More rainbow flags from around east end Toronto.
I do have a limited number of the original Distant Music chapbook for sale for $25.00 each (includes surface mail postage). Send via the paypal above along with where to send it.
Week 7 on The Artist’s Way is about connection to creativity – as opposed to our connection with others. One of things that hampers that creative connection is perfectionism. I have a writing friend who has been perfecting the same thirty page opening to his novel for some ten years now. It has to be perfect so he can send it to an agent etc. He no longer asks me for advice 🙂 I stopped that by telling him it would cost $100 an hour for a minimum of three hours before I would be willing to look at his work-in-progress.
There is a section on risk – the willingness to try & not succeed as we envisioned. For me this is part of the process of letting go of expectations, of control. In recovery they say you plan the plans but the results are in the universe’s hands. I’ve painted rooms one colour only to have the paint dry in a different one 🙂
As with the Ways chapters so far there some sifting through the past for missed opportunities & for good turning points. In my covid house-cleaning frenzy I’ve unearthed old note books, old rough drafts, old photographs. Those photos reconnected me with where I was in my early 20’s, long before I moved to Toronto. I’ve also been reading Old Trout Funnies – an excellent book about a comic book series by Paul ‘Moose’ MacKinnon that was first issued while I was living in Cape Breton. (https://www.facebook.com/OldTroutFunnies).
Moose was one of my drinking crowd & he included real people (some of whom I knew) in the comics & calendars. In one issue there is even a plug (page 70) for my poetry book ‘Distant Music’ which had been published at the time. So there was actual creative support for me in that community at that time.
One of the tasks was to wear a favourite item of clothing for no special reason. All my clothes are favourites, so what I did was to pick some things I rarely wear but save for intimate encounters 🙂 Namely some wrestling singlets & some revealing undies I bought a few years ago. Very snug but also very sexy. Photos “fansonly” 🙂
My Underwear
it seems the best way
to put out the fire
in your heart
was to run over to a bar
drink till there was
only a stumble of drunks
to deal with
there was no way out of it
except to break the windows
push your grandma down the stairs
so what if there weren’t
any stairs in our apartment
you still get the picture
yeah I know
drawing it in crayons
all over the hall to our place
wasn’t a great idea
but you have to admit
it caught the lighting of the fire
without using up all the reds
only the blues
the blues you give everyone
who is lucky enough
to catch you on your balcony
ready to jump
don’t do it
or if you have to
wait till I get back with coffee
I have to be careful
the contents may be hot
but wet will always
put out the flame
it makes no difference to me
what burns you out of my system
hot coffee or direct flame
maybe tossing all your undies
in the shredder was a bit much
but it seems the only way
to keep you out of them
to keep you fresh
ready and pliant
not that you wore them
that often anyway
going commando
wasn’t a rare event
bare-assed at McDonalds
where did you park those buns
yeah not so funny
does it look like I’m laughing
all the way home
to the shadowed moment
when there once was a dart of hope
now just a bunch
of empty coat hangers
in a clump
I can’t pull apart
hangers that once held
everything you ever wore
around the house
out in the street
yeah I’m a total liar
I never picked up a drink
because of you
that isn’t going to happen
wasn’t even tempted
you took something out of my life
but you left behind
more that you took
I don’t need to breath
it’s all up to you now
as if it alway wasn’t
I can’t get over
the number of times
I wanted to paint the hall way
that I wanted to use
your tooth brush to clean
the coffee machine
so I wouldn’t have to go out
for a fresh cup to dump
in your laugh
because I’m sure
that behind closed eyes
you are smirking like a tried urinal
knowing that you pissed
me off one too many times
you know
if you were here now
I’d probably take you back
but still wouldn’t trust you
as far as you could throw
my underwear
I do have a limited number of the original Distant Music chapbook for sale for $25.00 each (includes surface mail postage). Order via the paypal along with where to send it.
A few minutes later Sanjay walked into the lane way.
“Long time no see.” He said as they kissed quickly.
“Yeah. How was the party?”
“Same old. I left before Sylvan could pressure me to help with the service. Feels like I haven’t slept for days.”
“I’m just finishing up here.”
“Anything I can give you hand with?” Sanjay started to roll one of the bins.
“As a matter of fact there is.” Dan grappled with Sanjay from behind and pulled him into the nook. He’d never had sex out there himself. What would that be like. How would it look on the monitors. He could star in his own moment.
“What the fuck.” Sanjay struggled to get away.
“It’s okay.” Dan unzipped Sanjay’s jeans and tried to get his cock out.
“It is not okay. Someone might see us.”
“Not here. Too dark.” He stepped into the darkest corner of the nook. “Can you see me?” Dan knew would be the best spot for the camera to catch any action. He undid his fly and let his erection catch the light.
“Sort of but … that’s not the point.” Sanjay stepped back and into the limited light. “What’s got into you?”
For the time they’d been together Dan had kept his lane way fascination a secret. There didn’t seem to be any of starting a conversation about it with anyone. He didn’t discuss it with his V-Files buddies. He saw no point. But now that he the chance to share it this way with Sanjay was too much for him to resist. He pulled Sanjay back into him and sank to knees. Sanjay pushed away.
“You been drinking or what?”
“No.” Dan said as he finally wrested Sanjay’s thick dick out of his underwear. He lunged forward and got in into his mouth. Was the light right? The angle. It better be for all the work his was doing to get this shot.
“Stop.” Sanjay shoved him hard into the wall. “This isn’t like you.” He shoved his cock back in his pants, did up the fly as he moved away from Dan.
“Sorry.” Dan stood doing up his own fly. A minute more and he would have shot off. “I was just happy to see you. Happy and horny.”
“I can tell.” Sanjay glanced around to see if anyone might have seen them.
They pushed the bins into the nook. Dan went back into the store to get his bike. He desperately wanted to check the security cameras to see what they picked up. He could access them when he got home.
He strapped his bike to the trunk rack and got in the car.
“Man what a day.” He said. “I’m surprised someone didn’t throw a vcr through the window. Even with the signs saying No VCR’s people insist on bringing them to trade in. They take it personally, as if I was telling they weren’t worth the money, not their tired old equipment. Funny how some people resent being told no.”
“Look, I’m sorry.” Sanjay patted Dan on the knee. “About back there. So you can stop yammering about nothing.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Dan, I know you well enough to know when you are talking around something rather than facing it. I didn’t mind really I didn’t. It was just a bit unexpected.”
“Another time maybe?” Dan said. He knew that the element of the unexpected was a big part for him in making it truly hot. Planning would spoil things too much.
“I doubt it. You know how I feel about …”
“Public displays of affection.”
“Honey that was no display of affection, that was damn near rape.”
“Can’t rape the willing.”
“Or the unwilling.” Sanjay pulled the car into their garage. He handed Dan a plastic bag with some take-out containers in it.
He glanced in the bag as he went into the house. “Chinese?”
“What passes for it anyway.” Sanjay followed him in. “You change and I’ll set the table.”
“Change?”
“You smell like an electronics factory.”
“You don’t like my robot lubricator scent?”
“No more than you do. Now git.”
“Yes, sir. I love it when you tell me what to do.” He took the stairs two at a time.
“Shower while you’re at it.” Sanjay called up to him.
“What about you?” He called back.
“Did that before I left the pie factory. Be quick so I can do some laundry.”
The water pressure in the house didn’t allow for shower and laundry at the same time.
When Dam came down Sanjay had set their dinner on the coffee table in the living room.
“Top Chef.” He said. “I have two episodes to catch up on. Start without me. I’ll be right back after I slip into some looser.”
Dan spooned shrimp fried rice, red gooey something done to chicken by a General and some ginger beef onto a plate.
Sanjay came back down in a tank top and sarong.
“Loose enough?” He asked as he sat down. He took the remote and turned on the TV, found the episodes of Top Chef and pressed play.
“You should try out for that.” Dan said.
“Not pretty enough.” Sanjay said.
“Doesn’t seem to matter much for this show. The gals can be a bit glam but the guys are truly ordinary. Even chunky.”
“You mean fat. Say it.”
“You know that’s what I mean. I mean hefty. Some of us prefer the hefty handful, as you well know.”
“Shh …” Sanjay glanced him.
Dan finished his plate of food, during the commercial break helped himself to another and got up from the couch. “I’ll leave you to it. I got work to check out anyway.”
“You’re worse than me for always having work to do. Another case?”
“No. Still doing my research on those missing kids.”
“Right.” The commercials were over. “See you in bed.”
Dan went to his desk. Turned on the store computer to see what the monitors might have picked up of his flirtation with with Sanjay. If there was anything he’d send to his personal computer. He’d learned years ago to keep his work computer free of personal files.
He reversed the feed to the approximate time. Yes, there they were. He glanced to make sure Sanjay hadn’t left Top Chef. It happened so quickly Dan had to watch it a few times to see what was happening. None of it was at the right angles for him to see what he longed to see. Sanjay’s cock going into his mouth for a moment. If he had been in the office at the time he could have moved the camera enough to get what he wants. Probably. Damn! What a wasted opportunity.
He set the feed back to the present time. There were some people in the laneway. Perfect timing. Again he checked to make sure Sanjay was still caught up in Top Chef.
It was two people. One was pushing a bundle buggy. The other opened the garbage bin and began rooting in it. Pickers. He was used to that activity. They’s have a field day with the trade in discards. He used to spend time sorting that stuff but when he noticed that it was all often gone by morning before the garbage trucks had been by he stopped being so thorough.
These two were pretty happy to find what was in the bins tonight. Now this was reality TV. No editing for drama. He shut the work computer off and turned on his personal one. His post on V-Files was still generating likes and looks. He watched it again. Not bad. He shut that computer off as well.
Enough is enough. He stretched and took his dirty dish to the kitchen. Sanjay came in just after him.
“The latino guy was sent packing. I’m not surprised though. Would think these guys had never watched Top Chef they keep making the same mistakes year after year.”
“I guess that’s part of the screening. Have you even seen Top Chef before?” he adopted a comic bass voice. “We have ways of making you cook.”
Sanjay laughed.
“I’m going to turn in.” Dan said. “Its been an exhausting day. An exhausting week in fact. Missing children, Cuppa threat, RCMP looking for clues, me looking at my past.”
“What about your past?”
“Stuff about when we moved here. The why. Stuff about Timmy Dunlop that I was too young to realize or understand I guess. Funny how childhood can be rewritten when new facts come to light.
“I thought Timmy visited me because he missed me but it was most likely to escape abuse in his own home. We just happened to offer safe shelter. And … ” he almost told Sanjay about the soft-core porn he’d found. He didn’t know what to make of that himself.
“And?”
“Nothing. Just thinking aloud. You coming up soon?”
“In a bit. I’m still unwinding.”
“By watching other chefs?”
“Yeah, not having to worry about supervise them is soothing for some reason. I’ll be up once my laundry is done.”
Dan yawned. He was falling asleep on his feet.
Dan woke to Sanjay muttering as he got into the bed.
“What is it.” Dan asked.
“You never put away after yourself.”
“What?”
“Your laundry was all over the laundry room. I had to fold it up and put it away before I could do my own.”
“Sorry.” Without opening his eyes he reached over to where Sanjay was. “I’ll do it the morning. Promise.” He drifted back to sleep.
He woken again sometime later to go the bathroom. Sanjay was no longer in the bed. In the dark he made his way to the washroom. He peeked into the other room and Sanjay was there reading a book in a dime light.
“Can’t sleep?” Dan sat on the edge of the bed.
“Guess not.” Sanjay looked up from his book.
“You still sore about before. In the lane way?”
Sanjay pulled Dan to him and pushed him onto the bed, kissing him.
“Stop.” Dan pulled away.
“Oh!” Sanjay stopped. “It is okay for you to … to ambush me in public but not okay for me to do the same in private.”
“I get your point. I said I was sorry. What more can I say.”
Sanjay pushed his blanket down.
“Say you want to suck this.” He pushed Dan’s head onto his cock.
Dan struggled to get away but couldn’t.
“Suck it. You know you want to?” Sanjay said. “Suck it.”
Dam opened his mouth and as he began to suck Sanjay pulled him away.
“That is how I felt. Violated. Did you think I would get off on being violated like that.”
“Sanjay, it’s not as if we were strangers. Not as if we have never had sex before. We’ve done it on the patio, in the car that time. Remember you pulled over so hot from that movie we’d seen. You had to get blown there and then.”
“That was different. In the car you had been touching me. You had started things, I merely let you have your way.”
“Okay I get it.” Dan started to stand.
Sanjay pulled him back to the bed.
“You starting something you want me to finish?” Dan pulled his t-shirt off over his head.
“No. I just wanted to kiss you good night.”
Sanjay kissed him lightly on the mouth and pushed him way from the bed.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License
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The Monster
whose lips are these
did they kiss
before they were grafted to my face
this attitude to the kiss
where did it come from
what cultural imperative
was infused into my brain
to tell me the power of the kiss
I look down at this body
ruminate about this brain
all the things woven into
my sense of self
that I don’t know were they originated
though I know they are controlled
by attitudes I can’t alter
the history of dominant needs
sutured to my ideologies
as seamlessly as these lips
as these hands
which send ripples of fear
through the global villagers
a monster created in their minds
moving in this world
asking them
are your lips yours
or have they too been grafted
seamlessly
as you groped with those hands
(your hands?)
into adulthood
Stepping away from the Rules for a break 🙂 Each October I’ve been writing poetry inspired by horror movies. I’ve been a fan from an early age – ghost stories, spooky stuff had a distinct appeal for me. I can’t pin-point an actual age or movie that sparked my interest. Maybe it was ghost stories at Y camp?
One approach is to see the world from the creature’s point of view. This is the most famous monster of all – Frankenstien’s creation. I’ve given him a more introspective sensibility that is even present in the novel. In the book he is quite chatty & thanks to his bad brains, rather vengeful. My creature is stitched together from similar parts from movies, books & shoe-gazer angst.
He questions the sociological construct of the kiss, of the sense of self. The sort of questioning that many non-conforming gender people often go though as they sort though the history of dominant needs. LGBTQ people often end up with a sense of sexual self that they have to put together for themselves. How do you adapt this self to a culture that says self-acceptance still doesn’t change the fact that you are fucking monster that can send women & children screaming when you go to the washroom.
Part of the fear of the monster is often how it makes us question our own sense of self. Are these my lips. Is this kiss, is this gender, me or is it a cultural costume I wear to fit in, fit in so well there’s no need to make any decision. Why not accept the pre-made identity that allows us to conform so that we don’t scare even ourselves when we look into the mirror.
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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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My Time
I am a creature of routine
no matter how hot the guy
I am unavailable at certain times
often the only time they are free
which they take personally
even though all we know
about each other are profile pics
& what we claim are our likes
they act as if my time boundary
is playing hard to get
or just playing them
a sign I’m not really interested
that all I want is their desire
not their bodies
one guy said ‘if you’re going to be that way
good luck because you’ll need it’
as if my schedule
was a character fault
one called me inflexible
though I had suggested other times
other days
his inflexibility was of no concern to him
whereas mine was arbitrary
whatever
I have a life
I don’t set it aside for no dick
or perhaps they see it
as control
that I am making it clear
I am the dominant, the top,
not some submissive bottom bitch
gasping eager for their randy visit
even if I am eager
it’s still my time
I have an acquaintance in recovery who will phone & launch into their conversation. No hello, no is this a good time, no how are you. I will stop them asap if I’m busy but they’ve never learned to say – is this a good time. I have another friend in recovery who calls & really needs to meet facto face for a real talk. I suggest times – none of which fit his schedule – he assumes that for the sake off recovery I’ll change my schedule to suit his needs. I’ve done this a few times only to have him text to say he’d be late or etc.
What does this have to do with ‘My Time’ – recovery has taught me to respect my own needs, to respect my boundaries & not to let people-pleasing turning into martyrdom. Times I’ve been persuaded to make allowances for another’s time constraints have rarely worked well for either party.
Sticking to my guns often has people acting as if my not being inconvenienced by them is an inconvenience to them. That also might have to do with he fact that I don’t apologize, any more, or explain either, when I say ‘not free at that time.’ Odd how being firm can be seen as arrogant or indifferent.
I no longer take the bait of being guilted into being agreeable. I’d rather be seen as unreasonable than being seen as an ‘any time Chuck.’ Now in the age of covid distancing such inflexibility is even more necessary & a covid ‘no’ is acceptable to many. Even if I am eager, now, it’s still my life.
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Hot Damn’s season 6 finale was via Zoom. For once I didn’t feel I was taking the best seat in the house 🙂 But it was a pretty quiet house of nearly 60 people from across Canada & possibly around the world as there is no way to tell where who is zoomin’ from. In fact one has the choice of being in the room & not being seen. Cool & the tool of future social distancing.
Slam rules cover costume & props but may have to extend to backdrops 🙂 The picture quality is good, depending on the cameras of the users. Sound quality was excellent. The poets were all very comfortable in front of the camera & in fact some more confident without a live audience in front of them.
The work of the slam poets was excellent, I don’t envy the judges. I enjoyed the few pieces that took on covid19 in a practical way – what do you do when the voices in your head that use to force you to wash your hands compulsively are now really coming from your TV? Writing & performances were excellent. Scoring was quicker without flip cards to flip 🙂
Feature Jillian Christmas, in BC wearing polkadots & behind a drum kit, started her set by reminding us of what has been silenced in the covid19 clatter i.e. pipeline oppression of indigenous peoples. I’ve seen Jillian several times & her warmth & emotional vulnerability is a blessing. Singing, reciting & reading a few piece from her book ‘The Gospel of Breaking’ her set was too short. Her simple self-accompaniment reminded me of Jessie Mae Hemphill. Just a couple of lines of too many great lines ‘there are no renewable resources’ ‘falling in love while in love.’ If you want more, buy her book: https://arsenalpulp.com/Books/T/The-Gospel-of-Breaking
The show was nimbly hosted by Robyn Sidhu, with an able assist by Charlie Petch. It was a great success without a venue 🙂 But I did miss the live reactions of the audience. There is no ‘hiss’ or ‘boo’ button to react to the scores. Texting those remarks doesn’t have the same energy.Scores were added up. A winner was declared. Who? You’ll have to follow Hot Damn to find out 🙂
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So this is a glance at my living-room. These two prints I picked up many many years ago at The Clay Room on the Danforth. I bought the veranda one first – I love the mood & sense that someone just stepped into the house. It sits over the mantle piece. A few years late I bought the bicycle one. Again the mood is relaxing.
There is fine detail work in both that my camera doesn’t capture. They were both framed & under glass when I bought them. The fact that frames were a perfect match for the walls did play a part in my getting them. Both by the same artist whose name is scrawled unreadable (by me) on the bottom. The Clay Room no longer sells prints.
On the mantle piece is this scale model of a TTC bus. Here I’m showing it off out of its box but it does sit in its box on the mantle. Don’t want dust to demise its collector value. Made to scale. I ordered it from the TTC gift store. Hand painted, it also has a set of details int he box for various routes, which will remain in the box. I do have a spare one tucked away in a drawer too. Some day they may be worth enough to get some Stratford Festival tickets 🙂
The samurai is one of the posters for a 1989 show at the Beaux Arts in Montreal – ‘Le Japon de Shogun’ – which I bought when I went to the amazing exhibit there. It took a year or so to realize the person in the samurai was real & not a mannequin of some sort. I used to visit Montreal with a recovery friend who moved to TO & would go back for a week every summer. I loved the city & even learned a few helpful phrases – Mon hôtel est près d’ici. 🙂
Finally is this object that my partner bought at a sale at his school decades ago. It was made in one of the arts classes there & reminded him, for some reason, of Lord of The Rings. It is a grotesque & serves as a warning to negative energy to back off. It sits on top of shelf near the TV.
Love’s Tangled Socks
what’s the word
you know the one
to call a kiss
that feels like walking into
a dew jewelled spider web
on a sunny day
while looking in the basement
for that lost sock
you know that word
that slip of the tongue
that tip of the tail
wagging excitedly
yet with a vague damp unease
at the same time
wanting to give in
feeling it’s all too sudden
too sticky in your face
while one hand reaches
to brush the spider web off
the other wants to fondle the spider
what is that word
I have to get the right word
for that sensation
also one for that rapidly
elusive need for the right word
I have to tell you all this
in exactly the right tone
if I don’t
it may never happen again
I may never find that sock
I’ll have to go with one foot bare
on this chilled concrete floor
while other is snug in a sock
trying to balance that tightrope
of grit under one foot
and comfy protection on the other
when did I lose that sock
when did I do laundry last
I have pairs upstairs
in neat rows in a drawer
but it has to be these socks
the ones you liked
to pull off my feet
you like to undress me
kiss each freshly bared part
trace my outline in your silver silva
draw me into to that web
the bed at the centre
where we would devour each other
without a second thought
the other sock has escaped
I thought I had it trapped
like your tongue
held firmly in my grasp
yet it slips slides
elusive fleshy fragments
of tender mystery
and all I can think about
is the tender shock
of this cobweb on my face
don’t want it to get in my eyes
it has caressed my lips
a dusty sooty taste
one hand darts up to brush it away
but stops when I see
the spider scuttle away
into the dark
shocked by the size of this catch
not ready to crawl across my shoulders
the way you do so well
not ready to take the seed
spray it into new shapes
along my stomach
slithering cool trails
us laughing at the moment
turning over in the bed
looking for our clothes
time for clean socks
the other must be in the laundry
I’ll be right back
only I’m stuck here
caught in a loss for words
looking for a definition
that will wind you
around me forever
May
? Richard III – Stratford Festival
June
July
? All’s Well That Ends Well – Stratford Festival
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Measure Up
I concede
I’m not that competitive
whether you are the better
isn’t that important to me
I want to be judged
on my merits alone
not on how much
better or worse I may be
compared with anyone
better is relative
who is the winner
the one who comes in first
or the one who finishes the race
on their own terms
I grew up
in a school system
where I learned
I would never measure up
because I wasn’t smart enough
to memorize the times table
smart enough
to regurgitate passages of text books
when I wrote exams
even when I was right
I was given no credit
because my spelling was so wrong
coming out
I learned I would never measure
I was never young enough
buff enough
hung enough
to be desirable enough
in the eyes of those
who I wanted to measure up to
without realizing
I was trying to measure up
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The Best
‘you will be my third today’
he was proud of his virility
‘I save the best for last’
I wasn’t interested in being his best
‘you have a nice ass’
not that I thought he was
anything more than a fun fuck
but to hear of his conquests
wasn’t arousing me
we’d met on line
he was a 30 something
whose nickname was blktop4u
blk meaning black
it started with him messaging me
I had glanced at his profile
even though there was no pic
it laid out the facts honestly
the first time we hooked up
I didn’t expect him to show
but he did
he was as he claimed to be
though his profile
didn’t say he needed to fuck
three times a day
that fact didn’t come out for a year
we’d meet every month or so
I’d hear about his background
but he was so fearful of identity theft
we could only make contact
via the dating site
no cell phone
no email
sometimes longish text chats
on the site
then he’d show up
as arranged
until one day he didn’t
he contacted me two days later
to explain
he’d had a better offer
in a deluxe condo
so my interest changed
next time we chatted
he was so keen to play
I declined
I declined another two times
then said sure come on over
but if you’re a no show
it’s a no go ever again
I began to discount
everything he told me
there was no truth
in the shifting life of a man
who wouldn’t even tell me his name
things were okay until he told me
‘you will be my third today
I save the best for last’
I declined to be part of his body count
said no
he asked why
I replied
you can’t always get what you want
then blocked him
because he wasn’t the best
A poet friend of mine recently started a little discussion about pieces we’ve written but that we have chosen not to share for various reasons – such as – didn’t want to tigger listeners/readers, too emotionally revealing, too blunt & judgemental. For me this is one that I am tempted to hide away – or put in an envelope ‘to be opened twenty years after my death.’ Hidden because of the the racial content & also because of what it reveals about my sex life.
It’s also a piece about a backhanded compliment. When ‘he’ said I was the best I’m sure he didn’t realize what he was saying wasn’t heard as a compliment. For the most part this is a factual real life adventure. I’ve omitted a few details that didn’t add enough to the story. The dialogue is verbatim.
Because of his secrecy I was never interested in letting our interaction become more than physical. As time passed I became more ‘illusive’ as well. It takes more than sex to keep me interested. But he never asked for more than sex, either. never needed transit money etc.
Then he made the mistake of telling me about his sex life. Now, I didn’t think he was a one man man nor did I expect him to be. I’m a realist. I didn’t trust all of what he told me most of the time but when he casually mentioned ‘my third today’ I believed him. I didn’t challenge him, what was the point after all we were merely FB with no strings. My reply is also verbatim.
I have heard from him since – I guess that’s one of the rewards of being ‘the best.’ No thanks.
Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee at Capturing Fire 2020 – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet
Just me, chatting music and shit.
A Blog Without Niche
A Writer's Blog That's Not.
Honest. Satirical. Observations.
Gabriela M Author of the Year (2019) at Spillword Press NYC
Reflections and research on fifty plus years of artistic vision
Spoken Word & Songwriting
life
a painter writing, images and text
a peek behind my eyes.
