raised his eye brows. “were more than playing house.”

“What? She was having sex with me?”

“Your mother walked in you and her naked and …. well …. she threw Clara out of the house. Wanted to press charges but I didn’t think it was a good idea. I said to wait a few days and see what you remembered. By the end of the week you didn’t remember Clara had visited.

“When tried to explain about the curse to your mother she thought I was trying to make out it was your fault. That her sister was the victim. I couldn’t make her understand. So I gave up.”

“So this curse is a witch’s hex?” He waved his fork like a wand then put it down. “Put on our family for what reason?”

“I don’t know, but I do know we have this effect on random strangers.”

“Doomed to …”

“Never find love or something like that.”


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