Upper Reaches

Time to continue the tour of my house as we move upstairs to bed & bath. The bathroom has remained one of the least ‘decorated’ rooms the house – too, much moisture for one thing. There are shelves of towels, body wash, shaving stuff so the room is cluttered enough as it is. 

This stained-glass star is in the bathroom window. Handmade by my partner before we met it is one of the oldest object d’art that isn’t shop bought. He made couple of such pieces at a workshop he took one summer. We did have remains of this stained glass supplies for decades & I got rid of them in my covid cleaning frenzy.

I won this sunset (or is it sunrise) train track photo in a GenX Bears fund-raising raffle in the early 2000’s. I think they were raising money for their Pride Parade float. A friend was a member of the group. It was, as I recall, a ‘blind’ raffle, in which I knew the range of prizes but they were assigned randomly. I was happy to get this & it was perfect for over the toilet – I can gaze down the endless track of life as I pizza my life away 🙂

Across the hall is my bedroom which is relatively uncluttered – unless you count the dressers, racks of cds, book case, shelves of frequently used clothes as clutter 🙂 This wonderful Tarzan poster what a birthday gift from my fans at Cabaret Noir. I have seen the film – Acquanetta fulfills hetero teen boy exotica fantasy, while Weissmuller & Sheffield fuelled many a confused lad’s sexuality as, like me, we wondered how they kept their junk hidden under those loincloths while swinging through the jungle.

While I’m going about exotica fantasy – these jungle ‘epics’ were where many saw an abundance of hairless male flesh in our formative years. In particular, when I’ve seen some of these recently, as well some set in the jungle serials – I am delighted by the abundance of bare chested native guides, bearers & tribal kings. I wonder if any historian of black performers in movies has looked at this pool of performers.

This Japanese noren was a gift from a Japanese friend. It is a door hanging, about half-a-door in length, split down the middle. The samurai protects my room from negative energy 🙂 While the celebrants usher in good vibes. The leaf leads to my Peace Lily. 

On the wall, by the door, is this marvellous piece of religious kitch. A print I bought framed at an antique store, not longer there, near Queen & Broadview. It was love at first sight. Early 1900’s. This was a very popular subject – there are dozens of variations of the trouble soul clinging to the rugged cross in the storms of life. I love the face of Christ at the top of the cross – almost like seeing him in a piece of toast.

You Never Know Where He’ll Pop Up Next


you saw the face of Christ

in a piece of toast

yet you don’t own a toaster

you can’t even boil water

you have enough trouble

opening a granola bar


why was it only the face

was the slice of bread

too small 

to hold His entire body

was the holy toaster

limited to specific body parts 


was it the result of

ancient aliens

who after they built the pyramids 

designed a toaster

specifically to replicated

the face of Christ in toast

a face that seems rather caucasian

for an ancient alien


beside you aren’t the first 

to have seen the face of Christ

where it doesn’t belong

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Hot Box Girls

Guys and Dolls was our one Shaw Festival production for the season. For some reason seeing an actual Shaw play holds little appeal to me so I was glad there was at least one production at the Festival I wanted to see. I was not disappointed.


We drove down Wednesday – a perfect day for travel – sunny & not hot. Traffic reasonable. With a Tim Ho’s at the right place for a pit stop. We found a shady parking spot at N-Lake, also a nice bonus.

Lunch was at Yianni’s – great cajun crab cakes, fine house burger but inedible fries. A few new cafes have opened on that little strip of gift shops, fudge shops, gift shops, & we may try of them the next time. Picked up a couple of movies at Silver Screen -including a Tarzan serial from the 30’s. Oddly there is no book store in N-Lake.


G&D was at the main theatre. We had excellent balcony seats. The production was well-paced and well-performed. From the opening trio I was hooked and taken for a fun, melodic ride. When an ensemble and cast enjoys performing a show as much as these did it’s impossible not to enjoy it. The orchestra was great.


I would have liked more of the Hot Box Girls (by more I mean another number or two) and less of the gamblers but such is life. The text is very much of the time though some things haven’t changed as much as we’d like to think. At one point the women sing ‘marry him today, change him tomorrow’ – a song I hear many people still singing. The problem with fixer-uppers is that they turn into money pits 🙂


November 1-30 – participating – NaNoWriMo

June 6-8, 2014 – attending – Bloody Words


For the Heart of Hearing

one from the hard

my hard was in my throat

the hard of darkness

a hard attack

I left my hard in San Francisco

hard of the dark continent

open hard surgery

I hard NY

talking hard to hard

places in the hard

don’t keep breaking my hard

hard harded hanna

the hard of the hard of the country

hard healthy

change of hard

hards of fire

open your hard

wearing my hard on my sleeve

deep in my hard

the hard foundation

I gave you my hard

when hards collide

my secret hard

the hard of the matter

like a stake through the hard

take a little piece of my hard

tore the hard right out of his chest

gotta hide my hard away

take it to hard

the bleeding hard

my hard skipped a beat

queen of hards was baking some tarts

hard on a platter

you gotta have hard

falling hard first in love

cross my hard

hard in my hand

the hard is a lonely hunter

a growing up green
a growing up green

Am I #edgy?

Am I edgy? At the recent Loyalist workshop, when my piece was being commented on, one of the women started by saying – “knowing Duncan, when I saw this was his work, I knew I was in for something edgy, out-of-the-box and funny and I was was not disappointed.” This woman later presented a great piece about street people – one dressed in pink tutu with matching feathers in hair, so she knows edgy.

To be honest I don’t think of myself or my writing as edgy. When I think of edgy Electric Jon or Charlie Petch comes to mind – but me, I’m pretty tame, right? Sure when I write about sex I’m direct, fun – often people compliment me on being ‘brave’ – I just don’t get it – I know my audiences pretty well – what I present at the Erotica Writers certainly isn’t what I’d present at a high school poetry class.

shadow of the snake

So I guess writing frankly about sex is edgy? Or is the matter-of-fact way I present these pieces what makes them edgy? I’m thinking – what do I find edgy to write about. One area is race and sex.

Watching a recent spate of Weismuller Tarzan movies on Turner I couldn’t help but notice the amount of nearly naked flesh on screen – particularly the many ‘native’ bearers and tribesmen. I recalled Saturday matinees when I was a kid seeing some of these then and realized that the erotic appeal of black men had started then – now is this a racist memory? Is this dehumanization via a fetish of blackness or just some adolescent male seeing so much man flesh he likes it?

This reaches its apogee with Woody Strode in Spartacus – magnificent – his skin shines like armor in every scene – this movie brings up the another erotic area that caught me growing up – bearded, burly men in skirts. All those sword & sandal pictures: from the Ten Commandments to Hercules in the Underworld (I longed for Hercules out of his underwear).

Loyalist hardcore work
Loyalist hardcore work

I love all those Biblical epics with nearly naked men everywhere, rowing the galleons, training to be gladiators, just hanging around the market place waiting for Jesus (often a bearded hottie with a dozen other yummy bearded men to party with) to show up. When I see these today I am amazed at the amount of male flesh in them and am not surprised at how they informed my adult sex objectifications.

Sure there were pretty women in most these, usually so pure they gave our hero reason to win, or so evil they had to be vanquished. But first they’ll dance for you. Always in definitive period make-up too – eyeliner, eyelashes and blush. Not to mention cleavage that I’m sure required post-dub to removed the echo of any dialogue said near the valley of their ample, yet perky, breasts.

So Hollywood made me the queer I am – is that edgy?

writing sample
writing sample

Slap Unhappy

my masochist lover wants to leave

I’m not causing him enough pain

he’s tired of merely being ashamed

of being seen with me in public

he needs more domestic humiliation

I reminded him

it wasn’t my fault he needed an audience

in order to feel the depths of abasement

that got him off

besides I have rotator cuff tears from

spanking him every time

the dishes weren’t cleared away fast enough

testicular torture

aggravates my carpel tunnel syndrome

tennis elbow from fisting

doesn’t get me off at all

the constant stream of abuse

I had to supply him with was so draining

I had no spite left

for people who really deserved it

like that asshole barista

who couldn’t make a latte

without a shake of cinnamon

I told him twice no cinnamon

and when it came with a dash

a sense of futility

flooded me with each sip

of that fucking latte

I had no choice but to go home

and take it out on my masochistic lover

but that wasn’t enough for him

and now my masochistic lover wants

to leave

because I don’t make him suffer enough

he feels I don’t care when I hurt him

that I’m not into the brick-weighted nipple clamps

into the cigar scarification

that I do those things with too much detachment

I ask him why my not caring

doesn’t add to his sense of being abused

isn’t it worse when the abuser

does it out of boredom

and not out of passion

once he packed up his latex

I slapped him goodbye

then shut the door