Gym Bodies

Disability After Dark returned after a hiatus with two podcast – a clear demonstration that Andrew Gurza does in fact like to come twice when he can 🙂 One is about gym life and the other explores kink. In reality both, to me, involve being confined to some machine and made to sweat in fancy gear. Personal trainers sure make tough dominants eager to show one the ropes.

The image of healthy male fitness always includes sunlight gently warming a six pack. Though everyone I know, even those six-pack packers, want to lose at least another 5 to10 lbs. to be happy. What then? Stop going the gym? This cultural drive for the ideal male body is impossible to escape. One of my tumblr feeds frequently features Middle East bodybuilders, wrestlers – so this drive for ideal body is not just a North American fixation.

I’ve never been to a gym in my life. From Andrew’s description of his experiences & expectations I don’t feel like I’m missing anything. His fantasy of it being an inviting place for working out & cruising come directly from porn not reality. Not that cruising doesn’t happen but usually that hot guy hanging around while one is working out is waiting for you to finish with the piece of equipment you are using not waiting around to use your equipment.



As much as I find fit, toned men attractive I’m more attracted by men who are comfortable with their bodies as opposed those who seem constantly unhappy and needing to lose their birth weight to be happy. Kink will have to wait for another week.


Lorca’s Bones

they’re looking for Lorca’s body

in a mass grave

sorting the bones of wrongfully dead

for the right white bones of the poet

will they give him a proper burial

will they piece the bones together

parade them through the streets

give them their own reality show

Lorca – Remains To be Seen

make jewelry – Lorca lockets

the sacred relics of the poet


they’re looking for Lorca’s remains

sifting thousands of fragments

with traces of his dna to test

did they have a poem written

the blood of the poet

lifted with modern forensics


they’re are digging for Lorca’s remains

near the olive trees

bones hair toenails

what will be left after all these years

scraps of his clothing

his handkerchief to put over his face

the two bullets

in the arse because he was queer


a mass grave of men herded

by the fascist militia

shot in the back

they knew who he was

some intellectual queer

whose words weren’t enough to save him

a poem can stop a bullet but not death


he couldn’t live for ever

doomed as we are all doomed

the brilliant brain not enough to evade

to avoid the mass grave

in some ditch


they are digging fields for Lorca’s bones

but they’ll never find them

they are buried in my bones

in yours

in every poet who has bled


HotDamn! It’s A Queer Slam

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

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

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Dark of Five


in the dark of five in the afternoon

I have no fear of death

just a fear that putting it in words

becomes an invocation

to what needs no invitation



duende knows no time

no clock no light

nothing is needed

nothing is sacred

diversion is sacramental worship

as long as there is no need to focus

there is no need to fear

there is nothing to push away

the duende brings its own ripe red bite

the edges are crisp clear

you are just wretched rat shit

hoping that you have a way out

there is no need to escape

there no where to go

where the black ribbon won’t tie you

cannot define you but will end you

no need for need

all will be hidden revealed discarded



my fear is that only in death

will I be discovered

that the vast treasure I contain

will only spill forth

like gold nuggets hidden under my skin

when death slices that thin membrane

to send them raining ringing like love



in the dark of five

do I dare invoke duende

while I sit at my window

the fade of an ice etched day

the mortal cold of that snap grip

dances between dust flashes

the empty air ghost filled



I call upon the balsam east

rising hope’s dream language

to assuage pain it can never cure


I call upon the spruce south

the scald of blooded lusts

words tossed to defend portents

all that has passed and will come


I call upon the Douglas west

a sense of past to build on

recall the many who have stood here

to evoke from you a shared memory

our separate histories that

understand pine but see a different box


I call upon the evergreen north

the clarity of moon on brittle snow

the gash of revenge regret atonement

join with the strength from below


the earth that holds divines the future

it has the silence of the sky above

the sun to reflect on us

who count on words to illuminate

what turns out not to be seeable

in the dark of five in the afternoon

Several people have asked me about this piece. I thinks it’s a good one to end the year of Wednesday’s with. We are in a time when it is the Dark of Five O’Clock. As well this is the ‘dead’ of winter and the piece deals with death. It is an older piece written with the clear influence of Federico García Lorca. Ive read bios, have a fat collected works – fat with English on side & Spanish on the other. I read it every other year.

The title comes form one his better known pieces “Five in the Afternoon” His line goes: It was five of a dark afternoon! The line was more a prompt which took me in many directions as opposed to an homage to Lorca but something in which I tried to capture his poetic essence. It started as a series of random images – not in the order here. I wrote them over a couple of weeks as well.

Some of it is a contemplation on the nature of fame, creativity & mortality. Lorca was well-respected in his time but not financial successful. His sexuality & the culture pressures around otherness shaped much of his voice, though at least one biographer call it his “tragic flaw.’ Fuck – it was his culture’s (& many other culture’s) response to otherness that is the tragic flaw.

There is also a reflection on the notion of ‘as ye think, so shall it be’ So to think of death is to invite it? to rush it? To write about makes those thoughts more concrete. My fear isn’t of death but that writing about will cause it 🙂

I love some of use of language & images in this & when I perform it speaking lines like ‘ripe red bite’ ‘the black ribbon won’t tie you’ “raining ringing like love’ give me great pleasure. They show some of the Dylan Thomas influence on my writing. As I edited it for flow I broke it into sections then titled the sections. The Consternation section, for me, is magical in the clearness of the image & the power of the subtext.

Lorca often wrote about his cultural folk lore so the final section is pure Canadiana. I have participated in various ceremonies that call on the power of the directions . a ceremony that runs through Native North American & South American tribes, as does appear in Wiccan traditions as well. After I was done I did some research on the trees for each direction, the assignment is mine though. Then I wrap it up with the image that started the piece.

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

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

Queer C’s

26-door01Out to ‘c’ in classical with stand alone CD of music by: Aaron Copland: Ballet Music; Corigliano: Symphony 1; George Crumb: Songs, Drones & Refrains of Death. Besides ‘c’ they have a queer connection – Copland & Corigliano being queers, while Songs etc is based on the poetry of Lorca – the famous queer Spanish poet.

26-door03The Copland contains Fanfare, Appalachian Spring, Rodeo, Billy The Kid: music that is the epitome of butch Americana – music doesn’t need the ballet to breathe life into it. Evocative, vigorous and romantic this is a fun & easy to listen to & it easy to understand how it’s become orchestral ear candy.

26-door02John Corigliano’s Symphony No 1 is his response to losing so many friends & strangers to HIV. Somber, elegant and oddly romantic I find this to deeply meditative without becoming maudlin. I also have his sound track music for Altered States – talk about range & obscurity. Both harken back to a more traditional orchestra sound.


26-door04George Crumb: Songs, Drones & Refrains of Death; also includes his Quest. This is very modern classical music – textured, rhythmic and challenging. Death is mesmerizing to listen to – sung in Spanish it conveys a sense of Lorca’s loneliness & captures duende chillingly but, to me, misses Lorca’s sensuousness. If you want a taste of modern classic this is a good place to start.



To disconnect a vid it is necessary to follow these  steps

1. The power source must be diverted at the central junction box. If you are unaware of where this junction box is do not proceed. Take the matter to the Vid Engineer or his apprentice. To attempt any disconnect without accomplishing this step will result in serious damage to both the vid and to yourself.

Once the power has been diverted proceed to on to the next steps

2. Remove coupler v12 from socket 54c.

3. Check the three section adapters. If there is any damage to any one of these it must be dealt with before you can go any further. These are the second most vital portions of the vid. Each directs the appropriate fields of laser, sub-atomic and v’th frequency to the hard drive of each machine.

4. Double check that the first three steps have been successfully completed.

5. Proceed to the vid you wish to disconnect. Turn it on. There may be some small power reserve as each vid does have an emergcap. This power must be allowed to discharge. The discharge time can be anywhere from one to two suns.

However if the screen is colourless you can proceed directly. This means the all power has been depleted.

6. Remover the power shields at the back of the monitor.

7. Remove the power shields that surround the hard drive.

8. Unplug the red coupler from the monitor. Then unscrew bolts 5, 7c and 9. This will allow you access to the image vector. If it is warm to the touch allow it it cool before proceeding.

9. Push the three black sliders top the far right on the hard drive.




January 3 – launch of Lazarus Kiss – here14257567_1162384753819933_3271661288579707843_o
on going 🙂 when new podcast are posted:  Disability after Dark  iTunes


my first local feature in over a year: location date TBA

it came in

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

June 9-10-11: attending: Capturing Fire 2017 –


check out these poets from  Capturing Fire 2015 & 2016

August 31-Sept.3


November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo



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

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr


The River’s Tongue

I am a Federico Lorca fan, even though I didn’t start to read him till the early 2000’s. I’ve read a collection of his ‘complete’ poetry more than a few times – each time it gets richer & speaks more directly to me & sometimes through me. The Tell-Tale Throat is clearly influenced by my reading of his work.

sweet avon
sweet avon

My poetic influences are all over the map mind you – John Barton to Wordsworth – some more directly obvious – Dylan Thomas; others less so: Ginsburg, TS Eliot, Muriel Rukeyser, Anne Sexton. Poets are always the sum of the voices they have heard, voices that meld and create the distinct voice of the individual poet.

muddy river
muddy river

I can’t say I have a favorite, or even favorite genre though I have paid some attention to gay poets of history: Cafavy, Sappho etc. Less and less does one have to read between the lines – even though the poets often had to hide their orientation between the lines.

dream boats
dream boats

There still seems to be odd tendency to minimize the connection of the sexuality of gay or bi poets to their creativity – while reveling in the connection to hetero sensuality when it is expressed. It’s like a knife to the throat cutting off what the poet wants to say.

my coming attractions
my coming attractions

August 21 – Wednesday – attending – Blithe Spirit


August 22-25 – attending – FanExpo 2013


September 3 – Tuesday – attending – School Night!


September 8 – Sunday – attending – Cabaret Noir

September 18 – Wednesday – attending – Guys and Dolls

inner space flight
inner space flight

September 20 – Friday – attending – Racket at the Rocket

September 25 – Wednesday – attending – Measure For Measure


September 26 – Thursday – hosting – The Beautiful and The Damned


October 11-13 – attending Gratitude Roundup


June 6-8, 2014 – attending – Bloody Words

writing sample
writing sample

The Tell-Tale Throat

I was dreaming of the river’s tongue

I woke with a dagger in my throat

I felt it sharp    deep

the morning sun reflected

from a ruby in the hilt

my impulse was to pull it out

but I was afraid

would my heart’s breath flood out

so I left it

in the mirror my face was pale

but not as ashen

as the skin around my wound

I showered careful

not to push the dagger deeper

dressed gingerly

let me tell you

it isn’t easy getting things

to slip over a dagger

but I wasn’t going to let

a pain slow me down

people avoided looking

directly at the dagger in my throat

they could tell it was there

my eyes were a dead give away

the pleading hope

that they wouldn’t touch the hilt

the prayer that one of them

might recognize the ruby

and have a way of releasing me

I knew in my heart

that they couldn’t accept what they saw

let alone be willing

to share the burden of this opportunity

sometime the wind wraps its hair

around the hilt of the dagger

to give it a playful tug

that would stop me in my tracks

gasping for air

clutching for something solid

I would hear the chuckle

of the breeze as it let go

whispering it would return

never did it have so much fun

I have to sleep on my back

no rolling over lest I plunge

the dagger right though my neck

the blood’s tear drop ooze

barely stains my sheets

barely discolors my shirt

I no longer dress in white

the contrast of those crimson drops

is too harsh

the only times it become unbearable

is when the playful wind comes along

and when the first shaft of morning sun

hits the ruby while I lie in bed

the rich red light stings my eyes

as I wake from my dream of the river’s tongue

Cape Breton
Cape Breton