TWISTED GUILDED GHETTO

By Eric Page

Pride: I miss you

Ah, so another year without Pride, so what. Another year when I’m not working every bloody hour for months in parade prep, costume sorting, float building, ego massaging and promotion. Another year when I’m not playing free hotel, breakfast chef, tour guide, fixer & nag. No Pride again, means I get to have another stolen summer, to rest, lay on the beach, water the garden, read books in August. Do I miss it? Hmmmmm.

You want to know what I have missed? What I ache for? What I dream of? What I really, really want?

It’s YOU, Dear Reader. I missed all of you, in your messed-up hordes, your screwedup, lushed, swollen, intoxicated masses. I’ve missed the random connection with a superbly inspirational queer person who is as sharp, alert and conniving as me. I’ve missed the bump and grind with the druggie dykes who Hokey Cokey out of the deep shade of a dance tent, surrounding me with their effortless laughter. I yearn for the laugh-out-loud costumes, the clever ones, the ones I see over and over throughout the day then step over in the gutter at the bottom of St James’ St.

I miss the hot throbbing mobs at the bar, I miss Grannies sporting strap-ons (thanks Grace!), I miss bad cheap wigs, huge wigs, cool wigs, light-up wigs. I miss talking to the Northern non-binary kid who leaves me laughing and thoughtful, I miss the German trans couple who flirt outrageously with me dressed in buckskin and smirks, I miss the heart achingly sweet slightly drunk twink couple who hold hands and grin adoringly at each other as the sun sets behind them. I miss the older lesbians sitting on the park benching sharing smiles with me.

Oh, Pride I do miss you, I miss my friends who have died, leaving behind laughter and stinging admonitions to NOT WASTE TIME AND LIVE. I miss them, I miss pausing in the madness of the middle of the park, letting the tears irrigate my soul and some angel in disguise stepping out of the crowd to hug me and check I’m OK. I miss stopping at the top of the park and looking back on all of you, the music throbbing over the excited chatter. I miss my annual hour-long rides on the Chair-O- Planes spinning in wild abandon and letting my soul sing the body electric, ending up bruised from the chains and relentless centrifugal force; my first and always drug!

I miss the sweaty bearded kisses in the Bears Tent, the heaving sweaty breasts in the Women’s Tent, the heaving sweaty everything in the Dance Tent. I miss bumping into people I only ever see at Pride. I miss ducking into groups of people to avoid exes who are now whys, I miss the thrill of being seriously checked out by some super hottie and the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion that kicks in about 11pm.

I miss the glitter which gets everywhere, the blisters and blurred encounters. I miss all of you, from all over the place who come here to be LOUD and QUEER with me, trampling our city into the ground with your giant heels and sexy devil hooves, grinding hate and bigotry into the ground with your gyrating bodies, all celebrating the wonderful delightful joys of us all being together and most of all, I miss being in a majority for that one day, when WE THE QUEERS own this city, the streets, the parks, the beaches, the skies and scream in one harmonious voice: ‘love is love, let’s be exquisite and never explain.‘