Welcome to The F Files

For the summer Wednesdays will be devoted to the F Files – all poems written in the 70’s that I had been filed away in an accordion file folder = F Files. In the 2021 pandemic purge of my file cabinet I came across the folder & over the next couple of month input all of the pieces – just over 7800 words. Many I had forgotten, some I vaguely remembered writing. Some were drafts, some carbon copies. 

They were on various types paper – some repurposed flyers, Famous Players daily box-office report forms. Yellow draft paper, good white paper. Some where handwritten on note pads, scribblers etc. Also various typewriters – my Dad’s office Remington, the theatre’s (the make of which I have forgotten), my old Royal, some with a rented electric typewriter.

I’ve picked ten of them to reflect on start end of  June through July & August, ending in September. I’ve resisted major edits, but did some fixes for punctuation, spelling & typos. I did removed capital letters at the start of every line – one of those grammar rules that I eventually let go of. Same with the use of &. One thing that is ‘difficult’ with both Pages & WP is enjambments. With a typewriter I could just turn the rolled once & type right there.

I also have two ‘novels’ I wrote between 1969 & 1976 that may eventually get serialized here. Unlike the poetry’s which I find fairly good, the novels are clumsy & even more closeted. The first one reflects the influence of the writers I was most familiar with – Dixon & Appleton – not familiar with them? One wrote the Hardy Boys & the other was the brains behind Tom Swift 🙂

early 70’s – I was a fan of Gabor Szabo – one of my drinking buddies was a guitar playing guy whose last name was O’Neill

SzabO’Neill

from fret to fret

the hum of wires

the hopes of fires

not set just yet

to the tune of chances

missed but hoped for again

to give song to fliers

or new steps to dances

break forms into flight

one less note to regret

as your hand flies

from fret to fret

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Disco Chips

May 19, 2021 marks 43 years since I stepped off a plane to arrive here in Toronto on May 19, 1978. I’ve lived briefly on Wellesley St E, Sherborne for about year, briefly in Thorncliffe, Bright Street for a year, Oakdene for some 40 years. I’ve had a ‘real’ job for the first year then nothing ‘real’ since then. I have cleaned apartments, ran a theatre company for about 10 years, became a lab rat for pharmaceutical drug studies.

On the east coast I was working for Famous Players & had asked them for a transfer & ended up being sent to Toronto. The year or so before I left Sydney I subscribed to the Body Politic so I knew there was a gay world larger than the rumoured gay path in the park. I wanted a land of opportunity. 

I remember my first few months here. Discovering the bars, dancing, getting sober. I was a blackout drinker & was afraid of backing out at the Quest & heading for home – which probably would have been Sydney – a very long walk. I learned my way around the subway system going to AA meetings. 

I left Famous when I discovered I had an allergy to money! My job there consisted of counting box off take. often thousands of dollars of paper more & coins that had to counted & rolled & recounted any hand in airless windowless rooms. Money is filthy & we had no gloves or masks or sanitizers. I got rashes on my hands, arms & severe red-eye. None of which worked on the dance floor 🙂

here’s a piece I wrote my first summer in Toronto

Disco Chips

<>

1

<>

electronics

chip away

at the solid state of me

disco chips

chip away chip away 

dance away

till only sweat remains

<>

slip away

escape for a time

a time of being

suck away fuck away

disco chips

chip away chip away

take your time

take my time

take my pace

leave my body

thumping 

jumping 

energy frenzy

fits the pattern

fumbles the patter

<>

then

up your nose 

up your ass

in your mouth

out of your grasp

cuts your palm

across the life line

the pulse line

pumping thumping

flopping

dancing fists

disco chips

chip away chip away

at the solid of me

<>

chip away chip away

suck away fuck away 

dance away

till only the sweat remains

<>

2

<>

I used to laugh

when I was warned

of the lure the scent the heat

of the pleasure palaces

laughed at the phrase

the symbol

till I realized

I couldn’t resist 

the lure the scent the heat 

even when I saw

no real pleasure

no surreal palace

only a whispering wall

a muttering stuttering

wall of eyes

<>

I couldn’t resist 

the lure the scent the heat

<>

3

<>

disco hits

below the belt

disco chips

away the surface reveal 

my fear my futility

disco chips

disco hips & disco dicks

suck away fuck away 

dance away

disco slips

into the ear

then into the blood

<>

no alternative 

no escape

no please

tango prisoners

music fists

pounding me down

driving my pulse

popper clones

danger zones

disco chips

suck away fuck away 

dance away

disco hips & disco dicks

chip away chip away

suck away fuck away 

dance away

till only the sweat remains.

<>

jn78

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Bruce Lee

Bruce Lee

this grief

changes shape

as my sense of the world

changes shape

like water

as Bruce Lee said

it takes the shape of the vessel

yet remains water

regardless of the vessel

 

Bruce Lee was a vessel

for my sexual awareness

the shape of his body

was not contained by the films he made

but by my perception of it

the face

the shirtless torso

filled my jack-off fantasies

then his abrupt death

that grief

a deep sense of loss

 

I didn’t grieve the films he’d never make

but the opportunity lost

of ever having sex with him

opportunity lost to fulfill

a fantasy even then 

I knew would go unfulfilled

a bowl of grief

never emptied 

but eventually forgotten

I wrote this piece after seeing the excellent biography ‘I Am Bruce Lee.’ It featured clips from his movies, clips him being interviewed (he proved to be shy but very articulate) & an array of talking heads reflecting on his fight technique, his films, & they mystery surrounding his sudden death. None of them commented on his stature as an Asian actor, & there was no mention of him as being fucking gorgeous 🙂

I was working for Famous Players in Sydney when Enter The Dragon was released. It was a huge hit. I saw parts of it repeatedly. He was magnetic even with the crappy dubbing & the idiotic sound fx. I kept a couple of stills of him from Enter – shirtless in with black pants. Sweaty, ripped and hands raised ready to fight. I loved those pictures as I could look a his body as long as I wanted to. On film he was too fast, the camera never had a change to ‘ogle’ his body.

The biography brought back a wave of nostalgia for me. At this time I was already a Mishima fan – too bad Lee never got to make the Mishima film – he would have been an excellent choice – but he was never considered an actor of emotional depth. The interviews in the documentary make it very clear he was more than a fighting machine. But like many performers Hollywood Taiwan wouldn’t allow him opportunities that  didn’t include his fists.

I have tried to watch his films & they come across as cheesy & oddly sexless. Crappy lighting & bad camera work doesn’t help. Fast-forward certainly helps zip through the minimal plot & character development to the good bits 🙂 I was grieved by the end of the biography for the waste of his life. It was the same grief I felt when he died & for some of the same reasons – opportunity lost. 

 


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