Flashback Friday
The Iconic C**k
The Iconic C**k (2013)
Tag: Jim Morrison
Music of Masculinity
I recently did a couple of posts in my music series about The Rolling Stones. It started me thinking about the role music played in my teenage year. How what I listened defined what I believed was masculine. In all footage I’ve seen of The Beatles there is nothing but screaming, swooning girls – no boys. In fact pop rock music fell into those two camps – most of it was in the girls camp. The Beatles, Herman’s Hermits were for girls, The Rolling Stones, The Who were for boys. Donovan: fem; Bob Dylan: masc. Boys who like music too much were suspect – girls could sing along – boys couldn’t – lol.
The Stones ‘Satisfaction’ was clearly about getting laid, The Beatles “I want to Hold Your Hand’ was clearly about holding hands period. Hand holding was safe for girls. The Stones were never innocent & many of their songs were clearly misogynistic i.e. ’Under My Thumb’ or were calls to violence ‘Street Fighting Man’ – these were the proper role models for real boys – real boys wanted more than holding hands. They wanted action, or revenge. Never mind the fact that by the time they recorded ‘Street Fighting Man’ they were millionaires not revolutionaries.
So how did this resonate in my life at the time? The sneering misogyny & objectification of girls (rarely were they women until they got to the Honky Tonk) was masculinity defined. I felt I would never be masculine enough, aggressive enough, daring enough to live in the reality of their songs. They sold a myth that I saw as reality – much like the Hollywood fantasy that the love of the right person would give you reason to live.
I don’t even think I found the Stones sexually attractive – even then there were rumours that Mick was a bit bi – I had a buddy who said he’d have sex with Jagger but, to be honest, I found Jagger to be too lizard like for me. Speaking of lizards I my first pop jo sex fantasy was the Lizard King, Jim Morrison, then Foxy Jimi Hendrix, but I digress.
I’ve blogged about growing up with out any real role models in a culture that had distorted sense of gender that I ended up with my own distorted sense of masculinity. Pop music of the time merely echoed that that distortion – real men were Born to Be Wild whereas faggots like me could only dream about it.
Recap March 2021
Over the past year by TOpoet.ca following blog grew to 487! The only stat WP doesn’t give is where the followers are located but WP map does show my hits have come from 30 countries around the world. That USA tops the list is no surprise but that India & Bangladesh are in the top 4 is interesting. Ireland, Japan in the top 10! Most popular post for March was Attention Span (https://topoet.ca/2021/03/28/attention-span/). My Tumblr is at 311. It would be higher but this past month I‘ve blocking a flood of banal anime sex sites. Twitter 231 followers.
Picture Perfect is moving along with 61 sections, nearly 90,000 words, posted so far, with 95,000 words approx to be edited, then posted. Yes finally at the half-way point & know there are major cuts yet to be made. That the joy of writing without worry I know I can chase a subplot knowing if it doesn’t pan out it can be chopped.
I continued working through the archived files of short-stories, poetry, even plays. Some date back to the mid-seventies. My typing & handwriting haven’t improved much over the decades. I’m enjoying the array of paper, scrap paper, that I used. It helps to date some of the work, as does the typewriter used, the colour of ink, & of course dot-matrix printouts – some of which hadn’t been separated.
I watched lots of great movies this past month including two wildly different movies about witches. The first is a version of Susperia – based on the original Dario Argenta movie but not a remake. I love the original despite the distracting loud soundtrack. Both are set in a dance school. I enjoyed this fresh take in which dance took a major role. The music & choreography & even the theory of dance were spot on. The music was moody, never intrusive. Performances were great – Tilda Swinton was fine. The bloodbath scene was gory but then …. sadly they added an endless, pointless coda that turned an A movie into a C.
The other witch move was ‘The Juniper Tree’ from 1990. It could have been a lost Bergman film with its stark Iceland setting, shot in stunning black & white. Mystical, poetic & magical without any special effects & solid compelling performances. Ethereal music & a realistic ending. Well worth searching out.
As break from the macabre I watched, for at least the 3rd time, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. This was the fully restored print with stunning colour & a pristine soundtrack. This is a masterpiece of film making. The set decor is breathtaking, stunning & a feast for the eyes. The cast is good, Deneuve is stunning too. The men are tasty Gallic eye candy. The music is lush & the singing is perfect. All the voices are dubbed – so this is a live-action animated feature 🙂 They sing like ordinary people – I’m so used to the over-singing of songs in which every one has to have a heart-rending emotional climax.
Another truly amazing film was Diamonds In The Night – Czech black & white – follows two young men, escapees from transport to concentration camp during WWII. A touch surreal, intense, compelling & rewarding.
We’re finally watching The Crown, season 2. The Aberfan episode is one of the most amazing chapters of a serial I’ve ever seen, right up there with The Queen episode of Castle Rock. An emotional tour de force that left me tearful. Heart-rending without being cloying or over-the-top.
from the archives – sometime 1985
‘let’s swim to the moon’
Jim Morrison
last night I dreamed of the dead
they weren’t looking very well
the endlessness of the past
was worrying them
as there was more past every day
their worries were constantly growing
at this point as expected
things got a little confusing
the cafe of experience
was flooded by Symbolists
our meals became metaphors
which left us hungering for reality
an allusion of symbiotics
were looking for a new quantifier
they wanted pride
by lions had already cornered that one
they asked to join us for coffee
but no one had a measuring spoon
mystic sixties retro music on the juke box
left us even more unsatisfied
reminding us of old frustrations
we had matured out of long long ago
we were speechless with despair
none willing to swim anymore
there was no room for miles
the stars repeated their menu
soup song of sorrows in the heartbreak hotel
pulling up to the gas pump
in an early model Chevrolet
revved up the effortless drive of love
to fuel the furnace of art
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Abundance
Week 6 of the Artist’s Way is about abundance/money. One of AA’s promises is ‘the fear of money & economic insecurity will leave us’ – the trick being the word ‘fear’ as ‘economic insecurity’ never leaves us – just ask Trump about his tax returns & his fear flares up instantly. I’ve rarely heard anyone say they have too much money or that the money that they have makes them all that secure. Money can’t buy you happiness but it can get you a decent therapist.
As with the other weeks there are lots of lists to make. Here’s one of mine: silver cloud rolls royce; spaniel; lilacs; maple pecan ices cream; kiwi; cauliflower; bbq ribs & bake potato; endless list; red. Can you guess what this is a list of? In some ways this list a challenge because some of the items where areas of my life I that aren’t very relevant.
The artists dates have not been going someplace but cleaning neglected nooks & closets in my house & making discoveries. Caches of photos from 1973; rough drafts of early novels; old notebooks; boxes old bandages (do they expire? I tossed them regardless). An abundance memory, dust & paper-clips. Letting go of that stuff has become easier creating an abundance of space, space I’ll not to refill.
The Way doesn’t really address the culture of materialism – in which having enough is seen settling for less. Compulsive consumers are seen as the key to progress – so one wants to be unblocked creatively in order to make more money to keep the wheels of progress turning. In the USA now there are people who see social distancing impeding progress. I guess money $ for the funeral industry is actually a good thing.
One thing I did do that created an instant sense of too much & wow! was indulging in a sale that Brick Books is having – a box of 50 poetry books for $30. Mine arrived this past week & I was amazed. The books average at 18.00 each – which is $900.00 worth of books. Then I reflected on the nature of becoming a published poet & was saddened. https://www.brickbooks.ca/30-for-a-box-of-books-sale/ . But what won’t keep me from enjoying the books. Guess what my friends are getting for Christmas 🙂
My Luck
when I tell people
I’m lucky to be alive today
they react as if I’m over-reacting
because in many ways
my life has been a breeze
I didn’t suffer any physical
sexual
emotional
abuse growing up
never went hungry
my parents never divorced
so what do I have to complain about
it’s not that I’m complaining
merely making a statement of fact
I’m lucky to alive
that was a time
when gay teens
were put into institutions
to be cured
given shock treatment
lobotomies
behaviour modification
so they could be normal
gender conforming
boys & girls
what saved my life
was music
music never judged you
never waited outside school
to beat you up
didn’t tell on you
didn’t turn away
when you searched album covers
for inspiration in words
in the tight pants of lead guitarists
or the sturdy arms of drummers
mooning over Keith Moon
never knowing anything
about their lives
maybe if I had known
Jim Morrison
was really a backdoor man
Moon was a bi guy
I might have had a glimmer
of hope
but even though they had talent
fame
that allowed them freedom
but not enough to be out
careers would have been ruined
and when the music was over
they self-destructed
I was lucky to be alive
nothing thanks to covid19 😦
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Therapy
True story – Several years ago I started to see a guy & there was good chemistry between us. When he found out I had never been to therapy it ended because he couldn’t relate to someone who had never been to therapy. I thought – such is life. He made me think of people who say ‘I don’t trust someone who won’t drink (alcohol) with me.’
A recent Gayish podcast (119) was about the role of therapy in lgbtq+ lives. One of the hosts conclusions was that everyone needs therapy – by which they mean one-on-one work with a therapist. I have never engaged in one-on-one work with a therapist. (Please don’t revoke my gay card 🙂 ) The closest I’ve come to therapy, I guess, is decades of 12 Step meetings – group therapy of sorts – in fact the that modem of group self-help is the model for group therapy. But 12 Step doesn’t involve professionals to facilitate such groups. https://gayishpodcast.podbean.com
I’ve written extensively about growing up gay which has worked out much of the ptsd I experienced as a child & teen – the ptsd I’ve experienced from the gay ‘community’ is another story 🙂 What is worse – being bullied & belittled by the straight community for being queer or being bullied & belittled by the gay community for not being handsome, young, hung or buff enough to be acceptable?
The Gayish episode is an excellent guide to types of therapy based on the hosts personal experience. The statistics on mental health & addiction issues in the lgbtq+ community are dismaying but not surprising. As we see greater visibility for queers in our culture I hope many of the emotional, mental issues that come from isolation, fear, internalized homophobia, will lessen. Gayish is one of the ways in which such changes continue.
Lucky
when I tell people
I’m lucky to alive today
they act as if I’m overreacting
because in many ways
my life has been a breeze
I didn’t suffer any physical
sexual abuse growing up
never went hungry
my parents never divorced
so what do I have to complain about
it’s not that I’m complaining
just making a statement of fact
I’m lucky to alive
maybe they don’t know
that there as a time
when gay teens were put into
mental institutions to be cured
given shock treatments
lobotomies
behaviour modification
chemical castration
so they would be obedient
normal boys and girls
role models were nonexistent
until Elton John came along
(oh, why couldn’t it have been
Bruce Springsteen)
what saved my life
was music & writing
not writing how
‘fear was too great’
but writing about anything
music never judged me
never waited outside school to beat me up
didn’t tell on you
didn’t turn away
when I searched album covers
for inspiration in words
in Jim Morrison’s tight pants
mooning over sturdy arms
of drummer Keith Moon
never knowing anything about their lives
maybe if I had known
Jim Morrison
was a real back door man
Moon was a bi guy
their fame allowed them freedom
but not freedom of the press
careers would have been ruined
yeah I’m lucky to be alive
because the help I could have used
then
would have killed me
every Tuesday 2019
July
Stratford Festival – Nathan The Wise
August 2-13: getting back to my roots in Cape Breton 
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September
Shaw Festival – Sex (Mae West)
Stratford Festival – Little Shop Of Horrors
June – Capturing Fire 2020 – Washington D.C. 
capfireslam.org
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Paul Simon
Paul Simon – one of my non-literary inspirations recently released ‘In the Blue Light’ a new recording to celebrate his 77th birthday. He’s taken some of his older songs & reimagined them as pop jazz. I would have liked him to go even further back to his Simon & Garfunkle work. It is a fine set of songs all the same. Listening to it made it clear to me that some of my influences weren’t the dead poets I was forced to study in high school or even the literary poets that ‘real’ poets cite as inspirations so that can sound educated.
Simon’s lyrics weren’t necessarily that complex. I Am A Rock spoke to my teenage sense of isolation. Little did I realize ‘I am an island’ was a John Donne reference, nor did I need to know in order to be drawn into the words. It had alliteration, evocative imagery – things that became a part of my own early writing style. It was so simple & direct that it made poetry accessible & seemly easy to write.
So I wrote endless poems in imitation of Sounds of Silence, Old Friends, For Emily. I actually still have some of those high school explorations somewhere. His longing for love was never dark – like, say, Jim Morrison; nor was his search as wordy or complex as Bob Dylan. His music itself was sunny. Even my sexually explicit poetry maintains, I hope, the sense of innocence than runs through his lyrics.
Later Simon became more personal to him yet never felt forced, overly bitter or oblique. He used humour to express some of the difficulties he was going through as he got older, as his fame became less rewarding or as his reputation stood in the way of his just being a guy who wrote and sang. It’s only looking back now as I think about my inspirations do I see how much I owe him.
Why I Want To Be A Clown
the clowns enjoy
making babies cry
the highlight of their day
is when they get a good scream
out of a baby
elated when they scare a child
say around 9 or 10 years old
into crapping his pants
oh they can’t get enough
of the shame on a kid’s face
as bowels let loose
because of their crazy
smeary greasy faces
they would plunge surge
surround an innocent kid
huge mouths agape
with broken teeth
speared with reds and greens
from the make up they ate
to get them geared up
to charge into the ring
stumbling bumbling drunk
pretending to vomit in a bucket
throw confetti at one child
then real puke on the next
to the hilarious roar of the audience
when they found the one
preferably a boy
because girls were no challenge
the older that boy the better in fact
one who acted uninterested
invite him into the centre ring
mock him with garish faces
bray till he ran out crying
made that little fucker
shit shit shit his pants
they slap each other on the back
as they exit the ring
sniggering
at the the lion tamer
who relied on whips
not on wigs
http://buddiesinbadtimes.com/event/hot-damn-its-a-queer-slam-feat-janice-lee/
http://www.queerslam.com
every Tuesday
October 5/6/7 – Gratitude Round-Up
https://www.facebook.com/TorontoGratitudeRoundup/
September or October but to be confirmed – feature – The Art Bar, Free Times Cafe
June – Capturing Fire 2019 – Washington D.C. capfireslam.org
Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington at 2018’s capfireslam.org – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet
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The Doors
The Doors – or rather Jim Morrison – gave me wet dreams as a teenager growing up in Cape Breton. I can remember drooling over the cover of the first lp as I got caught up in the music. Brilliantly engineered it was impossible to resist. The lyrics were ‘poetry’ & Jim’s voice as so sexually insinuating even my straight friends dug him – not that I was out but I wanted Morrison’s body. To top it off there was Mother I want to …
As stand alone’s I have the First; Strange Days; Live Matrix 1967 2 cds; Waiting For The Sun; The Soft Parade; Morrison Hotel; New York Jan70 – 6 cd; Boston Concerts 1970: 3 cd; LA Woman; An American Prayer. Absolutely Live is part of an mp3 collection with lps of Grateful Dead/ Cat Stevens/Bob Marley/ The Hollies/ Otis Redding/ Bowie/ Pink Floyd.
The first three lps I loved so much – ‘music is your only friend’ caught the angst of being a queer teen with only album covers to turn to for comfort & fantasy. The pressure of fame took its toll on Morrison & he never came to terms with it. I’ve read several bios – some of which refer to his bisexuality & I wonder if that need to keep that hidden contributed to his mental difficulties – he certainly wouldn’t be the first man who dealt with his sexuality by numbing it drugs & booze until it killed him.
The later lps Morrison Hotel, LA Woman are good, more adult in a way. I can tell his lyrics from those of the other members of the band. Let’s face it ‘Love Street’ is insipid pap. American Prayer is sweet & sad. He never got to be the poet thanks to being a rock god.
I was happy when the live material was pulled out of the vaults. Of the sets I love love the Live Matrix 1967 the most – this was a show after they had recorded their first lp, but it hadn’t been released yet & they were working on material for the 2nd lp already. This is The Doors before they became a household word. It sounds like an audience of ten applauding too. Man I wish I had been there for that show even more than for the one where he supposedly flashed his iconic cock. Dance On Fire
Picture
‘Keep still.’
‘I can’t. June keeps sticking her shoe into me.’
‘June stop that.’
‘I am not sticking my shoe anywhere. Tell Jeff to move his big fat bee-hind out of my way.’
‘Jeff sit over here. June you stand beside him like that. How’s that?’
No one was in anyone’s way for the moment. Why were birthdays always like this? Could they be any other way? Sixteen children, eight parents and at least two grandparents. Why did I do these things? Why? And where where those goddamn clowns?
‘How long do we have to sit still?’
‘Till I get this picture. Okay.’
‘Okay Dad.’
I had to get these pictures taken before the real crush started. Hard enough with my two here and now what was I thinking asking all those others?
‘Where Tommy?’
‘He’s gone to the airport to pick up Gran French.’
‘Gran French! Gran French! You didn’t tell us she would be here.’
‘Now you know. Sit and we’ll get this picture.’
They sat finally. June in her favourite coveralls and t-shirt. Jeff in the same. Different colours. Twins were handful.
I snapped several quick pictures. ‘There I’m done. Now …’
‘Yea. Gran French Gran French is going to be here.’ They sang.
‘When will she get here?’
‘In time for the party.’
Twins at eleven. Why had I let Tom go to the airport and leave me alone with these two? This whole party was his idea. To celebrate the final year before they became teenage runaways. I’d give them the money if I thought would get them out of the house any faster.
‘Thanks Dad. Now you sit here.’
Jeff pushed me to the couch.
‘What? What?’
‘It’s time for your picture. Now sit still. June stand, no you sit on his lap. Don’t make faces either of you. I said sit. Sit still.’
The camera motor clicked.
‘You’ve been such a good Dad you deserve a little treat.’
June hopped off my lap and rushed upstairs. Jeff on her heels. They were back down tumbling over each other.
‘Here.’
‘Here.’
Each of them thrust a card at me. I could see more of Tom’s work behind this.
‘Open mine first.’
‘No mine.’
‘Let’s see if I can open them both at the same time.’
The door bell rang.
‘Gran French! Gran French!’ The two of them rushed to the door.
I knew it wasn’t Gran French as Tom could let himself into the house.
‘’Who is it?’ I called.
Two polka dotted clowns rushed into the room.
‘Clowns!’ June shrieked.
Chapbooks available: http://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6
on going 🙂 when new podcast are posted: Disability after Dark iTunes
featuring: Tuesday, March 21: 7:30 p.m. Hot-Sauced Words –http://www.hotsaucedwords.ca/
https://www.facebook.com/events
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 start – Featuring Queen Sheba. Slam winner gets trip to Capturing Fire & maybe coffee with me in DC.
http://www.queerslam.com/season-3-dates.html
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
https://www.facebook.com/events/526940540845331/
November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo
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horse attitudes
The Shrine of Saint Elizabeth
David Bateman, always a fun & generous host (digging deep into his own book collection for trivia question prizes) put together a great line up of features for the April show at the Secret Handshake Gallery – at last I can say I did a feature in Kensington Market. It was a bright warm afternoon that gave me the opportunity to play dogem with strollers, cars, people on various devices, and photographers while enjoying a great bagel from NuBagel.
blue frames
First up was Lizzie Violet https://lizzieviolet.wordpress.com who cooled us down with some of her eerie pieces about zombies, gypsies & serial killers. ‘well worn cards of the future … choosing your lover of today,’ ‘trails of entrails,’ ‘how did I fall from grace into a chaotic blood vortex.’ Blood Vortex – a latte I’d order. Lizzie’s pics of the event: https://www.facebook.com/lizzie.violet.1/media_set?set=a.10155490776165725&type=3&l=356ec5fa21
snow bound chairs
Next up was Philip Cairns with his animated, invested and glittering verse. His pieces abound with diamonds, sapphires, rubies and emeralds. ‘a closet full of art and no buyers,’ ‘powder blue jag crashing into a red brick wall,’ ‘ashes to ashes dust bin to dust bin.’ At The Shrine of Saint Elizabeth we found ourselves resonantly om-ing ‘Elizabeth Taylor Elizabeth Taylor Elizabeth Taylor.’
After the break Dan Curtis Thompson did a section from “Consonance: A Stand Up Dramedy.” Although I’ve heard this piece before it remains fresh, emotional true and involving. ‘all I needed was a girl who likes the same video games as me to believe it’s real love.’ It’s always good to see a musician who doesn’t spend ten minutes tuning up. Check out his story telling series Mountains and Molehills!
danger ahead
I closed the show with my Born To Be Blown blast. It was a fun, energetic set of pieces to perform, pieces I’ve blogging about here on Wednesday this past month so look’em up. Heads were nodding to the rock, shoulders where jiving to the disco beat and by the end everyone wanted to ‘get head out on the highway.’
a piece that didn’t make the final cut for the Born To Be Blown set:
Saint Jim
Pere Lachaise
section six section seize
‘seize the moment in section six
you have to seize the moment
saiser l’instant’
Jim starts a new song
‘you have to seize the moment
in section six’
I can hear him shout
through stage fog strobe lights
teeny bopper girls rush the stage
police push them away
as he taunts flaunts teases pleases
scowler prowler
hurt lost shouting shaman
like those silly teeny boppers
I lust after that idol
I wonder what they saw
that day in Miami
if he did flash the iconic cock
I make my way though a light rain
everything is a line in a Saint Jim song
‘making my way
through cemetery rain’
I know he‘s here somewhere
I see mystic marks sprayed
mementos of worship
‘the blue bus stops near here’
the rain stops
and I am there
no monument
only a flat grey space
with a tombstone
his name wrong
James isn’t Jim
beneath my feet his bones
unless they’ve been stolen
relics in sacred altars
for those who think
they can petition this saint
a bunch of faded flowers
some used condom lizard skins
‘lizard skins drying in the sun
show we have seized the moment’
I hear birds
then dozens of people
hiss of cameras
posers smile lean over the tombstone
stoke his name then gone
left alone
I seize my moment
unzip
flash my cock
the only gesture of his I can duplicate
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Finding #Music for the #Muse
Someone asked me how I find the music that I find. There is no one source other than my furtive seeking mind. My tastes are wide, varied & often unpredictable. Often nostalgia will bring things into my collection.
plaid pants
When I blogged here about the Animals I picked up a book about their career which lead me to seeking some of their influences & also the bands they poached from to replace members. That lead to the Nashville Teens – easy to find.
Also Dantalian’s Chariot – harder to find, but a few Chariot tracks were on a compilation of sitar sixties, which I bought & that collection lead me to The Folkways: a sort of Ventures with sitars instead of guitars.
plaid jacket
Reading Langston Hughes biography lead me to some of the musicians & composers he worked with. Modern American classical stuff. Replacing bad cassette to cd dupes: i.e. Vinnie Burke prompted me to see what else by Vinnie I could find.
Often things pop on my tumblr feed – modern pop that I might never hear about – I follow up & sometimes buy things. It was though an lp cover post that I stumbled across an amazing 3 cd collection of Japanese 60’s psychedelic pop – music some people would just think wtf – but I thought heaven sent – including covers of Purple Haze & Stone Free that are quite good. Most recently I picked up work by Asia Argento – sexy eurodisco stuff.
plaid ribbon
When I read that Mercedes Sosa was one of the biggest selling female artists in the world! I wondered why I had never heard of her. I tracked some tracks down & that opened up even more sweet Latino music for me.
This is one area of my life where this is no such thing as enough.
October 10-12 – attending – Gratitude Roundup http://www.torontogratitude.org
October 19 – feature – Cabaret Noir – Pinebow 
https://www.facebook.com/events/1651892755035275/
November 1-30 – participating – NaNoWriMo 2014 – 
http://nanowrimo.org
Saint Jim
Pere Lachaise
section six section seize
‘seize the moment in section six
you have to seize the moment
saiser l’instant’
Jim starts a new song
‘you have to seize the moment
in section six’
I can hear him shout
through stage fog strobe lights
teeny bopper girls rush the stage
police men push them away
as he taunts flaunts
teases pleases scowler prowler
hurt lost shaman
like those silly little girls
I lust after that idol
I wonder what they saw
that day in Miami
if he did flash the iconic cock
I make my way though a light rain
everything is a line in a Saint Jim song
‘making my way
through cemetery rain’
I know he‘s here somewhere
I see mystic marks sprayed
momentos of worship
‘the blue bus stops near here’
the rain stops
and I am there
it’s not a monument
a flat grey space with a tombstone
his name wrong
James isn’t Jim
his bones beneath my feet
unless they’ve been stolen
relics in sacred altars
for those who think
they can petition this saint
a bunch of flower
some used condom lizard skins
‘lizard skins drying in the sun
show we have seized the moment’
I hear birds
then dozens of people
hiss of cameras
posers smile lean over the tombstone
stoke his name then gone
left alone
I seize my moment
shrug at the security camera
unzip my fly
to flash my cock
the only gesture of his I can duplicate
not even scratching the surface
Liona Boyd
Liona’s first lp, Classical Guitar, was a small sensation when it was released in 1977. Canada suddenly had a world-class, stunningly good-looking, female classical star. Long blond hair and seen in public, dating, the likes of Pierre Trudeau. Strangely classical guitar remains male dominated so she’s still an exception there.
the gloveless life
Now there’s nothing unusually about her choice of material on that first lp – standard classic per material give exceptional playing – I loved the Debussy. This is one of my lp to cd transfers.
Mitt roamer
On the shelf this one and the next include: Ernesto Bitetti: Four Centuries of Spanish Guitar Music; Betho Davezac: Elizabethan Guitar Music; Rodrigo Riera: Renaissance Guitar; Turibio Santos: Five Centuries of French Guitar Music. The tip of my classical guitar iceberg.
what the right hand knows
Works for or adapted for guitar by Sor, Granados, Debussy, Bach, Chopin, Albeniz and others, scattered through these two cds. I have multiple versions of some of these pieces, from the original piano versions to full orchestral. And some remain my favourites even when done mariachi style or on accordion [shudder].
Strange to say my intro to classical guitar was Asturias by Isaac Albeniz as used by the Doors on Spanish Caravan. So I can thank Jim Morrison for more than a few teenage wet dreams.
That Was No Accident
“You did that on purpose.”
“I did not. Why would I do something like that on purpose.”
“Because you are like that.”
“Like what?”
“Nasty. Mean. Only thinking of yourself.”
“Sounds like you are talking about yourself again. Not that that surprises me. Seems everything comes back to you, doesn’t it.”
“Does not”
“Does too?”
“Why did you do that.”
“I didn’t.”
“What do you mean, ‘you didn’t’? Who else could have?”
“I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”
“Was too.”
‘You calling me a liar.’
“If the shoe fits ….”
“I’m not going to put with this any longer. If you get any comfort out of thinking I did that, and that I did it deliberately, then you are welcome to think that.”
“Sorry. I just wanted to …”
“I know. Put the blame somewhere else. For all I know you did it.”
“Me! Why?”
“For the same reasons you think I would have done it. Maybe it was an accident.”
“An accident?”
“Yeah some things happen that aren’t anyone’s fault. They just happen.”
“It’s always somebody’s fault. Always. You are just trying to avoid the consequences once again.”
“Consequences. Of what?”
“You know, of your actions – consequences of perhaps apologizing or fixing things.”
“Is that what you are fishing for – someone to do the dirty work for you.”
“Look, someone has already done the dirty work. I want the guilty party to clean up. Is that too much to ask. Or am I going to be stuck with that myself.”
“Looks like you are stuck with it, because I sure as hell didn’t do it and therefore feel no compunction to deal with the aftermath. None at all.”
“How typical of you.”
“Yes. That’s right I am nasty and mean. Isn’t that what you said.”
“I left out self-centred and cruel.”
“Ohh, I’m getting more character as time passes. Here I always thought of myself as being rather dull and uninteresting But self-centred and cruel makes me sound more than interesting. In fact makes me almost as interesting as you.”
“That’ll be the day. Where are you going?”
“Out. I have things to do. People to met. You know. I can’t hang around here all day yakking with you, you know.”
“Great. Just bloody great. Leave me with mess to clean up. A mess, I might add, I am sure you made. But go on. Get out of here. Go. I’ll do it. I’m used to this by now.”
“I am going.”
“I can see that you are. And don’t hurry back. Not unless …”
“I’m not going to hurry back. I am sorry though …”
“What! You are admitting that you did this?”
“No. I did not do it. It was like this when I came into the room. But I am sorry you are so upset by it.”
“The mess doesn’t bother me as much as the fact that you won’t own up to it. Come clean. Honesty is good for the soul. Confess. Get it over with. That’s all you have to do.”
“Have it your way. As I said, if it gives you any comfort to think I did this, then you are welcome to think I did this. You have no one to blame but me. Satisfied.”
“No. I won’t be satisfied till you say ‘I did it. I am the one.’”
“See you later.”
glove in a dangerous time
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TOpoet 
