« Posts tagged queer subculture

A Muffled Beep Beside Me

Is the title of a poem that debuted in print along with the editorial brilliance [compliment directed towards the team with whom I had the good fortune of working, BTW] in Giuseppina magazine 21 : The Acceptance Issue.

And not that you asked . . . but yes : In my continued assault against the expected, this piece was composed in a form not open but rather fixed, or — despite how deliciously perverse I consider usage of the term, a myriad of connotations attached to it as stead-fast as a spiked cilice to the inner thigh of an Opus Deistrict.

By no means is it my intention to imply that free verse is inferior, but rather familiar. Hence, exploring the paradoxical freedoms of composing within a limited; i.e., formal poetic structure . . . namely, one of my own creation? Oftentimes the experience is nothing short of numinous.

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numinous (adj.) : describing an experience that makes one fearful yet fascinated, awed yet attracted — the powerful, personal feeling of being overwhelmed and inspired

Dead Letters ; Twenty-Six Are

A new poem, published in Incurable Disorder : The Art of Elizabeth McGrath [Last Gasp] . . .

Composed in a strict poetic form I created, the details of which can be found HERE. ⟣ Thanks!

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Stolen and Forbidden: Bad Behavior, Good Times

All the rumors are true! Stolen and Forbidden — the event a particular Steven Reigns curated, and I mentioned in the not-so-distant past — is available for viewing, now : at no expense! In the comfort and privacy of your own home . . .

Crack open a fresh can of Crisco; slam-dunk those dentures in a fizz of Polident. It’s about to get real up in here — and by real, I mean really entertaining!

With . . .

Video Documentation, Featuring :

Intro by John D’Amico : 0:09

Steven Reigns : 1:31

Clint Catalyst : 14:47

Bernard Cooper : 30:07

Jonny McGovern : 40:40

Bruce Vilanch : 52:03

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Stolen and Forbidden

It’s Saturday. Whatever plans you think you had? Cancel.

In my eternal quest to keep the “litter” in literature, it’s an honor and a privilege to be part of this event :

And yes, there’s a Facebook Page, for those of you who care about that type of thing.

[ MORE ] :

“Before the Internet, pilferage and privacy breaking were common for young gay men looking for answers and others like themselves in the words of books and magazines they were denied access to by price, age, or shame. The stories that accompany these texts are just as amusing as the text themselves. Five gay men talk about and read the text that was forbidden or they stole in their youth. The act of sneak reading is a common experience. The length one goes to do it is often comical. This will be a FREE, fun literary event that offers humor, connectedness, and an informal primer for seminal gay literary works. FREE validated parking is available in the 5 story parking structure.”

Presented by Steven Reigns and the City of West Hollywood as a preview to the One City One Pride Queer Arts Festival.

Hope to see you soon!

x0x0x

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National Poetry Month Continues : with Justin Chin

Back When I Knew Who I Was 

i was content to spend my afternoons
wondering what co-dependent meant
not realizing that those lazy
humid daylight hours was better  
spent figuring out the physics
of dependency and codeine dreams

back when i knew who i was
i was much better than i ever thought i was
i could conjugate fuck like nobody’s business
       fuck me, fuck you, fuck it, fuck him, fuck her
       fuck them, fuck yourself, holy fuck, goddamnfuckit

i could shovel dead pets off the driveway
     that my aunt ran over on her way to choir practice
     and not shed a single tear
i could choke down every family fight about money,
every caning that would come for no reason after those fights,
every time we were forced to go to my rich relatives for dinner and we’d
find ourselves in the kitchen cooking and doing the dishes.

i believed i knew the meaning of alcohol
i believed i knew how to get out of every scrap
i believed i wasn’t gonna make 25
i believed in 18 molecules of carbon
21 molecules of hydrogen
3 oxygen and one fab nitrogen
all in a sweet mixture enough to make me
feel like jennifer beals in flashdance
twirling my ass
in front of the snotty audition,
praying for a stinking place in 
the dance-a-thon of actuality

back when my balls were the size of brazil
and my ego was the size of the antarctica
and my courage was the size of phlegm
i learned to trust few people
learned to want little
and to need even less
i learned to say “FUCK IT”

with such ease and venom
the most cynical rattlesnake
would have its underbelly turn emerald
in two seconds flat.

you could wake to find yourself in some sweet danger,
in some piss-flavored version of addiction
designed to make up for lost time,
lost ideals, lost lovers, lost causes, lost saviours
but -shit- these days,
all i find is myself back when i was
back in the conga line of perpetual desire
the territory of an incessant need
i crave my one habit of a good man
and i want to secede from
the grip of addiction philosophy,
from the colony of “i should’ve known better”

fuck that 12-step thing, i say,
i like to keep my options open
and i like having the option
to get absolutely fucked up
when i feel like it,
and not feel like i fucked up, dammit.

do things change that much?
can some stupid sign from the almighty
whip you right around?
maybe i should be looking for visions of jesus
in billboards of spaghetti sauce,
visions of buddha in men’s semen,
maybe i’ll be a much better person
if i knew who i was when i knew who i was
but who the fuck do i think i am?
i can’t even piss straight into the bowl,
can’t even tell my lover that i want to cook him
breakfast for the rest of my life,
can’t even cross against the light,
     (ooh, walk to the light, walk to the light….)
can’t pay my bills on time nor balance my checkbook
can’t dance, can’t mosh,
can’t get fucked up like i used to, not that i want to anyway
can’t take it like a man, whatever that means.

all i can is kiss who i was
back when i knew who i was
goodbye, one great big tongue smooch
and wish him a good journey
as he walks to the light
and falls off the edge of the earth
and into a peaceful hell.

i’ll meet up with him later.

Justin Chin, from Bite Hard
     Manic D Press, 1997

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And Up Next, In Honor of National Poetry Month : Sparrow 13 Laughingwand

from the anthology Signs of Life [ Manic D Press : 1994 ]
as well as Hell Soup [ Manic D : 1996 ], Sparrow’s collected works, self-described as “ranging from Hillbilly childhood to savage sissy.”

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Faggot Dinosaur Give-Away!

Though much to my chagrin, no : I don’t have some butt-humping Brontosaurus to send your direct. I do, however, have an invaluable relic uncovered during the most recent excavation of my abode. And like, I’m sharing. I’m sharing, Mary!

So, anyway. Yes, it’s been a minute, but I’ve mentioned Ali Liebegott‘s wicked excellent anthology Faggot Dinosaur in the past — a detail whether or not you recall, all the same : You need this journal in your life.

About the project [ Shoddy scanner notwithstanding ] :

In short, the anthology is “a visual and literary collaboration of dinosaurs knitting, fucking, and listening to Barbara Streisand! Queerness of the Paleolithic Age abounds at Faggot Dinosaur.”

Though to expound upon the extent of how it abounds . . . This gorgeous, full-color, perfect-bound compendium of cool includes contributions from Resa Alboher, Jen Benka & Carol Mirakove, Denise Bilbao, Cooper Bombardier, Lisa Brown, Clint Catalyst, Justin Chin, Lucy Corin, Carmella Fleming, Leora Fridman, Nicole J. Georges, Hilary Goldberg, Nicki Greene, Michael Henry Hayden, Diane Hoffman, Sade Huron, Elyssa Joy Kilman, Andrea Lawlor, jojo Lazar, Janice Lee, Ricky Lee, Cayenne Link, Amy Macabre, Mary Meriam, Na¹amen, Sawako Nakayasu, Kirk Read, Steven Reigns, Joshua Robinson, Tracy Jeanne Rosenthal, Roxanne, Sam Sax, Cedar Sigo, Michelle Tea, Masha Tupitsyn, Vlad Viski, Ed Wolf and Yasmin San Francisco.

[ Illustration : Victor Ray ]

It’s a charming little beast, this book. Indeed, indeed! I mean, as with Liebegott’s other works, you should already own one. Seriously. Regardless, for one lucky reader out there, I have a copy with fifteen contributor signatures to donate. That’s right, kids : the only journal in the world with autographs from Justin Chin, Janice Lee, Michelle Tea, Ricky Lee, Na’amen, Mario Ashkar, Kirk Read, Tracy Jeanne Rosenthal, Jen Benka & Carol Mirakove, Lucy Corin, Hilary Goldberg, Carmella Suzanne Fleming, your host of this humble Dot Com, and of course, The Liebegott herself. So much crazy mad queer ink smeared all up in one place, yet I plan on sending it somewhere, to someone else. What’s the T?

Well. For your chance to receive this collector’s item, all you have to do is leave a comment — email address included; my telepathic skills don’t pay the bills, ifyouknowwhatImean — by 9:39 PM Pacific Standard Time, the Third of March, Two Thousand Thirteen.

[ Illustration : Nicole J. Georges ]

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Millennial Love Story

Thanks to Beauty Nursed On Darkness for the blog post, and to The Battered Suitcase, where the poem first appeared.

For information about the form in which this piece was written, please click HERE.
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Pills, Thrills, Chills and Heartache Review — Fab Magazine

April 2004

Toronto, ON Canada

Michelle Tea, review, Clint Catalyst

[ Click HERE for full-size image ]

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