RFD Issue 17 Fall 1978

GAY M E N

If you don't know the kind of person I am and I don't know the kind of person you are A pattern that others made may prevail in the world and following the wrong god home we may miss our star the signals we give — yes or no, maybe — should be clear: the darkness around us is deep. from "A Ritual to Read to Each Other",

by William Stafford This issue of RFD considers daily life. Ron, F and Woody tell us what happened during a day in their lives, Wednesday, September 27. We asked them in particular so as to learn more about what it's like being gay and living in country communes. Our Now Orleans friends, Sissies in Struggle, send word of a recent day of theirs. Not a typical day, perhaps, but being such uncompromising, high-energy folks, they are often on the line. Allan's letters chronicle his return to North Carolina this summer.

The darkness around us is deep. We like to think that shining a light on these daily lives helps us all to find our way. What kind of person are you? What kind of person am I? Understanding each other is important in this day when the patterns that others make seem too often to prevail.

ALOE COMMUNITY

SHANNON FIRM

Shannon Farm is a collection ot households, some on the 500-acre farm itself, others nearby.

In the past two years I have lived in three different house­ holds. I often think about the time when Shannon had a bisexual household, the Lavender Express, and how we encouraged each other in risk-taking behavior.

One half of those individuals are now in monogamous heterosexual relationships.

Most have left Shannon.

I wonder how long until I find other individuals in­ terested in gayness and community, how long until I find or form another group committed to mutual support, affectionate caring, and gay consciousness-raising.

A. I write my hetero housemate T— a note asking him not to leave his Mother Earth News laying around where 1 or visiting gay friends might be confronted by the anti-gay discrimination it represents. We have a talk. T— is sympa­ thetic. We also talk about community outreach. And careerism.

Is individual careerism a divisive influence on community? We contrast communities where individuals do and do not have "outside" jobs.

B. I go to the library to photocopy some articles on community to send to a friend. At the library, 1 meet P— , a former Shannon member now living in another smaller community nearby. To my surprise he has returned to school full-time. He is thinking about earning power and his future should he decide to leave community. He has recently become a father.

I reflect on what cap­ ital and assets an individual gives to a community when co joins, and what co may take away should co leave.

1 start to think about total Income sharing, but it scares me.

C. My gay friend A— stops by. He is not interested in living communally. He shows me the two latest disco albums he's just bought. He talks about his up­ coming trip to Washington to buy clothes.

I think about gay fashion, gay con­ sumerism, and capitalism.

I think about the Men Against Sexism trying to put their sewing trip together inside prison.

I wonder how many disco outfits would equal the cost of one sewing machine, I wonder who I have less in com­ mon with, trendv gav consumers or heterosex 1st romm*minis, D. It’s my turn to cook dinner.

I'm i ired of health food elitism. gar in the pie and bacon in the black-eyed peas.

1 put su­

E. At dinner we discuss letters from various correspondents interested in vis­ iting Shannon. K— expresses misgivings about one man who has had trouble with the military. She doubts that Shannon should he Interested in someone the military has rejected.

I question her out loud on this point. What about people like me, practicing homosexuals and unrepentant cockauckers?

F. On Shannon land I am free and safe. At night there are the stars, the mountains, and the river. Here before dykes have whooped and hollered across the hilltops, pagans have celebrated solstice and equinox, and faggots have found love in the fields and forests.

Woody Black Shannon Farm Rt. 2, Box 183 Afton, VA 22920

Buzzz! I stir in bed. Moans and restless motions from beside me. Gary and Leslie prepare for milking our Brown Swiss. I relax and drift back to sleep.

How nice to not have to get up this early today. About 8, I head down the hill to breakfast.

Not so fast! Scuppernog jelly is On the stove. I reflect on the loss of "con­ trol" that comes of living with a group. Breakfast winds up scattered, my dis­ position goes up and down.

I light a cigarette.

In all of this l know 1 need to develop perspective (when else is Dan to make jelly?), an understanding of what I can do (eat early or eat granola), assert my needs ("I'd like to fry an egg, could we work something out?") and to stay unattached to any one view of what needs to happen. And I should stop smoking! For now it gives a safety valve so my own negative energy doesn't go impacting on other people quite so directly.

Full of coffee I go up to the dipping lines. This morning, I try out dipping fast! Marge is cleaning one end of the lines, and Bruce is brushing more cans for”dipping. I fly! and soon the lines are full. Satisfied and feeling good again, I try to get a late morning snack.

It works! Dan is still making jelly but we manage and talk about work and how we feel about community priorities.

1 make a point of spending some time in the garden, a high priority for me but low for the community at this fall season. Weeding, cleaning, watching the beds take shape, I dream of spring and take comfort in the herbs and veggies I see around me.

Lunch and back to tinnery. Dipping lines full of glistening tin cans, Gordi packing up for a show. We talk about the new production schedule, chimney sweeping and our day so far.

Mid-afternoon I take a break for a walk down East Road. identify wildings along the road and shares a joint.

A visiting Zany helps

I go back to tinnery. The day is winding down, I finish up my work and head down for supper. Supper gathers us together from our various tasks and activi­ ties. I see us all reflected in the food we share— food choices of the cook, garden produce, purchased food, and tilllk and cream from Rose, our Brown Swiss.

Common food, personal talk, supper is a real high point.

Close to nine, I ask Francine "What time is bedtime?" "Oh, nine o'clock, or maybe 9:30." I suggest quiet down activities. Soon Marge comes down from the tinnery to tuck the kids in. Tt doesn’t go smoothly.

I take time to listen as Raphy explains her own responsibility for setting bed time. A quarter af­ ter nine, Raphy asks me to tuck her in. I agree and we spend more time talking about my religion (paganism) and bedtimes. Later, Marge and I talk about bed­ time and kids rights/responsibilities. We agree to a weekend meeting/disctission to share feelings with the kids.

My own bedtime is fast approaching, for me.

Tomorrow that Bzzzing alarm clock will be Ron Aloe Rt. 1, Box 100 Cedar Crove, NC

— 27231

Ron was digging a h'ainage ditch....

TWIN OAKS Just after 8: Today I managed to get up without lying awake long enough to think of something to get angry about. Maybe it has to do with my having a cold, which leaves less energy for such things. Before blowing my nose, I dropped the roll of toilet paper on the floor. Usually I get angry at that, but this morning I scarcely draw an extra breath.

It's sunny and calm outside. Nevertheless, it's a long-pants day, because the Washington Post predicted a high in the 70's. The pants are from community clothes and have bt»en there as long as I have been here— 6 years.

While making my bed, had the first hate fantasy of the day. I imagined I was clothing manager and chewed out someone who wanted a private pair of sheets tho there was no money in the budget. This was revenge against the perennial shortage of public sheets.

8:51: Breakfast was very good this morning, as it always is when Alice makes it. (She is a devoted public servant.

I've heard a rumor she won't last long.) She offers me some fresh pancakes, but I have forgotten to stop off at the bathroom in Tachai and get a piece of paper towel, to blow my nose on, and there are none in Llano, so 1 go back to Tachai.

There are a lot of nice things to put on the pancakes, including some plum jam that was opened the day before yesterday. Usually it seems such stuff is available only when there is nothing to put it on but shitbread.

Llano is chilly. The music room is warmest, so I put my tray there and go get a magazine. A visitor sits down with me, whose name I don't know. He is friendly, but sets my teeth on edge. We don't say much.

In between, I have a couple of unusually vicious hate fantasies, but in the process discover one possibly useful witticism.

11:47: Spent the morning on editing, going over 3 manuscripts done by Betty.

She has forgotten a lot in the hiatus due to her pregnancy, but is picking up again. Sneezing and blowing my nose a lot. This is the first cold in a year or so.

...and Lee was fixing something in the van.

I think I'll take a nap and maybe masturbate rather than start another manu­ script before lunch.

2:00: Lunch was pleasant. Since 1 had it late, the courtyard was quiet (re­ cently, the children have been eating there). Adam told me Carrie had left East Wind. We talked about her and his frustrations there. As he left the picnic table 1 touched him and he hugged me. Now I have drawn a cartoon on a postcard, alluding to an old remark l made about her, and sent it to her in Arizona.

Since it's so late, I'll go and do hammocks for a while. That way I'll over­ lap my usual coffee time and get "free" coffee.

(They took the coffee maker out of the kitchen a year or so ago, and put it in the hammock shop. Now if you want a cup of coffee and aren’t making hammocks, you either pay for it out of your allowance or make instant coffee for yourself. Fortunately, I have plenty of allowance and enjoy hammock work, so I can afford to be con­ temptuous of this petty harassment.)

4:40: Spent 2 hours inspecting and welding hammocks outdoors.

I originally devised the setup for doing so in order to avoid putting out smoke in the hammock shop, but an incidental effect (which I think I unconsciously wished for) is that f am away from the conversation in the shop, which insomuch as it is about Twin Oaks is likely to depress me. At any rate, I had a good time despite my cold, and even sang a little. The music coming out of the kitchen was bearable for once; often it drives me to earplugs.

But the pleasure I took in it was a guilty pleasure In view of the fundamental swinishness of the comb ination of 11 and lanuLspeak er^ Saw a hummingbird while working, and thought at first it was an insect, because yesterday I saw an insect so large I thought it was a hummingbird.

8:59: Another hour of editing, this time a fresh manuscript. Then dinner, which I enjoyed but ate quickly and without talking to anyone. Browsed in Consumer Reports a few minutes until the beginning of the dishwashing shift (called "Kitchen 111" In our jargon). Barry asks me if Charles, my mate for the shift, has slwwn up, and then goes and gets him.

1 am on affectionate terms with Charles, but not with Barry. Consequently I am not annoyed with Charles, though he is late and hasn't even eaten yet; but I am afraid that

Barry will tell me not to do the shift because I have a cold.

(Afraid of be­ ing told not to do the dishes? Well, I suppose it was the possibility of an awkward interaction that I recoiled at— also that I might have to find a sub­ stitute, the sort of task I hate because it involves breaking into conversa­ tions, and I cannot do that at Twin Oaks without being rude.) But Barry said nothing. At first I had to blow my nose every minute, but later it felt bet­ ter and I began singing.

(I have by now intimidated people out of playing the phonograph on my kitchen shifts.) Charles wants to quit a little early, but I insist on cleaning the oven as Barry requested.

It happens to last until the dot of 9 by the kitchen clock.

Now it is dark outside. I am sitting at the desk 1 built into the end of my bed, a cozy place a little like a cockpit. I could work on the manuscript some more, but I already have 7.6 labor credits today, so I think I'll put my sweater back on and go down and mix a drink.

9:51: A glass of rather thin Twin Oaks tomato juice, a dash of bitters, a few drops of lemon extract, 2 tablespoonfuls of grain alcohol, ice. Feels goad on my snot-etched tonsils. Only the bitters and the alcohol are allowance items, so it comes cheap. But actually, I could afford to support the commer­ cial alcohol racket if I chose.

Once the allowance was so low that no one could afford liquor, and I was strong­ ly in favor of raising it. Now the wastebaskets are full of beer cans, but com­ munity clothes can't afford to keep up its stock of sheets. Of course, by drinkcheap I can afford to buy sheets and pillowcases and put them in community clothes marked DONATED BY F, to spite the management. So it goes.

11:13: Don has been occupying the sink in Tachai bathroom for about^"ffaffhour.

So I went to Harmony to brush my teeth, and must now use a peejar because after all these years I am still piss-shy.

And so to bed.

F Twin Oaks Community Louisa, VA 23093

Shannon Farm / Woody

3 Carefully skirting security guards, we eventually found our way out of the Hyatt and before the main entrances to the Superdome. But where were the striking teachers? As we circled the outer ramp we began to hear noises below us that sounded like voices. We walked over to the edge of the ramp and there below us, stretched as far as we could see, were the masses of striking workers, milling around in 90 sunshine waiting for the march to begin.

A Gay Playlet in One Act with Applause The Background New Orleans, historic Queen City of the South, where in 1769 the cry for liberty from foreign op­ pression first rang out in America, seven years be­ fore the Declaration of Independence.

In 1978, New Orleans is resting on fading glory and a slipping tax base. 51% of the population is black and, mir­ roring national averages, 16-18% are unemployed.

The school system is decaying. Teachers are among the lowest paid in the nation. At the beginning of this school year the United Teachers of New Orleans (UTNO)— the majority of whose members are black— went out on strike for higher pay. The school su­ perintendent and local press have tried to charac­ terize the strikers as goons; the assistant super­ intendent refuses to speak with parents who support the teachers ("I don't speak to pickets," was the way he dismissed the people who pay his salary); and the newly-elected black mayor, Ernest Morial, had maintained a publicly stony silence.

Suddenly applause and shouting and cheering began.

People were pointing up at. the ramp and yelling to their friends to look. Four Sissies carrying signs supporting their struggle had been spotted above.

It took us five minutes to walk the entire length of the ramp to the street level to join the march ...and we were cheered and applauded al1 the way!

By the time we took our place at the end of the line, passing out leaflets and pamphlets on the Briggs Initiative all the way along, our spirits were soaring.

Within minutes after getting in place, however, a large burly man appeared before us and identified himself as vice-president of the UTNO. (We found out later he was misrepresenting himself; the vicepresident is a woman.) He said he appreciated our support, but that since this was a teachers' strike and we were introducing other issues, would we please leave and not march. We showed him our signs supporting UTNO, affirmative action, anti­ union laws, etc., but he still "respectfully re­ quested" that we leave. We looked at each other for a second, and then one of us stepped forward.

"We hear what you are saying. But we stand on our rights as workers and oppressed people to show our solidarity with gay teachers in this strike who cannot come out for fear of losing their jobs."

"Do I understand that you will not leave?"

The Setting "That is correct.

The Superdome, an enormous money-losing structure built several years ago, in an attempt to attract more tourists to shore up a sagging economy, on the edge of the central business district over the razed ruins of an old black community. The main entrances to the Superdome are connected to the street level by huge encircling ramps.

The Actors Four Sissies (three ex-Yankees and one prodigal Southerner) who've been in New Orleans less than a year trying to alert the fun-loving gay community to the dangers around us by organizing a political group called the Pink Triangle Alliance (P.T.A.); two union representatives (one fake and one real); and an estimated 3,000 striking teachers and their supporters.

The Drama None of us had ever been to the Superdome before.

In the ten months we've been here, the only event to appear there that even remotely interested us was the Rolling Stones. But the sexism of the Stones and the price of their t ickets quickly quashed even tiiat interest. So when we heard the striking teachers were going to hold an open rally and march at the Superdome on Labor Day, we had only the vaguest notion of where to go to join in.

We parked near the Hyatt Regency hotel and, like slumming tourists, wandered thru its lush corri­ dors in search of the Superdome entrance, carrying banners which read: GAYS SUPPORT UTNO TEACHERS STRIKE...DOWN WITH BAKKE! DOWN WITH WEBER! GAYS FOR AFFIRMATIVE ACTION...GAYS AGAINST RIGHT-TOW0RK-F0R-LE$$ LAWS...FREE GARY TYLER! GAYS FOR JUSTICE...GAYS AGAINST RACISM...GAYS FOR THE E.R.7.

We had more signs than we had Sissies!

We will march!"

He went away and a few minutes later was replaced by a black man who identified himself as a parade marshall representing the union. He repeated the first man's request: this was a teachers1 strike and, elaborating further, we were not teachers.

Again we stepped forward.

"That's preposterous! There are parents in this march. And children. And representatives from trade and craft unions. We're all here to show our support for the striking teachers. What you are asking of us is blatant discrimination!"

shook hands. We lifted our banners high and marched off with the women ahead of us singing: Solidarity forever Solidarity forever Solidarity forever Our union makes us strong!

Recorded for Sissies in Struggle Box 51012 New Orleans, LA 70151

by Dennis Melba'son (c) 1978 by Sissies in Struggle Permission to reprint granted

From the out of his hutch disguise, w e ’d place our Mystery Sissy in the early 20 ’s. On side (from an old children's book?) we read: "Bob jumped down/Released at last!/Poor Mother!

Of/comfort her. But a/much comfort in a sic/ So Bob's freckle" Hail, forgotten brother!

He heard that. And so did a group of teachers standing in front of us. The union reps retired to our left to talk, joined by a few women from the school local behind whom we were standing.

Suddenly we noticed that the police were massing to our right. There we were, at the very end of the line, union brass on one side of us, armed police on the other, and local Red Squad plainclothesmen hovering at our rear. Word spread among the teachers in front of us. Waves of ener­ gy and support came flooding back.

m

"You walk! Don't let them people tell you what to do! You march with us!"

The union-worker caucas broke up. The second man returned to explain that the union wanted to make sure the media understood this was a teachers' demonstration.

(Were they afraid four lone Sis­ sies would turn their march into a gay pride ral­ ly?) Therefore, would we please wear around our necks their standard union strike placards?

"Would we? We'd be PROUD to wear them. There are four of us. Do you have four placards to spare?"

Placards were found.

We put them on.

Everyone

“SISSY”

Hayesville/Otherplaces Hayesville, the smallest county seat in North Carolina, is way out in the western comer of the state. Eight miles north of Georgia and about SO miles east of Tennessee. I grew up in Greensboro, now 160,000 people, in the Piedmont and never heard of Hayesville until one of my sisters moved there a couple of years ago. She worked as a visiting nurse. This June she went back to Boston for a year and I moved in. Back to the South for a long visit. Both my parents were b o m in Greensboro and are still there. Daddy’s people were from the country southeast of town, Mother’s from the mountains.

For six years I ’ve lived with my loveb Carl in Wolf Creek, Oregon. The rural faggot community we had both hoped and worked for got lost amidst the squabbling of lonely men, all who needed things the country didn't afford.

Carl’s attention increasingly went to protecting the forests around us and folk dancing. I have not found equivalent pursuits and feel right aimless.

This trip was to be a time for both of us to think about Wolf Creek and our relationship, to visit old friends and make new ones, and to find things to do. Carl's been studying dance and music in New England. The following is excerpted from letters, mostly, which I wrote during the summer to several people— Carl, predominantly, Linton, a flute player in Boston, a friend in Vermont, my sister, a college classmate who’s showed up queer recently, and another classmate, not queer, in Chicago. I stopped off for a day with him on my way to North Carolina and we spent a morning playing. We made little books for each other, the topic being "Solstice". I brew one picture of me standing in a field of Queen Anne's lace...

Greensboro, Solstice When I opened the door there was Queen Anne's lace in a pitcher on the kitchen table. So I am home. Sweet solstice to you,friend.

The drive in the van to the airport was uneventful for all but me. In the slow traffic, we rode beside, passed and tailed for what seemed hours, and years, a camper-pickup sporting a bumper sticker on the rear window, "HELP ANITA SQUEEZE A FRUIT". Black letters on fluorescent orange. The fiery color filled my eyes and burned in my head. Over and over I rehearsed what to say, first to the bald white businessman from St. Paul, smoking cigarettes to my right, then to the silent black driver to my left. Then to the space just in

front of me and midway between them. Should I state my case, point blank? Or perhaps avoid declaring myself by saying something, like "That bumper sticker sure does bum me out"? "How would you feel if that read 'Help the Nazis Has­ sle Jews'?" to the businessman from the Twin Cities. Or, to the driver, "What would you do if that bumper sticker said 'Help the KKK String Up Nig­ gers'?" Earlier when he said where he was from, the business man, I thought immediately of the recent referendum and wondered how lie voted.

I remembered, after the bumper sticker began passing, how in Miami the black vote was barely pro-gay. Behind me sat two black men. Who were the other passengers?

Was I safe initiating a discussion? Would anyone respond? All the while, rage and contempt for my silence grappled in my chest and gut. The disordered radio spat out bits of ads and news every few minutes. The windshield wipers ticked away as we inched along. Help Anita Squeeze a Fruit Help Anita Anita Anita Squeeze a Fruit Squeeze a Squeeze a Fruit Fruit Anita Squeeze Help Anita Anita Squeeeeze.

If the truck got in front of us once again I would say "I'm getting awful tired of that bumpersticker." What was everybody else thinking? "Oriole Ave. Coca Cola O'Hare Airport Left Lane Hilton" with this terrible message just an­ other blip on the screen? Just before the airport we passed the truck for good and there was bantering between the driver and the black passengers about how long the ride had taken.

Greensboro, June 22 Last night I went over to the branch library at a new shopping center to take in Singin' in the Rain which I'd never seen and because it was pouring and Peter and I couldn’t go swimming yet. Got there late, found a seat in the dark. The bright songs and dancing were great, the sexual tone tiresome.

Gene Kelly's smile made my face ache after a while. When it was over and the lights went on, among the tiny audience was the disturbing couple who used to sit in front of us at church when 1 was a kid. Disturbing in that amidst all that money they were poor. And ugly and their children smelled. There they were, creased, warty, buck-toothed and shy, blinking in the light. As if it had been turned off 20 years ago, and then turned back on last night and we were all much older. There was a dwarf wearing a huge elevator shoe who scur­ ried across the parking lot as if not to be seen by the rest of us walking out

into the damp, warm evening. 1 wondered what he felt like during all the tap dancing and acrobatics. And what the Sudderths made of Debbie Reynolds and Gene Kelly. I was right miserable as I drove along Yanceyville Road toward Peter1s.

Hayesville, July 5 Tom, the folk dance teacher, tries my soul and my libido. The possibility of physical closeness is so alluring, but-at every turn (I'm the one who does the turning) I'm startled by the ravages of the closet. As of today I give up trying to get what I need from him, save an occasional lying down. It makes me so angry, the power society has to destroy our spirits, to cripple our day to day comings and goings. Last night Linda and Martin had the Wed. night dance class over for punch and visiting. Early on it turned to volleyball.

Fortunately, one woman had been stung by a bee so I excused myself to keep her company. Tom led the charge— at least he was better at volleyball than all the straights.

I decided to go play music down the road. As I left, every­ body but Tom shouted goodbyes. He looked the other way. Getting into the car I smelled his deodorant or cologne or whatever on my body from earlier that afternoon.

Hayesville, July 11 Just back from the courthouse.

I went down for a wilderness hearing which had already disbanded and angry knots of men, almost exclusively, stood around under the trees and hunkered on the grass. Seems they had shut the proceed­ ings down. The same- old "Sierra Club Kiss My Axe" posters were propped against the courthouse, but there were differences. People here have much deeper roots than in Josephine County (Oregon). Ancient men talked about their great-grand­ fathers and young men wore the defiant expressions of Civil War daguerreotypes.

There's not the same wholesale pillage in the forests here as hack in Oregon, 1 think. Certainly not as evident, but for occasional log trucks teetering along loaded with hardwood. Clay Co. is up for 16,000 acres, far more than any other county in the state. It's also the poorest, the next-to whitest, losing population more, or maybe grow­ ing slowest (I dawdled through a state atlas the other day in the library)— generally an economist’s headache. 1 brought home the packet put out by the Forest Service. At least that's familiar. With some interesting additions.

They speculate, area by area in the Southern states, where opposition to additional wilder­ ness lands will be most violent. There's men­ tion of arson. On the courthouse lawn, a puffy man with a Forest Service nametag, when pressed frantically by a young man "Why cain't we vote on it, why cain't we vote on it?" confessed that they didn't expect any of the Clay Co. area to pass.

Since I was late, I filled up a file card with rhetoric and handed it to a gracious lady who was obviously part of the road show. Maybe Clay Co. lands won't be protected this time around, but I thought as I handed in my card, that T and the lady and the beleaguered official are in league against all those sun-burnt men muttering under the trees. And then the back­ drop changes, and they are all united against me, and then it changes again and it's the lady and me surrounded by all those men.

It’s discouraging how powerfully women are kept down in this mountain culture. Tree, a woman who works at the Mountain People's Clinic, says it's a problem trying to help women whose husbands won’t let them leave the house. At least at those hearings in Eugene (Oregon) there were plenty of women, even if they wire scream­ ing a jtuujfc/ 1s jump!" Here it’s more like Greece. ! wander across this enormous map of NC, gratis from the Forest Service and am full of wonder about Merry Hill and Boogertown, Mount Mourne, Bug Hill, Barium Springs, and China Grove, Othello, Cricket, Shingle Hollow, Goodluck, Relief, Old Trap, Mamie and Spot, Wiggins Crossroads, Watta Watta, Snow Camp, Cooleemee, Pink Hill, Rose Hill and Rooks, Wards Corner, Frogsboro, Quail Roost and Au­ rora. How might we disguise ourselves when the leaves have fallen and the sky is luminous white and wander along route 903 and 308 and 343, exploring this strange state? There is probably no way, but 1 yearn to look and hear, smell, taste, feel the land under my shoe soles and generally absorb.

Good night.

Hayesville, July full moon Tonight's dancing went right well. Had a spat with Eddie, young insecure ’ve adopted to replace hippy who couldn't tune into red and green the terms t dances). We talked afterwards and mostly he's just muddled, which I think I can work with. "I don't know if I'm gay or not" he volunteered. Well, he sure won't get any help from Tom if he's looking for answers.

I stopped by to drop off a dance book I'd bor­ rowed. lorn had taught a class tonight too, for beginners, so we compared notes.

Mind you, 1 have put much energy into stewing about Tom and resent the power he has over my peace that. way.

If there were other faggots around T could dismiss him from mind, but I hunger for holding and he's the only one I know to turn to.

But he's thoughtless, aloof and condescending. Tonight I forgot my resolve not to reach out and sure enough when I did 1 got slapped. Says he's been thinking it over, which is unlikely, and that he's decided he prefers tradition. It was like trying to reason with Phyllis Schlafly.

1 could only fume— he has consid­ erable control over dancing around here, and as I marched out he tweaked my cheek.

I feel no compunction now about billing myself as an alternative.

I got the beginnings of the reassurance 1 need tonight. Linda said it was a re­ lief when the set is forming not to freeze and peer around for Martin, fearing he might be at the water fountain. And Edmund gave me a warm hand as he left and said for -:ure he'd come again. So the drive home was all elation and anger.

When I leave they'll have to go back to lock step. But maybe not. Right now Tom sees his tidy closet act threatened. If women come down on him to change ("Cut the 'weak, defenseless creatures’ crap!") and, Lord preserve us, a straight man or two, he'll have to think again. But I forget the imperturb­ ability of those who don't think.

I read Eudora Welty's The Optimist's Daughter recently. She talks of "the great, interrelated family of those who never know the meaning of what has happened to them." There's a lot in her book about folks who rarely think twice and are always justified.

I've run up against the South in Tom. Ancient, smug justification, impassive, unchallengeable.

He has so little real power, though, it breaks my heart and infuriates me.

Don't know whether to bellow or weep.

Bakersville, July 24 I’m at Mikel's cabin on the south flank of Roan Mountain.

It's about as far from Hayesville as you can go in the mountains. Especially in Tennessee (a wrong turn), past ancient cabins with begonias in coffee cans lined up on porch rails, and families, sometimes vast connections, sometimes just the es­ sentials, also lined up on porches, or sitting in lawn chairs, I was an intru­ der. However freaky, straights can't know that feeling.

Seven hours to go three inches on the map. Was I almost to the end of the awful maze? Would they be home? I walked through a barnyard past a horse interested in my sack of apples, past two small boys pushing a third in a go cart: "Mister, got any gas?" past a man and his sons picking beans, past more barns and trailers and lastly a jackleg old cabin where stunted chickens scratched in the ruts. Then I turned down the road, now more a creek bed, to the house. Past a field, through some trees and Chere^in the clearing was an old white cabin. Skull-like. i called. No answer. A catbird chirred. Watei murmured in the woods. Turk's cap lilies suspended in the shade where red

bee-balm glowed. A casually fecund garden was head-high with dill and pole beans. Firewood was stacked on the porch. On the door a note— "Howdy. I've moved to Atlanta— make yourselves at home."

It is beautiful and sad. This place is as close as I've come to my rural fantasy home.

I can wander naked in the yard and woods. Spring water shoots through a pipe into a pool for bathing. Roan Mountain looms above the trees.

A house where grandfather Charles Silas Kirkpatrick might have been born, or grandmother Effie Belle Atkinson. Why has Mikel moved to Atlanta?

I know.

Hayesville, July 25 Going away and coming back improve a place. All the way home the VW had fits of misfiring and I was terrified of getting stranded in Micaville or Ban­ dana. But I am back safe. The last stretch, after all other vehicles turn off for Clayton and Atlanta, was especially moving. Goldenrod blooming, the first I've seen in years and the mountains open out into wide blue valleys.

For miles, there were no other cars at all on the new 4-lane highway going al­ most nowhere, Hayesville and Murphy. Far down the road something was moving.

As I got closer, two old men and two old women were strolling along, shoulder to shoulder in the right lane. They smiled and waved as I pulled to the left and passed. Directly, a small boy in cut-off britches, standing in a grove of trees, crouched down, threw something into the air, smiled and then jigged back and forth to catch his balance. Across the road was parked a truck with JOY lettered on the back. I laughed and laughed.

Virginia, August 11 In Weyers Cave, Virginia, the Turnages (of Turnip and Cabbage sprung?) grow a strange, lush garden of green zinnias, maroon sunflowers, towering corn and fiery princess' feather. On the porch swing across the street a disoriented-looking girl strokes a cat backwards. We are on our way to Ver­ mont to dance.

Greensboro, August 27 Rummaging about for paper I came upon a stash of old Swarthmore bluebooks and now revel in liberating this one from that awful time.

Never dreamed then that ten years later I'd be writing to a new love on a recycled exam cover.

Oh! If the academic dean could see me now, hand striding confidently across pages that were once such an obstacle course. No longer the clock and the bell. The denial and torment ("This is a very thoughtful and perceptive ac­ count of human experience. But there are some ambiguities in the passage which you do not note. C+") I so hope that you and Carl have arrived at a workable, loving arrangement. Part of the love 1 feel for you harks back to when music was my sex and religion and release. As limited as that in me may seem now to you, time was when I would nearly fall off my chair flailing through Dvorak or Brahms or Corelli. Still, music is what brings tears most readily.

I hope you'll be willing to share music with me on such levels— tell me about what happens when you perform, try playing together, etc. I worry that reciprocity won't be easy.

Hayesville, August 28 Sitting under a maple tree by the courthouse.

My pants are held up by very mildewed suspenders.

Everything else is in washing machines across the street. Just got back from three weeks in New York, Greensboro, Boston and Vermont, and have just had quite a nostalgic jolt. It's been years since I scrubbed the mold off school shoes with vinegar water in late August. The sheets were all speckly grey and a black vest looks like blue suede.

For a Tofijf time T ’ve said "if only we could find friends to welcome into our relationship," _ worrying all the while that when the opportunity comes I'll clutch. I feared that the presence ' ' ' of another man giving and receiving love might topple what seemed sometimes a house of cards we've built. Well,in Boston cards fell, and we made love as three and the future's unclear, but 1 feel fine. Everybody is very good about trying to understand what we're up to, although Daddy asks "Where is this Linton?" and Mother explains he's a person, not a place.

Hayesville, August 31 Lyle McClure, the landlord, has just been here to pick peppers.

It would be considered rude not to pause and jaw for a spell. He pulls one story after another out of his old felt hat, eyes twinkling, voice rising and falling to be Mrs. Ivens, to whom you only had to say, "Mrs. Ivens, you don't look good, you been sick?" to get "her on the pills again. Or Mr. Ivens who availed himself regular of Lyle's corn mash. Or the deputy who hated to bust up the still they found up the road here last week.

It was so clean, with shiny cop­ per coils. Day before yesterday he regaled me with the details of catching a snapping turtle in his pond and then shooting its head off.

I hold my breath that we don't happen in on the Wilderness Bill or niggers or queers. Such generosity and gentle humor on one hand and such meanness on the other. It's almost like impromptu country music. He fiddles fast and clever and I offer a bass line, of sorts. Clearly, I'm not much of a foil but he's gracious about playing with such an inept foreigner. Nancy told me of one of her old patients here announcing, upon hearing the TV weather report, that it was raining in the foreign lands. Which turned out to mean the rest of the state.

Hayesville, September 3 Hunting season is open and today they are shooting doves. Somehow, it is the season of other animals' misery. Through the oak trees across the road, a cow has moaned all day and the dogs up the hill bark and whimper. Lyle is off fishing. Linda told me yesterday about seeing "Ernie the world's smallest pig" at the fair down in Hiawassee. When she asked the woman who sat by Ern­ ie's pen if they played with him and let him out ever, she said, "Oh, yes, we certainly do." Linda, charitable to a fault, wasn't reassured. Picking beans just now, I wanted to cry (the way with Carl I wish I could cry but rarely do), when a little bug walked across a bean and up my finger. Only the simplest of creatures trusts a human. Edmund says the doves he's enjoyed watching all summer, who come and peck in his driveway, shy at the slightest sound now, and fly all crazy, erratic. Catherine, his four-year-old daughter, cries out in the night "Guns! Guns!" and he gets up and rocks her back to sleep. A book I read recently on shamanism suggests that early hunters were haunted by the murder of other animals and danced to exorcise the spirits of their prey.

Possibly the beginnings of art. I reckon a case could be made for the present state of things being the results of the demise and extinction of exorcism. We live with our killing, live among the bodies and restless souls. The hunter comes home with his dov.es, leaves them for his wife to clean and cook. Eats them, watches tv and goes to bed. Only Catherine thrashes among the terrible sheets. But perhaps the hunter tosses a little in his sleep, too. On many of the bumper stickers around here you read "No More Wilderness!"

Hayesville, September 17 Just now I was sprawled on the bed waiting for the stalled lawnmower to catch its breath and nodded over Walt Whitman, "Whoever you are holding me now in hand/...I give you fair warning before you attempt me further/1 am not what you supposed, but far different" From up the road came voices and then clip clop clip clop clip clop.

I roused and went to the door. Who needs poetry when here comes an old hay wagon, drawn by a dappled white farm horse, in which sit several chattering children on straightback chairs? And following rides a comely young man of bare and brown broad back. And then they have

5 passed, heading to town on a fine end-of-suramer Sunday afternoon, sitting in severe chairs, jawing away. There is nothing so flat as mountain talk.

I'm glad to be heading back north for a while. One thing about being "Southern", whatever that is, is the proclivity to get sucked in. If 1 stayed around much longer it would be as if I had never left.

I would disappear un­ der the kudzu of local life. But actually, the quality of my entanglements partakes of my 13 years absence. There's nobody else around like me. Last night I said "Okay" when an old man asked if I would spend the night with him.

"This is the most wonderful thing that's happened to me in years" he said la­ ter. It was new for me, stroking the smooth baby-like flesh of old age, navi­ gating his hunched back and deafness, making love that was, in some ways, so unequal. The revulsion I have anticipated was just barely there and came from his fussiness and fawning rather than his body. I don't think he understood my weird needs— holding, eyes, cradling each other, gentle talking (the plea­ sures of which fade some with shouting, which was necessary).

I am a little relieved that this week's forced march will preclude another night together.

It was such a strange time for me that I barely managed to sleep for confusion.

I kept trying to think of reassuring, homey things as I waited in the dark for sleep— his house was so different from my funky place, his body so unlike my peers, his pleasures so limited by his closety, closing life. But disorienta­ tion prevailed and I fell into dark erotic dreams. From him I got a picture of the arid sexual lives of the queer men around here.

In place of comforting images while I tried to get some sleep, the faces of the unhappy women who arc their wives— one destroyed by a "nervous disease" lurching along country

people to an Atlanta newspaperwoman during the Depression. More tears. Grow­ ing up, 1 knew poor people: relatives, the maid, Mrs. McCaskell who came in from the country with blackberries and col lards, children from school, the tenant farmer.

I was not considerate. One letter reads: "There are many of us young and futile, in factories here in Atlanta and elsewhere and we are the only people unmentioned in events." Another says: "I work in a mill, 1 guess you'd say a lowly common working hoy, but my life once meant as much to me as yours do to you." 1 am the enemy. 1 am a brother.

(Tonight the screech owl sings of distress and sorrow.)

1 want to he a brother.

I w a brother. A queer brother. My people are mill hands with brown lung, prisoners, blacks, the Cherokee and Lumbee, old mountain people ashamed of their welfare check, children whipped for forgetting "ma'am" or "sir". Will they have me?

My lover, raised in a communist family in suburban New Jersey, doesn't want to live in the South. He remembers his days of civil rights work in Mary­ land and Tennessee. He's impatient with Southern white liberalism. "I would not walk a foot into my childhood," says Marge Piercy in a poem Carl recorded for me this summer.

In Atlanta faggots are trying to cultivate a non-oppressive, supportive community.

T. yearn for that too, but what of other matters? How shall we speak to all the other outsiders? The South is traditional, narrow, familial, paternalistic, maternalistic.

In that is our rejection and our acceptance.

I'm tired now. This doesn't share just what I need to. I don't know how, or whether, to attempt reconciling my parts. To work for justice in North Car­ olina, be welcomed home as a queer (already by close family and friends), to grow in rav relationship with Carl, to find stimulating new friends— how wonderful that would he.

roads gibbering "nonsense", another smiling carefully, with a dead laugh, her neck wired with a string of bristling red coral. Wives of men who insist that I dance on the proper side of the set and who suck each other's cocks. I can't stay.

I would like to think I would be, as one friend described his very gay self in an otherwise "straight" men's group, a crystal dropped into supersaturated liquid. More likely though I would be a smoke bomb and people would rush to open windows and when it cleared, there would be several empty chairs.

The young doctor here confides that other than his shrink, I'm the only man he's com­ fortable hugging. Two days later his ex-wife tells me of the awful confusion of their se­ paration as we loll on a quilt half-listening to the Blue Ridge Playboys plunk stolidly through yet another love song at the Sunny Point Bluegrass Festival. Something winsome to those five homely, middle-aged men, each, as Daddy would say, "plain as a mud fence" each a different mud fence, yawling mournfully of true love. She and I, as her ex-husband and I, are drawn together out of shared soli­ tude and sometime loneliness.

If I were to stay, I would complicate and possibly enrich their lives.

McLeansville, September 27 Fairy, sissy, faggot, fruit, pansy and queer.

It's not easy to choose from such a richness, but today I shall be a fruit. This afternoon where the woods and the tobacco-field meet T gathered muscadines, dark purple among the rusty leaves and in the sandy ruts of the road where the sledges are pulled. When the leathery skin splits, deep memory explodes in my mouth and murmurs down my spine. These grapes are not sweet. They ripened to the racket of feisty jays and the hoot of owls.

Their roots drank the sweat of the blackberry picker and the thundering rain that, broke the heat.

In her kitchen up the road, Mrs. Simp­ son, whose husband burned a cross by our pond, may be cooking them down for jelly. The warm breeze blowing through the shade smells of muscadines.

A few early persimmons have fallen.

1 re­ member foraging for them on grey October af­ ternoons. We'd root around in old honeysuckle thickets and wet leaves, which were the colors of persimmons, orange, faded pink with dark freckles, ochre and browns with bluish bloom.

The soft globes were almost skinless like ba­ bies, or grandmothers. Some were speared on twigs, some smushed by the long fall. We squatted, reached and stumped around the scaly grey trunk as if tethered. Then w e ’d hurry on through the bare woods along narrow roads to the next tree. At Thanksgiving and Christmas Mother makes persimmon puddings. "No persim­ mon throwing" was a rule on the school playgrofihcu They ITyt quite j st\rfn on little windbreakers and chinos and dresses.

1 threw neither persimmons nor footballs.

Staghorn sumac berries are deep cardinal red beside the plowed fields over beyond the pinewoods.

In the old pasture pokeberrles droop on magenta stalks. Most of the scarlet dogwood berries have been eaten by squirrels.

Black walnuts and hickory nuts are down.

Heart s-a-bust. in * are open and full, orange and dark pink. Where Peter and I stood in late June, arm in arm, dripping the the moonlight from swimming, and breathed the sourwood'h sweetness, now the

Atlanta, September 19 Last night, for old old times sake we stopped at Zesto for ice cream cones, all ro­ coco extruded in towering squiggles, dipped in chocolate and covered with nuts. There was a Zesto near us when we were little. It vanished many layers of civilization ago.

1 took a few slurps and flipped it into a pass­ ing hedge. Would that, the past were always so easily dealt with.

This morning near Georgia State, Baptists were passing out lemonade.

1 bought a sack of scuppernongs at the neighborhood food co-op this afternoon and then sat on the porch and, eating them, recalled childhood, sitting under an uncle's arbor. Now it's dark and the heat lifts slightly. Crickets and a distant screech owl vie with an electric piano next door. Cities are very nice, in ways.

Atlanta, Autumnal equinox I tire of the lopsided visits I get into while travelling. Everybody busy working or recovering from work. Being professionals. What, I wonder, do I profess? Perhaps for now 1 am a Traveller, asking them to share in unexpected unfamiliar ways.

I'm not Randy's peer in theatre, teaching, eurythmics and such, but I'm not audience either, nor not-very-interested friend with my own job and preoccupations. I ask of him an unusual equality. And of you and sis­ ter Becky and Michael the professor and Margo the actress. Late last night while Randy was showing me his notebooks of drawings I blurted out "Why are you showing me this?" For a couple of days it was as if we sat opposite at a table on which he would put something which I'd look at, hold and hand back.

Then I would put a piece of myself on the table and he'd acknowledge it and push it back to me. We'd rarely present ourselves simultaneously. What 1 want with the folks I visit is a table full of objects, theirs and mine, which we both shuffle around, arranging into patterns, stacking into towers, creating landscapes— for that moment, or morning, or week, or rest of our lives, an un­ common new world out of our commonness. After thinking it through out loud we found ourselves at a new place, talking gently; the presentational edge to our voices faded away, elbowing gave way to holding.

Hayesville, September 22 This is a letter to nobody because I don't know with whom to share these tears.

I don't know why this comes now, all these contradictions. They have in twos and threes fought inside of me before. I've just returned from a 3 day stay with a gay friend in Atlanta. His roots are in rural Georgia and Ten­ nessee and now he lives in the city doing wonderfully imaginative theatre, mu­ sic and teaching.. He was very kind to me— 1 was sluggish from the muggy, still weather and a cold. We shared what we could. Lots of talk of vision, process, community. Lovemaking was almost childlike. And perhaps that's what we both need to deal with. Childhood (Everything comes welling up at once Oh Oh).

And being Southern. One's childhood is so awfully present here. One's family, one's people. Momma. Daddy. Growing is such a job. One must carry the fam­ ily along. Mostly people don't try. But I do and somehow the weight of it is bearing down and I can't stop crying. Belonging and rejection. A son, a nephew, a grandson, a great-great-great-great-grandson, a brother, a friend, a protegee, a failure, a queer, a ne'er-do-well, one of the privileged, a white, a liberal, a radical, a visionary, an anarchist, a lover, a stranger. After supper I sat down with the latest issue of Southern Exposure magazine. First I read an article about the sit-ins at Woolworths in downtown Greensboro in 1960. There were "my people", the blacks and whites of goodwill who worked sc hard for justice in the 50's and 60's. Mother went to frequent meetings. We ran down the long driveway, through the lovely woods, to check the morning's headlines, to find out who had signed the latest statement of conscience. Once or twice there were threatening phone calls. But we were safe. Boycotting Woolworth's was symbolic. Suburban shopping centers filled our needs. We went downtown to church and the public library. Woolworth's was sort of campy— where you could poke around in the 45's, go downstairs and look at the Siamese fighting fish, buy peacock feathers and have a chocolate soda. But still it was important as a symbol. And tonight I got all choked up reading about it again. Then I looked through an article containing letters written by poor

pale seed pods in elegant ranks glow against maroon leaves.

It's a fine day to be a fruit. What company T keep!

•starkest terms, that relationship between me and a room of other men is about

sex. It *8

•

■

t bodies to s As we com- to moist together on US and HI paper the dark and Light (day/night, blaak/white) are softened. The picture glows warmly and the darkness is not so me 'omising.

Is 8 dth s » tomes mcreiy the shadow of trust. The pictur at ri-eh in acini l— /’’>*- ha: r glints am, , sky. I Is As I read over my report of What I bid "his Summer, 1 want to f" ll tn a Irst, Folk Center in Tinville. Country dancing is central to my rt iationsh : witn myself and wit‘h Carl. W(? have given much attention to liberating danei) . Tom is from the mountains, cue or, and a dar: r. everybody can fantasies got way out of hand. I had forgotten how slot change Is, s •, After lociting horns un th 7’om it was wonderful meet-ing three faggots Ireensboro who were ready to march down Market and Elm. I saw an art tele •»« the local paper about gay men being evicted from their apartment, so I called then to offer support. We got together down at the courthouse before ‘heir hearing. I was struck by how different we were and yet how much we had in n* ■ vil­ lage, My life has been far more secure than theirs. pinging Gay Liberation to town. If Carl ■ ' r Way mont the next day, our worldly exj:>-rier.ee and their ana■r probably would've up to a march. Still I dream of striding, bam- r high, office where the draft board is, past the Methodist Church where 1 went to Sunday School for 18 years, post the bookstore where the swishy clerk si til ■oorks, past the she- store where we used to look at th-. bones in cur fe- t, ast the Public Library, the Chamber of Commerce and the fire station.

The magistrate and the landlord were both careful not to mention homosex,witty. They seemed scared. As we chatted in the hall afterwards, coo of f-he men said "oh, Lord, it’s Mamma!" And it sur- was. A stocky 'Title woman bore down on us, blue-rinsed hair, polyester pants suit, crepe sole shoes.

"I think you oughtta fight!" she announced. Ten xis obviously touched by sue* advice. We all were. But ‘hen we were off to Vermont, they moved out of the apartment and I don't know where they went.

Allan Troxler 2314 Princess Ann Greensboro, NC 27408

8

S E A S O N ' S C H ANGE November the heat has not gone away nor the remembrance of your voice cracked and aching.

The mountains stand bare imposing nothing but ugly thoughts, stripped minds.

Reply to no one, my darling, the wind bears no message but that of truth.

The tree las its own grandeur, bears no saddness, save my cry at the bend in the road.

Go, my love, if you must, I could give you no other gift, The wind is not heartless, and will carry my thoughts till May, when you are settled somewhere else, when green covers your footprints.

OPOJ UP Open all the doors And the windows too; Open all your holes And let the wind blow through.

Can Kuehn Box 417 Arroyo Hondo, NM 87513

I hear voices in the night Randy Smallwood Williamson Rd. at Zebulon Rt. 1, Box 942 Pikeville, KY 41501

I hear men speak but what do they say?

I know the tones of voices so well that I cannot hear their words.

Are they telling me I am one of them?

Do they know what it is to be one of them?

They are not "them" at all But a sea of "I"s in opposition, in competition.

0 were there "than" calling to me 1 would quickly come But I hear single voices in slight harmony Unmarried couples.

Unwed souls.

Stevie Bryant 1455 E. Broad St. Athens, GA 30601

wheels golden angels go gliding by on bicycles skateboards rollerskates carrying with them several thousand of my dreams into the distance and out of sight.

Peter Sierra Venice, CA

., ..... ....... ..... ,

RAG a few

FOR D A N C I N ’

by Evan Tonsing, opus 62 no. 24, Sept. 4, 1978

sticks making shelters wisere it is wild

September 1978 ■Jonathan shipton e/o Johnson !; ' louisville Ave. t. Lou i• , Mb 63139

vust give me one of these mornings, these wake-up-to-corfee-wit h-somebodywarmings.

Hair doesn't look so hot.

Eyes are a bit bloodshot.

Chins are grizzled and breath is bad and cat-hairs are making me sneeze.

But put these two heads in the shower and put those four eggs on the stove and find me a patch of ten o'clock gold on the back porch step with a good song going and mister, I'rn Saint Francis, where's the birdseed?

Jordan Rand 458 Noe St. S.F., CA 34114

9

Prisoners

Abstract ftorny Blues standing on the porch at ^iawn watching people's lights go on wondering who's in bed there thinking why in hell should i care they can go blow a fuse i've got those abstract h o m y blues

Reader Greg Tutko wrote to Gov. Apodaea of New Mex­ ico in response to our mention of the Christopher Lemmond case (spring issue). The following was in reply:

some people first thing in the day look down their belly and pray some when they go out to piss think what is all this it's only meant to amuse i’ve got those abstract horny blues

from "A Dozen Gay Nursery Rhymes"

Little quean roughie sat on his toughie polishing his leather ring.

Along came a sister: he zipped up and hissed her, but she cared not a fig for his thing.

Prior to your letter, the situation had been brought to my attention and I had instructed Dr. Charles Becknell, Sec. of the Dept, of Criminal Justice, to initiate an investigation, which was conducted over a two week period during which numerous correctional staff, professional staff and inmates were inter­ viewed. The investigation was not able to verify Christopher Lemmond's allegations of sexual assult (sic). No corroboration was found either through witnesses' statements, medical examination, or other physical factors.

if i cared only for you you'd be afraid i'd be true but i don't c a m who you may be so why should you care if it's me i've got no self to abuse i've got those abstract horny blues i don’t have the blues for fun but when all is said and done as long as you never go far at least you knew where you are i've got a lot to lose i've got those abstract horny blues

Regarding the allegations relating to conditions inside PNM, these have been under serious study for the last year. The Master Plan for Corrections re­ cently completed, has made far-reaching and exten­ sive recommendations regarding fundamental changes in the daily operation of the Penitentiary. We arc in the process of implementing many of these spe­ cifically In the areas of over crowding, the use of segregation, disciplinary policies, personnel per­ formance, access to library and printed materials, recreation and food.

F 1974 Twin Oaks Community Louisa, VA 23093

Louie Crew Ft. Valley, GA

We plan through initiating these changes to guar­ antee a habitable, health (sic) and safe environ­ ment for all Inmates, so that all inmates in the future will be protected from the threat of con­ ditions such as those described by Christopher Lemmond.

I appreciate your concern and interest in the mat­ ter and assure you that I will continue to pursue methods of improving the justice and quality of our correctional institutions.

SO YOU ARE WONDERING WHAT YOU ARE FOR (for Louie Crew) So you are wondering what you are for and what difference your life makes to others.

Somedays you walk down the street feeling invisible and shop keepers, mothers with children, workers— all scorn your existance.

Wrote Montesquieu: "Homosexuality is wrong because it is useless;" then Bentham replied: "Ah! But would not this arguement also condemn music?"

And thinking on this, yovi strike up a song from that hidden place in your heart, the kind of beauty that can only spring from loneliness and pain.

And hearing this, all the world falls to its knees

Sincerely, /s/ Jerry Apodaea Governor scratching the

Gary Lee Gandee, #243882, P.O. Box 520 4-E-6, Wal­ la Walla, WA 99362, requests donations to make an appeal of his case— without money, he cannot even request needed documents. Please send money or­ ders, as cash and personal checks are not allowed by the institution. He is doing a life sentence, and has been in since 1975.

thin earth tiny city roots poking

Robert Morris, C-63023, Box 711, Menard, IL 62259, would like pen pals...

their way down

The Robert Austin Sullivan Legal Defense Fund, 3002 Marietta Ave., Lancaster, PA 17601 , has some brochures on Rnb,T p n - s o n M v " L f e a t h row fn FTorIda. lie present ly has no local legal representa1 ilun, and has had to deal with the homophobic area called Miami...

between stones

I

s haHnn with such tremendous' 1ov. becoming Steve Abbott 930 Shields S.F., CA 94132

learning

wales

To my toy piano On this modest instrument there are 25 single notes, 325 two-note combinations, 6 ,‘+50 three-note and 148,175 four-note combinations, excluding unisons.

Some sound fine, some, less fine.

How long a childhood Evan Tonsing do you want?

Rt. 1, Box 21 Glencoe, OK 74032

1975

Jonathan shipton c/o Johnson 1108 Louisville Ave. St. Louis, MO 63139

Richard Spurrier, President ol the Creative Writer's Workshop, Inc., P.O. Box 520, Walla Walla, WA 99362 (and an inmate at the Walls) writes that the Work­ shop, now in its third year, is putting together a second anthology (the tirst one, First Breath, ap­ peared earlier). The Creative Writers Workshop is a registered non-profit corporation, and In need of donations (cash, books, typing paper, supplies, pos­ tage, correspondents to share editing). Contact Bill Wilkins, at Nitty-Gritty, 331 W. Bonneville, Pasco, WA 99301 (509-547-5525), chief go-for and donator of much time and energy, with contributions, or Richard with any correspondence.

The workshop was established to bring together men in Walla Walla with creative writing talent and to assist others in development of creative writing as a craft, as an expression of human being, and to meet the need to share emotions and work skills as writers.

It is inmate-initiated and self-motivated in an attempt to get one more man out of the prison yard and help channel energies in a positive direc­ tion, one that may provide a marketable skill once he is released.

Announcements The Northland Companion is a new gay and lesbian paper, located at 1850 E. 38th St., Suite 69, Min­ neapolis, MN 55407. Rates are $6/yr.

The 5th National Conference on Men & Masculinty, entitled "Men & Sexism" will be held on the UCLA campus Dec. 27-31, 1978. Further info, from the L.A. Men's Collective, 6286 Commodore Sloat Dr., L.A., CA 90048.

(213) 473-4229. Or for ride in­ formation, Conference Travel Network, c/o John Paul, 4141A Botanical Ave., St. Louis, MO 63110.^ -,We Are Everywhere, International" is a beginning network of concerned Individuals and organizations supporting actions promoting justice for gay per­ sons. For further Information, contact Anthony Sullivan or Morris Right, 1428 N. McCadden PI., L.A., CA 90028 (213) 463-3928 or 464-0756......

Reader K.V. Dethman of Portland, OR, strongly sug­ gests reading an article in Mother Jones, Sept/Oct 78 issue, called "Is There Sexism in the Closet?^ Denis Helmus and Allen Young, Millers River Os­ preys Affinity Group/Clamshell Alliance, have writ­ ten a leaflet linking sexism and environmentalism, and discussing anti-gay attitudes in the anti-nu­ clear movement. Write to Butterworth Farm, RFD2, Orange, MA 01364.

10 SPATTERPRINTING: ART FOR THE PEOPLE "Art" has a self-conscious, not very fun ring to it.

Almost by defin­ ition it's something most of us can't do. Capitalism needs only so many ar­ tists. Art by Artists ends iq. in muse ions. But not the icons of children, or stones sculptured by rivers, or the collage of tattered signs on a wal...

Enough of that. Beauty is everywhere and we are its practitioners. Power to the imagination!

Spatter printing is one of those pursuits you aren't supposed to enjoy after childhood. All you need is an old toothbrush, ink or tempera paint, paper, straight pins, a piece of cardboard box and something for an image.

1. If your leaf or flower is flat enough, lay it on the paper and proceed.

If it curves, you can put your paper on tne corrugated cardboard ce.a ..nti pin the leaf down with straight pins.

2. Pour* ink into a jar top or small dish. India ink, s l o c k and coir:1., -■■■■' especially well. Tempera paint is quite adequate and cheaper. For a goo,, opaque white try liquid shoe \x>lish.

3. Spatter the ink or paint over the leaf by stroking the tootnhrusn •'ristli..

4. Wait for the ink to dry a hit and then lift the leaf ana there you have <-t.

Instant notecards, illustrations and wrapping paper. Art!

I enjoyed the Woman issue (#16), especially the photos and graphics which I thought were ex­ cellent.

1 felt there was lack of coverage on how we as gay men can he helpful/supportive to women in their struggle. The main focus of if16 seemed to have been along the lines of how women have supported us. Here are a few suggestions:

4-The bibliography, though excellent, contains no discussion about why men might need to read these books about feminism, how there is resist­ ance to changing behavior...i.e. no context. The bibliography, like everything else, is just there.

On the other hand, there were a few articles in this RED that did address the stated purpose, such as "Sissy-phus Tale," "A Time Apart, and 1Anti-sexist education. Reading as many fem­ "Double J: The Joy of Sisters." It would have inist first sources as possible. The list on p. been very powerful to supplement these personal 31 is good. Snodgrass' "A Book of Readings for statements with group discussion or interviews Men Against Sexism" is very good and worth the in­ with other faggots (alone and/or with women) avestment. Most of these hooks will surely raise bout how various men see their role perhaps chan­ one's consciousness and then we must apply it to ging from participating in sexist society to build­ our life, and actions in the world. ing non-oppresslve relationships. An article a2Direct action. We can help fight sexism bv bout the trials and tribulations of faggots and sharing our education with others. One way is to lesbians trying to work together politically would take a few minutes to speak to a man who is being help give readers a basis from which to compare particularly sexist.

It's not all that hard to their own situations, as well as develop analysis help a man understand the oppression he's inflic­ of coalition-building. Even more important, after ting on a woman with whistles or other verbal reading so many country faggot letters about how abuse. urbanized RED was feeling, would have been an in­ terview with rural lesbians, thus opening up the 1-Real 1ze that women always and everywhere discussion of how rural, gays— both lesbians and have to fear rape. Men do not. faggots— might explore ways to support each other 4Chi Idea re is needed by many women's and and exchange survival information. mixed groups to facilitate participation by mo­ As a lesbian I feel the need to put a lot of thers. We can volunteer to assist. energy into lesbian feminist culture and struggle.

5Men can refuse to take their shirts off in Many faggots are probably feeling the same about public. There is no question that men being "al­ building their own base of shared identity. Just lowed" this freedom is "male-privilege". Women as whites must search out their own racism, so would be arrested for indecent exposure. This is must men search out their role In sexist oppres­ an act of support.

It's worth thinking about and sion. The oppressed cannot "rescue" the oppres­ many men agree after working through the initial sor. But as we all cop to our roots In the daily defensive reaction of "everyone should take their drama of life, we can begin to transcend the so­ shirts off". Yes, but the women would be arrested. cietal roles that oppress us all. 1 care about my How do we change that? gay brothers and hope the points I've brought up will serve to further communication between fag­ I hope these ideas may be helpful to my gay brothers in their work for freedom. gots and lesbians.

Yours In joyful struggle, in loving struggle, Geoffrey Blatt 21 E. 2nd St. New York, NY 10003

Cathy Gross 1422 Iverson St. N.E. Atlanta, GA 30307

Am on the ferry (fairy?) between Victoria and Vancouver. Making silent good-byes to these is­ lands and this sea of my birth.

I too am fleeing home to the support of San Francisco...Just fin­ ished reading #16 and loved it. Another step for­ ward. Happy Birthday RFD! It has been four years and the beginning of a long march. A few of our victories are coming to fruit but there is so much more to do! This time I promise to contribute ma­ terial to RFD. .

Love, Brent Ingram 287 Downey St. San Francisco, CA 94117

LETTERS I really like the latest issue— am glad every­ one is being more loving and supportive of each other.

Would like to contribute— but hesitate because my lover and I both sent contributions to an early issue. Our contributions weren't used— which makes us feel our work isn't good enough (although we love RFD and felt we were contributing heartfelt mater­ ial).

1 think you should use a little of something everyone contributes!

Gay Love, Grant Lloyd 646 Corwin Ave. Glendale, CA 91206

You at Wolf Creek are city guys and don't have a countryman's outlook. Many of your ideas are too immature to attract a wider readership. And your complete disassociation with older guys is unfortunate. We too have our dreams, experiences and desires to love and be loved and understood.

I'm sure you did your best, so, farewell, best wishes, and you're welcome in my home if you pass

1 feci guiily for never having contributed or given (any feedback) for all T've received via RFD. The support, the feelings of oneness and friendship, and the joy of being ahLe to relate to others expressing my "self" so well.

this way*

With love, Rod Barker Rte. 1, Box 104B Lyons, OR 97358

I selfishly ask you, no plead— that you never stop putting out RFD. I know there must be hun­ dreds more like me who don't tell you the vital place you hold in my life. RFD has been and is a lifesaver. And must keep going to save lives.

1 like the magazine's format. The material less political more country please. #16 was In­ deed great.

I feel love from RFD. Caring and sharing of all the folks who do write for the magazine and especially for those whose 'letters' are shared.

A big warm friendly smile/hug Daniel Martell P.0. Box 1664 Guelph, Ont. Can. N1H 6R7 I am writing in response to your issue #16 on faggots' relationships with women. My overall feeling is that, the format, though graphically well done, was not conducive to an in-depth "exam­ ination of the oppression of our sisters and our responsibility in it..." which was part of your stated purpose.

1 especially had negative reac­ tions to the following specifics and include what I hope will be constructive criticism.

Urn, I'm a 26-year-old tall blonde aquarian North Dakotan, presently living in north central New Mexico near Taos, writing and illustrating a book about yurts while supporting myself by playing mu­ sic at a couple of restaurants in town. I’d like to exchange poems songs and/or pictures with other gentle-men artists in the country, also anyone liv­ ing in or interested in yurts (Mongolian round 1Candor, Carlotta and Lawanda together had a tents), 1 would dig to hear from you. Wayfarers combined total of 33 articles, photographs and are welcome— lemrae send you a map— poems.

1 feel that the job of a collective edi­ torship is to be creative in discovering material, I've been pretty much hanging out with myself for not to use a national magazine as a vehicle for the last year or so, hitting the road, learning how to he comfortable in a tipi, firing the sweat their own work. regularly, jumping in the river, and lying in the 2On the inside front cover is a pose of Mari­ sun.

I'm on a beautiful piece of land next to a lyn Monroe, and on page 19 there is a collage of river, surrounded by cottonwoods, sagebrush, mag­ Susan Hayward in the newspaper, yet there is no pies, and blue sky. Sometimes I dig it, sometimes examination of how this emphasis on physical beau­ 1 get a bit lonesome... ty and movie stars is part of the oppression of women and how faggots are involved. Also, with Hope the magazine isn't defunct yet. I Still dig ten photos of men in drag it: would have been en­ you— personally I don't object to anything you've printed, tho some of it I've got to look at almost: lightening to include an article addressing the dilemma of drag: how men use it as a vehicle of like a lesson book by people coming from places self-expression while many lesbians view it as a I've never been to, which is far out and part of condescending parody. it for sure; after all we do represent a pretty complete cross-section of society, coming out of 31 was offended by the photos on page 10 and the woodwork like we do. puzzled about; the inclusion of Marian Goldman's photos. There is no readily apparent reason why I guess what I’ve dug most from the first issue any of these photos were included and not any of I got was just the affirmation, just knowing there thousands of other photos done by and of women. ire other brothers out there...just keep opening Also, although I enjoyed totally pages 24-5 (pho­ the mail and print whatever you flash on— the rev­ tos of women and poems by women), again it felt olution begins at home, y'know. more like a token peek into women’s/lesbian cul­ Juice, ture rather than an examination of why women's/ Dan Kuehn Lesbian culture has been suppressed, belittled, Box 417 and distorted, and what is the faggot response to Arroyo Hondo, NM 87513 that?

RFD is an important communication.

It will help people come out. They might not know it (or he able to come out) for years. It has a healthy effect on everyone— Hooray for you— Hooray for us. #16 left me with some questions concerning the appropriateness of some of the material. "West­ ward Storm" by Tim Lewis is evocative and beauti­ fully written, but if there was content relating to gay issues, it escaped me. Also, the inclussion of work by woman is certainly a radical de­ parture.

I found the photos of Marian Goldman very intreging and exciting images, but these, as well as the poems by women, do have many other wo­ men's journals to be printed in. "Country Women "Focus", "Dyke", "No More Fun and Games", "Plexus" "Quest", "Women", "Off Our Backs", "Second Wave", "Lesbian Tide", etc. does provide outlets for women’s voices.

Besides newspapers "Gay Sunshine" and "Fag Rag", both published irregularly, I know of no other journal by and for gay men. If it is time for "A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Male Cul­ ture and Liberation" then perhaps there should be women on the collective staff.

Lawanda's tender cover photo I like very much.

Light and love, Demian 375 B. Way, Apt. 1R Cambridge, MA 02139

II 1 have just been turned on to the sunnier issue.

Since gavs are usually associated with living in the city, I am very glad to see that there are others who prefer the country; quite a few of their (us) probably. Such people seem hard to find.

1 am a Taurus with Virgo/Libra rising, Leo/Vlrgo noon, a witch with the Church of Wicca, into as­ trology, Tarot, herbology, etc. and live alone in a tipi northwest of Austin.

I would welcome cor­ respondence from other gay witches/pagans of like mind. White intentions only, please. My tradi­ tion is Druidic.

Adinan P.0. Box 703 Leander, TX 78641

30 year old rural farmer visiting the Pacific and American Southwest, would like contacts along the way to share rural lifestvles, experience and com­ pany. Leaving Dec. 1. Write or call...

Bruce Stanley North Pender Island, B.C. Canada (604) 629-3749

l own a 50-acre farm near New Albany, PA, on the side of a mountain. Two straight friends live there and I get out there as frequently as I can and as my professional ties in N.Y.C. allow. We have had the place for 2b years but: this is the first season we've seriously farmed it— a large organic vegetable garden and orchard, preparing our fields for grain production next: summer, goats, chickens and horses. Heat with our own wood. So, soon a fishery and perhaps solar-wind-water energy sources.

Dear Friends, My name is Bob. I am a thirty year old, tall and slim gay male interested in meeting sensitive and playful people for friendship or a possible rela­ tionship. Some interests include psychology, swim­ ming, Buddhist meditation, massage and Asian cul­ ture. I am a student of Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche and would especially like to hear from Buddhists or other persons on a spiritual path. 1 live in S.F. and occasionally visit L.A., Boulder and Chicago.

Bob P.0. Box 11727 San Francisco, CA

94101

& C0NTO Just read my first issue of RFD— it's like a breath of fresh air to a city dweller.

I grew up in a rural area, and now in L.A. I have a lot of free time to travel...I'd like to experience what is out there beyond this city.

If some of you would like to write, I'd like to visit in rural areas of Cal. and surrounding states, and hope­ fully find a place to relocate.

Love, John Wilson 3626 Cumberland Ave. Los Angeles, CA 90027

l found out about you through the Gay Source.

1 am gay but have no contact with gay life, as I am presently living in a very straight northern Minne­ sota farming town.

I would like to make contact with other gays just for possible friendships and also to maybe begin a commune.

Michael Durand Box 118 Wawina, MN 55794

Refined, committed, caring, healthminded, hard­ working, solvent, creative, utopian, holistic orjanic vegetarian seeks others for friendship and growing together. Wish help finding older house(s) to purchase in peaceful garden setting in San Diego County, Santa Cruz County, Hawaii, or ?? Also have i lot of seeds to trade, wlldflowers and unusual varieties.

Best wishes, Neal P.0. Box 477 Bonsail, CA 92003

Life holds everything I want except gay friends.

Right now I'm working towards a degree (A.A.S.) in architecture and doing carpentry in between. And would like to meet gays possibly moving in the same direction.

I'm average in most respects but like life's lit­ tle thrills as well. So if you would like to take a hike, or whatever, drop a line.

R.K. Swenson P.0. Box 11 Randolph Ctr., VT

We have the place set up for people particularly from cities who want some contact with the earth, its cycles and a sense of our interdependency with it. We are a mixed community, gay/straight, and are comfortable with that. I would like to meet some gays who are actually into the rural life­ style and share with them, and to hear from and enjoy the company of RFD gays, and from city folk who have a yearning for what I've described. „ ,, „ 258 Riverside Dr.

With excitement, Jack Walters Bo;< ^ R[)

Apt‘ , New Albany, PA 18833 New York, NY 10025 7

05061

Of all the plants known and used by people, herbs are among the most benificent. Generally, they are easily grown requiring little more than good drainage and lots of sun. Herbs are note­ worthy for the variety of human needs they fulfill: medicinal., food, fragrance, color, and magic, to list a few.

With herbs, a little knowledge goes a long way, and thorough knowledge comes only with long use and experience.

If you want to incorporate herbs more into your lifestyle (and what better way to add that touch of grace so uplifting for hard-working cmmtrv faggots) go slow; grow a few, collect some, and look for new ways to gain from familiar herbs.

I've selected a few I’ve grown and used to share some facts and whimsey (the whlmsey may be the most important). Most all of these were In­ troduced by European settlers, although yarrow is native to both North America and Europe.

I’d like to hear from other brothers— sisters too— who want to study and grow with herbs. Par­ ticular interests I'd like to pursue are Native American uses of wild .and indigeneous herbs.

I see herb lore as an avenue for recovering our suppressed pagan heritage.

We are currently two faggots looking for at least four more faggots or dykes to begin a farming col­ lective in Maine, the objective being not only to leave urban areas, but also to change ourselves in the process. We want to rid ourselves of sexist and phobic thoughts and emotions. While we're do­ ing that, we feel there is also a need to politic­ ally activate others— it's not enough to isolate yourself from that mess out there.

YARROW (Achillea ml 1foi 1iUt»— ru 1ed by Venus, aster family) Yarrow Is a native to North America as well as Europe.

It is named for Achilles who used it as a poultice for treating wounded soldiers. The tea has tonic qualities and induces sweating. The Chinese revered yarrow highly and used dried stalks for the original i Ching. Yarrow is said to repel Japanese beetles. Many dried flower arrangements are based on use of dried yarrow blossoms dyed to add color.

We worked for Magnus and are now working with Mainely jGay, and both have experience in organic farming, and lots of herbal knowledge. Neither has experience with livestock or farm animals.

Maine needs a good strong faggot/dyke farming col­ lective and we want to be the first.

Growing season is short, but very workable, and winters are severe. We want to heat with wood, farm organically, work on our own selves, and at­ tempt at some point to politicize others. We have nor yet purchased land, but are looking at several sites. You MUST be a feminist-oriented person and wanting to rid yourself of any male trips.

If this project proves impossible (because so much of Maine land is owned by paper companies and Cen­ tral Maine Power, the remainder of which is in re­ gions that are too cold) there is a possibility of us coming to you if you already have a gay/feminist collective. All correspondence will be answered.

Of the earth, Ted Bohn P.0. Box 8275 Portland, ME 04104I

I would like to share buying land or move in with someone.

I'm a horseshoer (27 years old) for 5 years and blacksmith (ornamental iron and general steel work & fabrication).

I like the artsy end of things in my trade and would like to involve myself with some one or group (small) that could use my talents. Altho the mag been a bit hokey in some issues it's a common point to meet others and correspond with them.

Lee W. Badger 7400 W. 26th Ave. Lakewood, CO 80215 301-238-3851

TANSY (Tanacetium vu1gare— domain of Venus, aster family) A delightful bitter herb (tansy pudding!), the Latin name for tansy is derived from the Greek athanasia, for immortality. Most appropriately named! It was tansy in the drinks prepared by lord Zeus to confer the gift of life everlasting to his dearly loved Ganymede. Care must be used when dosing yourself with tansy— it can be poi­ sonous internally and externally.

Also called bitter buttons, tansy displays pretty yellow button flowers held erect. These blossoms dry easily— just hang upside down in an airy, dark place.

Tansy is noteworthy for its insect repellant qualities. Planted near doors it helps keep away ants, mosquitos and flies. In the orchard, Japan­ ese beetles are attracted to its yellow flowers and killed by its foliage. The French use it to deter fleas and bedbugs, while gypsies have pre­ pared seeds for worming cows and sheep.

MULLEIN (Verbascum thapsus— ruled by Saturn, figwort family) Mullein is an escaped wilding introduced to North America by European immigrants. A biennial, mullein has fuzzy grey-green leaves arranged in a low-lying rosette in its first year. The second year a tall central spike shoots 4-8 feet (or higher) up, bearing small yellow blossoms.

Medicinally, mullein is associated with the lungs and respiratory ailments. The leaves can be steeped in warm milk (filter carefully) or smoked.

Mullein is said to repel demons and other negative entities. Witches are said to have used this herb in love potions and prior to divinations.

Ron Aloe Rt. 1, Box 100 Cedar Grove, NC

27231

COLLECTED STATEMENTS will appear with your work. Also, If you submit something that doesn't ap­ pear in the next issue, it means we are holding it so that future editor­ ial groups can see if they like it— "different strokes for different folks" and we find that submissions that don't appeal at all to one editorial collec­ tive can be quite favored by another.

This issue emerges from a great The subject of soliciting/accepting deal of flux...we had hoped to "skip" work from women in what is still a an issue while we completed the change­ faggot/gay male publication has not over from Wolf Creek, but discovered yet been resolved.... that in order to maintain our 2nd We hope to be able to either class permit, we had to do two issues maintain the present prices, or maybe before the end of the year. This is even reduce them. As soon as the the "fall" issue, and the "winter" move from Wolf Creek is complete, we issue will appear in December, put will deliver a financial report. together by a group in New Orleans.

Tentatively, faggots In Atlanta, Ann Arbor and Norfolk will take responsi­ bility for the next three issues.

The changeover from Wolf Creek is still incomplete— every day's mail ADDRESS CHANGE: save us 25c and brings another batch of letters for­ tell us your new address when you warded from there. We now have a move, as the post office doesn’t for­ stack of back issues (everything but <>l and 2 is available at $1.25 each, ward 2nd class mail unless specified; they destroy that issue and we can't 5 or more for $1 each). afford to send you a new one. Please Finances are not yet sorted send old and new addresses, with ZIPS! out, and we are starting with a 0 Advertising is $10/column inch— balance. One person (Faygele) will camera ready b & w copy. serve as officeworker, a job formerly Wholesale: bookstores pay $1.05 done by a collective, and will be un­ (40% discount) and distributors, 90c paid until there is more money.

(48%), with full credit for complete We thank the Wolf Creek folks for having done such a good job keep­ copies returned.

This is not a "collective” state­ ment in the sense it has appeared in past issues. As yet, there is no col­ lective: rhis issue was done by Allan (hone visiting In Greensboro), Ron of Aloe, Bruce who's visiting Aloe, and Favgele, of RFD's new home in Efland.

ing the magazine going, and Len for continuing as liaison during the changeover. While we have enjoyed the magazine in the past, we do hope to present a more rural approach than recent issues have, and to help bring the South into the mainstream of gay life.

The previous policy of granting a one year subscription and two extra copies of the present issue to anyone whose work (other than letters) ap­ pears will continue. There has been some unclarity about our editing stan­ dards; presently, we plan to edit as little as possible.

If you desire us to correct spelling, ecc., let us know, and conversely, if you wish your work to he used only as is, let us know that, too.

If you don't say so specifically, your name and address

RFD is published 4 times a year

by RFD, Rt. 1, Box 92E, Efland, NC 27243. Second class postage paid at Efland, NC 27243. Copy­ right C RFD 1978. RFD is a non-profit corporation. Dona­ tions tax deductible. Subscrip­ tions: $6/yr. 2nd class; $8/yr.

1st class; $7 Canada & abroad; $10 institutions; $15 sustaining; free to prisoners.

After reading, enjoying, and agonizing through RFD for years, help­ ing to edit this issue has been an eye-opener for me. First came the disappointment for lack of material, then an enthusiasm as we brainstormed possibilities for stories we could write or solicit. Now we are in the final rush to put it all together.

Out of this experience came some thoughts I would like to share.

This is a magazine for us all, and we are all this magazine.

It is, and is about, some collective process that we all are a part of. Those of us who experience it most directly by editing are only some kind of a lens which, though flawed, is necessary if the magazine is to have any focus or coherence. Moreover, we are not the monolithic bloc which the term "col­ lective" has perhaps implied. Each issue has seen a different "collec­ tive".

RFD is limited by the contribu­ tions that it receives. Ya can't print what ya ain't got. And what is printed limits readers' visions of what to submit. Nobody wants to go to the trouble of writing something that they perceive won't see print.

Vicious circle, huh?

All of which is to say that if you are dissatisfied with the journal it is up to you to change it. That means contributing the kinds of ma­ terial you want to see published, and for some, volunteering to help edit.

I hear the complaints of those who have contributed material which was not printed. Please keep. trying.

I also know this poses special prob­ lems for rural people.

It's hard to be creative when you don't get up to the house from milking until way late.

I don't have any easy answer for that.

Printing everything or even part of everything seems infeasible to me.

This issue we would have had page af­ ter page of poetry. Some of the ma­ terial submitted has so little gay or rural content that it seems inappro­ priate. Thus, we have generated some of what is in this issue ourselves.

We did this in response to what we felt were imbalances in the material received and our own need to put out , an issue we could take pride in.