RFD Issue 22 Winter 1979 by RFD Magazine Gay

A enU7MT"Ry FAI'Ry dAUT^IAL -FORGAyA ET^ EUERyWJHERE

Credits Not Mentioned in Text Front Cover - Photo of Work in Progress by Dennis Melba’son by Milo. inside Front Cover - Drawing by Dan the Jan p.3 - Photo by Dave Kline 4 - Motifs by Cherokee Indians 7 - Photo by Jeff Ford; Drawing by Dale Dearden 8 - Photo by Bruce Penrose; drawing by Jeff Ford 9 - Photo by John Schults 10 - Block print by Johannes Lebek; Greek birds. 11 - Collage by Jim Long; Drawing by Alladres 12 - Photo by Grant Lloyd and Jim Clatfelter 13 - Photo by Rita Rose 14 - Photo by Dave Kline 15 - Photo by Milo; Drawing by Alladres 17 - Photo by Jeff Ford 18 - Design by Milo 19 - Stymphalian birds(Greek,c 550 BC) 20 - Drawing by Jeff Ford 22 - Graphic by Rochester Patrish/CPF 23 - Graphic by LNS 23 - Graphic by Come Unity/CPF 24 - Graphic by LNS 25 - Drawing by Zell 26 - Photos by Edmond Garron; Poem/Graphic by Gene London 27 - Recto of flier by Los Angeles Circle of Loving Companions 28 - Tswana design, Botswanca 29 - Kgalagadi design, Botswana Botswana 30 - The Faeries Gather, all rights reserved 1979, David Cawley Greek curvilinear designs; Cherokee designs 34 - Photo by Blase DiStefano; Graphic from Guerrero, Mexico 35 - Boeotian design, 700-650 BC; Yoruba Tribe, Nigeria 36 - Greek m otifs; Drawings by Alladres 37 - Figure from Sicily; Hohokam pottery designs 38 - Sierra Santa Teresa, Sonora; Byzantine relief 39 - Southeastern American Indian 41 - Graphic from "Book People" 42 - Unattributed drawing, submitted by Grant Lloyd and Jim Clatfelter 43 - Pima basketry designs 44 - Greek, 1900-1700 BC 45 - Bida, Nigeria 46 - Bushman, Eskimo, Northwestern Indian, and Santa Cruz Indian designs 47 - Block Print by Johannes Lebek

* I ion

In f o r m a t i on

Barnes

;

P i e t e r

Bach

h r i e

;

from

Oenn is

bert

7v Draw McCord Stroud

:>*• on

Wash i ng t o n

93-95

March

9 *1 - 9 5

Poem

S u b s c rip tio n

Ji m Struve Paul Sudds

and

Song

Croma Waters Blank

Bach

and

Mel b a s on

Oavid

L in e r

Contributors Franklin Abbott ALLAURES AURORA Pieter Back F.J. Barnes Greg Caffey Leonard Star Carter David Cawley Come Unity Press Circle of Loving Companf

T A B L E

C O N T E N T S

C o llective

Statem ents,

Potpourri

4-7

Contact

I owa

10-11

Poetry

12-13

Country

14-15

Our

16-17

Chain

Map and

Poem

20- 22

David Cohen Crazy Owl (Chuck Hall) Dale Dearden Olmld Blase DIStephano John D. Dolan Clarence Engebert

; Ron

P u blicatio n

Kilgore

and

F.J.

Inform ation

Barnes

Letters

F a r mb oy

;

David

Frey

Felgeie Firefly Forest Flat Jeff Ford David Frey

Survival

Mail

Order

Mail

Order

Business

;

Pieter

Bach

Fritz Frurip Edmund Garron

Chain

Chainsaw

;

M ilo

Guthrie

Milo Guthrie Steven J. Hamilton

;

M ilo

Brothers

Behind

Ba r s

23-24

Prisoner

Contacts

25-72

The

Harry Hay Patrick Hula Dan the Jan

Fauna

Ron Kilgore Dave Kline John Kyper

Fairies

Gather

David Liner

e 11 e r s

Grant Lloyd Jim Clatfelter

73-75

Gene London Jim Long

76-77

Ba c k woo ds

80 - o .

You

Scott Luscombe

Are

Boyhood

What

You

;

Jim

Eat

;

Long reprinted

from

Michael Mason

Lesbian

C o n n e c t i on

The

and

Mor e

Sears

Poem

Fanfare

Poem

John Schults Ron Sheriff

Kitchen

Stacy

90-92

Ads

Dennis Melba'son Stella Mlfsud

Art

Pain

Crocheting

;

Dennis

Melbason

Phillip Moon James Moore

Contact

Charlie Murphy Timothy O'Brien Allen Page

and

Quears

;

Jim

Strave

â&#x20AC;˘ru o e Penrose David Pfautz Len Richardson

;

Steve

Hamilton

Steve Rogers Will Roscoe Rita Rose

Drew McCord Stroud Jim Struve Paul Sudds

Queen

;

Clarence

and

David

6 Blurb s

93-

March

94-

Poem and

Washington Song

Croma Waters

Englebert

S u b s c r i p t i on

B 1ank

;

Paul

Sudds

and

Dim i d

Liner

THOUGHTS FOR A COLLECTED STATEMENT _ MILO -

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S u n s e t on t h e M i s s i s s i p p i by b e h i n d me - t h e e a r t h s h a k i n g - Waves l a p p i n g t h e r o x i n f r o n t o f me w h . l e _ r i v e r b o a t s , t u g b o a t s , b a r g e s and f r e i g h t e r s pass by. New O r l e a n s - Queen C i t y o f the south. I t was h e r e we m i g r a t e d , j o i n i n g f o r c e s w i t h the s i s s i e s f o r the w i n t e r RFD. I d o n 't belong h ere . My h e a r t i s in t he m o u n t a i n s o f C o l o r a d o ; My h e a r t i s i n t h e h i l l s o f T e n n e s s e e , But t h e r e was a j o b t o be d o n e . . . a n d we did i t . Su r e i t ' s n o t a l l c o u n t r y ( and I ' m a p u r i s t ) b u t w o r k i n g w i t h my c i t y b r o t h e r s has o p e n e d many d o o r s f o r me. We m i g h t l i v e i n t h e c o u n t r y f a r a w a y f r o m t h e d i v e r s i o n s and d i s t r a c t i o n s of the c i t y ; We m i g h t l i v e i n t h e bowels of the m o n s t e r ; We m i g h t be on t h e r o a d , w o n d e r e r s , v a g a b o n d s , s e e k e r s , b u t we a r e one f a m i l y / r i v e r . A strong r i v e r growing s tr o n g e r only as we j o i n f o r c e s . P a r t o f RFD s purpose is to h e lp w i t h t h a t f l o w . I f you f e e l t h a t y o u ' r e n o t r e p r e s e n t e d h e r e , stop s t a g n a t i n g . Send d r a w i n g s , poetry , a r t i c l e s , photos, ideas, criticism s, l o v e ........... o r come h e l p w i t h an i s s u e . Somehow s i t t i n g h e r e s e n s u r r o u n d e d by t h e c i t y I can s m i l e k n o w i n g that u p r iv e r there are q u ie t places w h e r e t h e w a t e r f l o w s s w e e t and c l e a r . T r t U

lS to e ~ l. We gave p r i o i t y to a r t i c l e s dea l i n g wi t h the country.

RFD was produced in New Orl eans, Loui si ana by the f a i r i e s of Las i s , Dennis, Dlmid, Orora, and St acy, wi t h Mi l o from Tenn. , Clarence from Alabama. David f rom^Fl ori da and Paul a rovi ng Gypsy coming here to make i t happen.

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( a l l t f * * * > . 7. < * * « • C*H Community I t c U l Sorvleo#, St . 3. *» * 1704. P « t A n g*i**. WA S l/w w w rfA o lA o ra . a«4 t l l w f m . u i I i . t e lt e r * *w »ia * o t holdin g l» or t e r * o f to ta l a*»u*>t o f tn ttg a g a * or othor M ew rtclA*? * • * • * * *M»H<aW#. U . ta io o t svatura o f c lr r u la tio o A. Total *> < »n«a p r in t ad. 2 , 2 « ; A. P*id c ir c u U fttt * | . S a lt* th ru AaaUta W c o t tla to , s tr t e t imn««r« and ,oEnt«> anion. 1100- 2. A n il auhartlpltoa a 420. C. T w a l t e « « l r t * U U n 1520. »• fro o S lo trlh u tlo o te W A r n r r jo r or ©eter onnAa. u « ! u . c te tU w ra ia ry and o tte r fr o * ««9*o* 175. S- Tot0.1 d io tr ih u t io n 1445* f Cngioo a * t i l o t r it e t o d . I. O ftle o W U fM W M , ajw ilnA o fto r p t lo t lh * , 505. 2. ft* t v rue f r o * a m * og*nto 350- C-. Totnl 2,200. t e o r U fy th a t t t e stew* t o w n * * nod* by • * o r* c o rr*c t W * » *g i*ft*, Poygoio bon ttid o o u poDUoHor.

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Very few peopl e, gay or s t r a i g h t , know or care about t h i s rape of our Mother; we a l l p a r t i c i p a t e in i t d a i l y wi t h our spray cans and f l us h t o i l e t s . Can we be anyt hi ng more i than wi tnesses to the c ol l a p se o f eco-syster^ Can we form new t r i b e s which can l i v e in humane ways? We c a r r y a gr e a t v i s i o n and must be open to the lessons the o t h e r crea t ures have to teach us - the whal es, the porpoi ses, the gr e a t t r e e s . We need dancest pr a y e r s , and ceremonies to invoke and strengthen the s p i r i t s o f the ani mal s whose e x i st e nc e is t hr eat ened by human over-power ing o f n at ur e .

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Working on RFD is a growth tool f or me, and ; source of j oy and adventure. My coming out been g r e a t l y enhanced by every issue I have had cont act w i t h . Ever si nce the Arizona Conference, I have been aware of the very hij* stakes in our e f f o r t s - no less than the very l i f e of our Mother pl anet e a r t h . Thi s was impressed upon me g r e a t l y in New Orl eans, a l ovel y c i t y where one cannot d r i nk the water/ Every r e s t a ur a nt cup o f c o f f e e is laced with cadmium and chl oroform. The very a i r is ful of chemical e f f l u v i a . The l o v e l y bayou country i s being drai ned and i t s w i l d l i f e killed off. Loui si ana was 90% f o r e s t when Europeans a r r i v e d ; now i t is 10% or less. The i v o r y - b i l l e d woodpeckers are long gone the pel i cans may be next .

RFD Is a t ool f or personal growth o f a l l who; We work out our a s s i s t in i t s product i on, the context of f ee l i n g s toward each ot her a work s i t u a t i o n - j ob s , d a i l y l i f e , and graphi c l ayout of the magazine. Sharing j obs , shari ng f e e l i n g s , shari ng s k i l l s . Learni ng and t eachi ng, working out our v i s i ons and needs. RFD is a shari ng of 6ur l i v e s - committed to paper and i nk.

POSTAL SttVICS StATWKMT Of OWWASMIP. *AAACOOOrr. AMD CliCULATIQM (IAQOIWC0 * t W WC5M5) \. T »tl« i t a l i c * AFD «. IA. p*fc ltC A ti« ’

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We are s t i l l faced wi t h the q ue s t i on, "What : RFD?" I t is a r e a d e r ' s j o u r n a l , f or "countr: f a g g o t s , " who may or may not a c t u a l l y l i v e ir the count r y. I t is now a " f a i r y j o u r n a l " . _ L is a v i s i b l e example of an i n v i s i b l e , growint network of men who love the e a r t h and each other. I t is a forum f or ideas and informatil i de o l og i ca l and p r a c t i c a l - an amazing blend of what is happening in our l i v e s r i g h t now.

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mommy fot .rtlcte*. pteto*. P ° « » F t A m t * . Each contributor * 1 U 2 c o pl- of tha m u ,1m in mhith tba wAtributloo api»ar». Each aambar of the cmltecti®* « w k i n « on am Im u c will rac.lv* a tmi*>*m*r »«*, pl*» 2 “ plam of tha is.ua worked oo. final WOKS'. RPD ie • raad.r-producad loorn«l. laauaa hava b.an prod*e*d by *ro«p« of S>T * » In various ragiona of tha 9 ^ lf 7®“ "oul

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issue of STD, writs to Fayt«l* ben M r »“ l, Bo* 92*. U l a t e SC 2^43.

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PATPAU'R'RI Oh Chose winter downs. Cold. Wei. Mis erable. For many (especially out in the hin terlands) winter is an isolating time. No wonder we contrive so many holidays in the coldest months, substituting the warmth of hu man contact for thg sun that is so low on the horizon. Now, 1 know that there are some who especially,'enjoy those Voidest months. For those who (Jo not (and even ®¥or the brave cold natured sort) f toffer these nostrums. Sceat is one of our most memory-linked senses. So to bring back the warm glow of spring and summer, we have but to make pot pourri! Gather together home fragrant dried herbs and flowers (those from your own garden are best, but of course your friendly food co op is likely to haVe some nifce choices) or per haps some woojis (cedaf* and sandlewood are nice), spices, if you like, and a fl'kitive (orris root is traditional; sotte report good results with calamus rooJt or musk oil) - You also need a mix ing bowl artd spoon, neither of which should be metal. Now add handsful of summer fragrance together, mix, add a fixitive (about 1 table spoon fixitlve to each quart of dried material), and smell. Mix in oils If desired. This may now be put to use or better still, set aside in an airtight container to mellow for two weeks. Experiment! Your own imagination is the best guide. Here are a few of my favorites: FLORAL 2 parts roses ] part lavender *5 part thyme \ part rosemary h. part sweet woodruff % nutmeg, sliced thin WOODSY 2 parts sandlewood 1 part thyme h part cedar 1-2 sticks cinnamon, broken several whole cloves CITRUS 2 parts lemon balm 1 part lemon verbena h part thyme \ part lemon thyme H part pineapple sage part sage SLEEPY 3 parts Lops 1 part thyme 1 part lavender *s part hibiscus h part roses To any of these one might add a bit of eu calyptus, or basil, or even some slivers of Tonka bean— delightful! Tie the finished product up In pretty mus lin, or some gingham (you can even use silk!) for a scented bag to put amongst your bedsheets, sweaters etc. and of course by the bed. Or put it in a glass stoppered bottle. Open and sniff (gently) for a pleasant lift. Colorful dried petals (strawflowers, violets, globe amaranth) may be added if desired, for a pretty effect. Be adventurous. Or keep it simple. Do remembey that mellowing time will help blend your scented creations. Ron Kilgore

Pure Drinking Water If you are worried about your drinking water: take a deep flower pot and put a com pressed sponge in the bottom: over the sponge put a layer of pebbles an inch thick. Next an inch of coarse sand, then a layer of charcoal and at the top another layer of pebbles. The water will filter pure and clean thru the hole in the bottom of the flower pot, into another vessel below. Our water comes out of a creek by pipe to the house and when it rains, we have muddy water. We use this process for pure clean water. Baking Those who are lucky enough to cook or heat with wood can enjoy this: next time you're in the middle of baking and found out you're out of baking powder just go to the stove and use your hardwood ashes a teaspoon more than baking powder you would use. F.J. Barnes

Wood Weight Comparative weights of wood/ft^ Elm 56 Oak (live) Basswood 52 Oak (white) 50 Fir Ash Pine (yellow) 50 Beech 48 Sycamore Apple Walnut (black) 46 Locust Cedar (red) 42 Cherry Larch 42 Maple (hard) Willow 42 Spruce Poplar Hemlock 42 Pine (white) 41 Birch

39 38 38 38 38 38 36 36 33 31 29

The heavier or denser a wood is, the more it will give.

t Dear

contact

RFD,

I am 23, an aries looking to meet someone to get to know, then to move to the country. I dislike electricity, telephones, tv, mindgames, alcohol, am radio,country & western musick. My interest include, musick such as Steve billage, Hawkwind, tangerine Dream etc. Reading includes Leary, Watts, and Huxley. 1 am a veg etarian on a spiritual path, which I wish to share. I'm not a fanatic. I am very stable and down to earth. I have long hair, I'm creative, can cook, I'm into tarot, telepathy, inner light, and tuning into nature. I'm non violent, and will not fight or argue,or get involved in mind games. I'm not looking for a relationship based on sex, but rather love, trust, honesty, faithfulIness and understand ing. If you think we may have some thing in common, please write. I'll answer all letters. Peace & love Tim L. P.0. Box 63 Mchenry.IL 60050

L E T tm F Your publication is very worthwhile! I am interested in hearing from gay bro thers who like myself have a strong interest in Buddhist meditation and/or psychology. I do counseling in private practice with gay men. And attempt to integrate Eastern and Western methods in my work. Other interests include swimming, massage, wrestling and beaches. Bob Reps P.0. Box 14794 San Francisco, CA 94114

Hello out there. Is there anyone who still believes in a one to one relationship. I'm 33 years old, have blue eyes, ash blond hair, a beard, am 6 foot tall and am looking for a life mate. I've had enough of one nite stands, trips to the tubs and an ex-lover that wanted to sleep with everyone else but me, have my financial support and has tried to take my property. I've been living in the country for 12 years now and have found that I just keep mov ing further and further from the creeping ur ban sprawl. I don't care for the gay tourist types that have seen fit to move to Fire Is land West at the Russian River, so I guess it is time for me to move to a more rural area Dear People: again. Thank God I have found a sanctuary l am putting together an audio journal with a very kind friend who understands my need for gay men— much like RFD in content but as for quiet. However, we live at opposite ends a sound cassette. of a large home and I am very lonely sleeping People who would be into contributing alone. should try and send things like: I would like to start meeting other men interviews that desire a one to one relationship, so we music: chanting, singing could share hopes and dreams of a life together. poems & prose— written or spoken, stories Sometime within the next year I will be able to sounds; streams, kitchen sounds, etc. purchase land again and have also been working letters: spoken in your voice— written on a project that will allow me to conduct my acceptable too business from wherever I settle in. Send it on a standard cassette, I ’ll return I guess I'm a bit different than the norm the cassette if you like with your copy of the when it comes to country life, because 1 have journal (the tape should be a "C-60 30 min. on been blessed with beautiful art, antiques and each side if you want the journal). a lot of creature comforts. I like having a Others who do not wish to contribute ma nice home with flowers on the table everyday. terial but who may want to purchase a copy in I also love all types of music and have the the future (around $2.50) can send a postcard radio or phonograph on all the time. My musi to be placed on the "no obligation" mailing list. cal tastes range from country western to clas If you do not have a cassette machine it sical, hard rock and Broadway. And on the would be possible to do the recording over the other end, I can pick up a shovel, put on a phone. Write me a note and we can arrange a roof and grow a beautiful garden. time to tape it. All I can offer is a life time of love, Also if there are any gay men in the Santa companionship, careing and the desire to work Fe area who would like to get together and meet side by side with a mate. If you are a kind others I'm planning to have an informal potluck and gentle man with a loving heart, a hairy at home— get in touch!! chest and want what I have been talking about, Steve O'Neill please write me. All I can promise is that I 11 936 Alto St. answer any letters that may come my way. Santa Fe, NM 87501 May flowers fill your home and the love of a man fill your heart. Dale c/o Growers P.0. Box 585 Calistoga, CA 94515 4

Dear

RFD,

One of the interesting themes running through this rag of ours over the years has been the conflict between the politically ori ented producers of RFD and those readers who would prefer to see more material on the nittygritty of surviving in the sticks, economically and socially. Recognizing that my opinions reflect my needs, some thoughts on this. Economic survi val skills don't depend on sexual orientation, so I can't see that it matters much whether the how-to info, you read was written by a gay or a straight, so long as it teaches you what you want to know. There are a number of easily available periodicals and a flood of now repet itive books that will tell you how to do or build almost anything. A journal like RFD, produced on a shoestring by reader volunteers for a small audience, could never present this sort of info as effectively as a well-funded commercial publisher, and would be wasting its precious energy if it tried. With few excep tions, the how-to stuff that has appeared in RFD has been less interesting to me than the political/philosophical material. While RFD can do little to promote the economic survival of rural gays, it can (and does) do a lot to make social survival in the boonies easier by providing a forum for contact letters and fostering community via networking and support groups. Steve Ginsburg's survey (RFD II21) probably reflects fairly accurately the situation many of us rural gays are in: we have coroe to terms in various ways with eco nomic necessity, but are often painfully aware that it ain't easy socially because we don't have regular, supportive contact with other gay men committed to the rural lifestyle. I would like to hear from other gays, es pecially those in southeastern PA, who feel they're in the same situation. I am 35, bearded, 6', 160 lb, neither sissy nor butch, but some of each. I am enjoyably employed as a gardener (organic), and and such work with a wide variety of edible and ornamental plants, ranging from vegetables, herbs, flowers and houseplants through woody plants, wildflower cultivation, wildlife plant ings, and (experimentally) the establishment of meadow landscapes as an alternative to the mowed lawn. Likes/loves include birds, botanying, ramb ling walks (long interludes of green quiet are essential to my well being), music (mostly clas sical, but most anything but C&W), reading (pret ty eclectic - anything about birds, good nature writing, gay fiction & nonfiction, some how-to, SF, mysteries, some poetry, satire, decadence, occasional porno, several periodicals, etc.). Have achieved some independence from the consumer culture by growing much food; am in the process of adding wood heat and planning an attached solar greenhouse. Dedicated to tread ing gently upon the earth, but am still heavy footed at times.

I was raised and live in a beautiful, hilly, well forested, still sparsely populated (1000 souls) township in Berks County, PA. Many of the rocky little subsistence farms that make up the township have been abandoned in the last 30 years. When developers started to buy and sub divide these, several of us long time residents formed a concerned citizens group devoted to preserving the rural character of the area through innovative land use planning. We did pretty well for a little group with no money. Our input into the planning process has resulted in land use plans and zoning regulations that should help to minimize the effects of new de velopment and preserve open space. We also persuaded the township supervisors to take ad vantage of Federal funds to buy up some recre ational land - an unusual move for a small town ship like this in PA Dutch country. My love and need for accessible wild places keep me ac tive in lwo local conservation groups whose aims include open space preservation and wildlife habitat improvement. Involvement in these community affairs has its rewards, not the least of which is associ ation with some really decent, dedicated straight folks. But more and more I've come to feel the isolation of being the only gay in the group, and the need to have more contact with other rural gays. If the foregoing strikes a respon sive note, please write me at the address below. Rudy Keller R.D. A Boyertown, PA 19512

British faggot, city dweller 'cos that's where all the people are that he can't do with out, but maintaining country roots 4. trenches via our country gay network, GRAIN; visiting San Francisco for 6 weeks from New Years, would like to meet RFD people in that area, rural California, maybe Oregon. It’d-be nice to meet some of you after reading of you over the past 3 years. Contact c/o 1644 Washington St. #12, San Francisco, CA 94109. Gay love from Ian Buckley 50 St. Pauls Crescent London N.W. 1, England

• • •

Naraaste and Greetings, Friends, My name is Lambodara-das and in this life time I appear in the reasonably healthy body of a black male. Born and rasied in Phila, Pa. until last Oct. lived for 2 \ years in Blooming ton, II. for the past 8 mos I have lived and been a part of Healing Waters a natural life style and healing center in southeastern Ari zona. I am a vegaterian 26 years old and into sharing Life Light and Love my talents and ac tivities have lay in the fields of music, drama (stage) dance and am a student of the Bhakti Yoga meditation path. In the past I have been active in the anti war movement and civil rights movement and gay rights movement in Phila., N.Y.C. and Bloom., II. I have until now lived in large or medium size urban centers and if the Spirit allows will only visit such places on occassion. Other areas of interest include hiking, camping, jog ging, extended families alternate energy and resources and sharing good times and fun with clear and grounded folks. Lambodara-das c/o Healing Waters P.0. Box 847 Eden, AZ 85535 (602) 485-2008

Robb and 1 have finally bought our coun try land. Our current plan is to have a log house which, because of the nature of our busi nesses, will need to be fairly large. We would really appreciate hearing from brothers/sisters about their experiences with log houses— hand-made or precut; design limitations/problems you've encountered, construction difficul ties (we are not very handy with wood), what it's like to live in a log house, maintenance, etc. We won't be able to start building till spring, partly because of weather and partly because of money, so any winter thoughts will be welcome. Hope to hear from you. Pieter Bach/Robb Shep 163 Garfield St. Seattle, WA 98109

Dear

UVD,

Dear RFD'ers,

I've been reading-‘your magazine for well over a year now and really enjoy it. My purpose is to invite other gay men in the Vermont, neighboring New York areas t drop me a line - penpals, possible get togethers, sharing ideas, experiences or whatever. I'm 25 years old, have black hair and a beard and would especially enjoy hearing from guys who are into Joni Mitchell and/or other rock/folk female artists. Also anyone out there into hu mor or sociology drop me a line (I'm a senior right now in the social work program at nearby Castleton College). Paul Langley RFD It1 Brandon, VT 05733

As another year draws to a close, I think we of the rural gay community should stop and examine our ways of communicating with one an other, explore alternatives to isolation. Our numbers in rural areas are greater than even we suspect, and yet finding and comaunicating with each other is a very slow process. One method I plan to try is a monthly picnic or get-together, advertised by word of mouth; and of course contact letters and ads are ways of reaching out into the far reaches of the coun try, but I'd be interested in hearing from any of you who have other contact ideas, ways you have found of meeting guys in your area, then if enough material comes in, we can write a short article for a future -RFD. So send me your favorite ideas, bizarre, successful or otherwise, for meeting the fairies in the woods. I'm also into trading recipes, unusual seeds, artwork, correspondence. I farm, garden, cook and have blueprints for a solar-heated pit greenhouse for sale ($6 to RFD'ers). Jim Long Rt. 1, Box 45 Blue Eye, MO 65611

\fter an 18 year relationship, this rather inhibited 48 year old part-time farmer finds himself alone and wants to share 15 acres and a home with a help mate, and possibly, playmate who has similar interests. If you are bi-sexual or gay and are athletically inclined, a nonsmoker and non-drinker and want to explore solar energy, ram pumps and windmills, etc., and are into hydroponic and greenhouse growing and in tensive gardening and are mechanically inclined and into movies and massage after a hard days work, you then have similar interests. Would like to hear from sincere, financially respon sible persons who might be interested. With kindest regards, Roger P.0. Box 585 Calistoga, CA 94515

Dear

RFD ,

I read your ade in the Front Page Gay pa per. Please rush me your full information on a Country Journal for Gay Men. 1m are verry interested in other Gay men. A little about myself, I'm Red Hot lonley Hungry Gay male 49, 6 ft about 190 lbs, nice looking black hair blue eyes, well built in all ways got nice 7*5 inch uncut cock are real sexey with other Guys, love to git it on Red HOt with other Guys I'm free no hang up at all, are a real nice clean guy. Are full of fun with others like myself. Are the kind of personal others love being around once git to know me. all ways love to please my friends, most everthing goes with me. in sexes what ever gives take both ways love it. Are 100 percent Gay would not be nother way. the male nude body are beautiful. Gay are beautiful. I are a nice clean man. dress well. I need help in finding others who love to get it on with another male, please rush me any information you all have. I'm for real I'm honest Sincere, taken on any one any age? to 60, just he he old enough to fuck not too old can't. I love frinch and Greek. I love sucking friend off best of all. I love it. please let me here from you all real soon. I'm Red Hot want lots of red Hot action as soon as possible. I stand up for the Gay world 100 percent, I thinks you all Sincere, yours truly, Mack A. Finch P.0. Box 1712 Henderson, NC 27536

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Dear Brothers and Fellow Fairies, I am hoping to start a spiritual journal for fairles/gay brothers, along the lines of Womcmapirit, which is put out collectively by wimmin, who I. feel are kindred to fairies. I don't know what kind of energy is "out there" for this, but it's time we had our own voices to share. 1 d like to put this before the brothers from the Circle and all the lovely Fairies out in RFD— land, and see what beginnings we can make. I’m good at organizing details, but there are a lot of skills and knowledge and connections out there, and this can't be a otie-fairy thing.

EV^Rt-A3T/A/6-

p ey ce

f . i .

Learned from my Grandfather, along with many other things, how to make "Everlasting Fence Post". YEP! Wood will last longer than iron or steel with this simple Process and it's inexpensive. We like cedar, fir, poplar, bass wood and quaking ash for fence post. Well af ter 7 years pulled a few, as they didn't seem to be doing nothing, and they were as sound as when put in the ground. Time and weather seem to have no effect on them. This is the recipe: take boiled linseed oil and stir it in pulverized charcoal to the consistency of paint. Put a coat of this over the timbers. And not a man will live to see them rot.

Love & Fairy Joy-Ron Sheriff 716 N. Allen PI. Seattle, WA 98103

IbWA FAfcMM>y I remember the smells of musk, sharpened by manure whenever I'd enter the henhouse to collect eggs. Yellow and grimey from staring at the underside of a frivolous creator, they would gleam like pearls after a careful rinse in soapy water from the pump. They would sell for twenty-five cents a dozen, a nickel of which was mine. Our farm was a small one compared to most, only eighty acres. Dad worked in town to sup port all us kids and between his job and the farm, didn't get much rest. My four older brothers did the field work. They'd spend most every afternoon planting or picking alfalfa and corn after spending the day at school. Winters always seemed the best to me. W e ’d get a big fire going and sing songs while mom popped corn and grandma knitted us all slippers for Christmas. Iowa winters are freezing cold and some times the snow would get taller than me. We'd have to get up early and shovel the drive so dad could get to work and we could catch the bus. Mom would always have hot cocoa and oat meal ready when we were done. Jack, the oldest, would end up having to carry me piggy-back to catch the school bu9 cause I was pretty snail and they could make better time that way. My brothers were husky and strong and no one messed with them at school. I was truely "the runt of the litter," as dad always said giving me a wink. It was true, though, and I worried about my skinny arms and legs. My pale skin wouldn't tan very much in the summer and I guess it made me look kind of sickly but I didn’t get sick much. Nobody could stay sick for very long at our place what with mom being the cook she was. That's what dad always said. I guess it was about seventh grade when I began Co realize that I was different from the other guys. All my classmates would be whis pering about girls and playboy magazine and I wouldn't be interested. I'd heard about queers

and faggots but didn't have much of an idea of the actual things they did. All I knew was you were supposed to steer clear of 'em and play lots of football. I hated sports but didn't want people to think I was wierd, so joining the crowd, I discovered the greatest and most wonder ful place in the whole world— a locker room! At first I made an effort not to appear too interested in my friends without their clothes on. Gradually, I noticed that most of them were secretly comparing equipment that was not used in football, so after a time, I would openly scrutinize everything in sight and even give com pliments now and then. It didn't take long till it started going around that I was "funny" and not the Ha Ha kind. No one ever called me a queer or faggot, my brothers were very big and besides, no one thought I was gay, just a little funny upstairs. It was in the fall of ninth grade that I finally realized what I was. I was helping a friend of mine pick ground apples for the hogs on a warm Indian summer afternoon. We had filled about 20 or 30 burlap sacks and decided to cool off by taking a quick swim in a nearby creek. The water was cold and felt like ice when I dove in. We splashed around for a few minutes but hurried out and sat on some rocks to let the sun replace our lost warmth. Talk drifted around to sex and girls but I was enjoying the clear sky and reddish-gold sunset, not rally hearing what Mark was saying. I turned my head to answer something he'd asked me and saw that he was looking at me kind of strangely. "No, I don't think about going all the way with a girl very often," I said. "To tell the truth they don't do anything for me." "I suppose you like guys then, huh?" "Of course, I like guys, I like all my friends." a

I knew what he was thinking and he knew what I was thinking. I noticed his cock was be ginning to stiffen and felt a tingling sensation from my toes. Reaching over, I ran my hand across his thigh and asked, "Do you want me to take care of your problem, Mark?" Afterward, we divided the sacks of apples and I called home for Jack to come around with a wagon and carry my share home. Mark avoided me after that and I was hurt for a while but chalked it up as a fact of life. I was busy in the fields most of the time by then and didn't have much time to brood. I noticed my arms and legs weren't so small as they'd been a few years back and dad was start ing to call me the youngest instead of the runt. I dated some through high school but like I said, girls didn't do nothing for me. Dad and

Mom ended up selling the farm when Jack went off to college and Rick went into the service. I didn't like living in a city much. Oh, I like seeing plays and went to a lot of 'em but it just wasn't where I wanted to be. City life was good for meeting guys too, but most of them I didn't care for, all uptight about one thing or another and usually didn't have nothing good to say about anyone either. I feel sort of like a unicorn ya know? There's not really anything else I can relate with. Ever feel that way? 1 never did come out to my folks, it would hurt them and I couldn't do that. You may say I'm a closet case but you know what? If you're in a big sweat to label folks, you ain't about shit. I just want you to know I love you all and I'm a pure-bred, farm-fed good old country faggot through and through. And proud of it! David Frey

^ ■ m

THE DEATH OF FALL

You came to the country to escape the city, see me, rest your nerves. We packed up all the blankets and throw rugs I had in the farmhouse and as the storm gathered we loaded them into my pickup. We borrowed a tent, got some instructions on how to put it up, found the stakes and the rain fly. You packed a bunch of food, more than I thought we could eat, especially since we were dropping real soon. We drove up the dirt road, up and up, past the new house Hank is building, past the abandoned foundation, a-1 the way to the end of the property. We parked at the edge of a meadow and as the wind blew cold in our faces, we started coming on. The tent went up fairly well considering our condition and we filled it with warm things, layered care fully, to protect us from the cold. As it got colder and more intense we decided to go for a walk. Up and up, past the chain across the road that marked our boundary and farther into the state forest.

^ ■ ?)^ ^ ^

?^ ^

The larches are the only trees that are green anymore, a sharp contrast to all the red and gold and yellow leaves blowing around us. It was raining now and we were high. As we walked through an abandoned orchard we pick ed apples off each tree, comparing textures and tastes, each apple different and special. Then as dusk approached we saw a clearing ahead. A quick walk through a grove of bare aspen revealed a vista to the west. We saw a setting sun amidst swirling clouds and geese as the show began to fall. In that special moment we saw the death of fall and winter's birth. So we hurried back to the shelter of our tent and clung to each other for warmth, in lust, maybe love, and shared the stormy night together. We awoke to snow melting on the tent as the sun rose for another day. You went back to the city, the memory of you and that day are sweet on my mind and I miss you. So I prepare for a winter visit. You promise me all the things money can buy and you too. But for today I'm here, alone, enjoy ing all the things that money can't.

Scott Luscorabe

FA TRY STRENGTH You thank me for my courage Dear fairy brothers With my joy and sorrow With my gratitude Surely 1 shall kiss Your feet I rejoice That I can nourish you What you do not see Are the tears I cannot yet Cry I need you I. need Your tears to water My fairy wings Fairy courage is different From the other kind To be the fairy that I am Simply to be Is the tree courageous to be The tree Little sissie Boys who did not fold Who would not could not mold (Or having folded now Unfold) How strong we are When we find our fairy Wings we fly we sing If As We We

we were half as strong we're supposed to be would not share this moment could not come this far

Thank goddess we're not so strong That we cannot see Our strength is in our love As we share who we are (The magic is in our laughter Our anger is that our laughter Has saved us too many times) You share your tears with me You share your love with me You give me wings to fly You give me eyes to see My strength is receptivity

SEVEN they are not sculptures they are not moments they are people remember this to the last of your dying days you, called upon to perform, behave and at Intervals be praised as a man remember

Gene London

as the Audubon under glass speaks to the virgin bird high in the skies freewheeling do not Nor taxonomize your debt these are breathing things breathe with them in your diary note only this "here I lived"

Drew McCord Stroud

Gemini

Man

From underground places you came riding up high Leaving your drunkards to drink themselves dry. With a blanket of night Wrapped around us in flight You escaped to the woods and I.'

The moon burned holes in the prisms that danced off the walls and the cracks Hair afire in a glance. Both of you came Bringing faces of light Sleeping awhile, arest in the night. Waking, you came (incredibly so) I claim that moment not letting go. Naked the day all green and high sun With visions of people and fruits all done. Retreat down the road Taking bits of me Back to your underground home and free. Jim Long

A theory has it which says that the kind of sex you first enjoyed is the kind of sex you'll always enjoy the most. Bullshit: I first liked jerking off in the woods - a sunny spot - watching it come out into a puddle like tapioca pudding, or, as a suddenly turned-on spout, spurting so far 1 could never find .it, unless you count the time a camp counselor nuzzled up to me over a tide pool and I nearly fell in.

John D. Do tan

Many people live precariously in rural areas, taking low-paying jobs in the immediate area and never really having enough food on the table, or working in a nearby town and com muting to their job— a commute that, in some areas, may be as much as four hours daily— so that they can breathe clean air and drink clean water. My lover and I have found a good solu tion to survival in the country and the prob lems associated with moving from one piece of land to another; at least, the solution is good for us. We have a mail-order retail business, which has been financially stable through six moves in the last 14 years (of which 8 have been spent in the country, where we're prepar ing to return after two years in town). The advantage of not having a shop open to the public, of course, is that we don't depend on walk-in customers. Nor do we need to live in any town, spend rent money on a retail lo cation, nor deal with local attitudes pro- or anti-gay as expressed in economic possibilities. Our goods are stored in our house, where they're convenient for us; our jobs are not dependent on the good opinion of any neighbor; and our hours are our own. Mail order selling is completely different from retail shop sales. I think mostly two things are necessary to make mail order finan cially feasible: a creative approach to market ing, and the ability to work when you have busi ness to attend to— trading off against those days when you really want to go swimming instead. When 1 think of country mail-order, all sorts of possible products come to mind, starting with

regional specialties: cornhusk dolls and wreathes, or corn brooms, black walnuts, or dried flowers and grasses for arrangements, to mention lightweight merchandise. Or sau- j sages and cured meats, special preserves or relishes, carved wooden art goods, even leather} goods, in the heavier category. Obviously, even pottery and stoneware are mailable, al though postage expense would be high and pack- | ing would have to be very secure. If your line of production is unique, you won't have any trouble finding buyers. Do [ you have an old recipe for wild cherry chutney!) Bottle and sell it by mail. Are you a cobblerj Mail hand-made boots or sandals. Do you have : producing nut trees on your land? Gather the nuts and advertise. You can provide almost anything by mail, and expand or diversify your j business at your own pace. Advertising is an important part of mail £ order, and offers unlimited opportunities for f your imagination. A small ad or two in a care-f fully selected magazine, newspaper, or news- J letter can bring in dozens of enquiries. If j you have access to a mimeograph, your catalog J can be as simple as a price list or as elaboraf as an illuminated manuscript. You do need to | advertise, of course, and gather mailing lists,;, of people who might be interested in what you j sell, but if your product is itself seasonal, | or if your market is seasonal, advertising ex-1 pense will be much less than for an all-year J sales effort. The second half of advertising is your price list or catalog. While it offers as muc| scope for creative effort as your actual advert tising, there are some things that must be in-j eluded. A product listing of any sort should f be explicit both in describing the merchandise! you have to offer and in detailing your terms ; of supply and shipping (e.g., "Available Sept.*, Nov. only. Shipped C.O.D. unless prepaid.")Beyond the basic information, you can add any artistic embellishments you want. We use the same logo we've always used, which started out; as a photocopy of a nineteenth-century woodcutj we are not artists, so for the rest of the deco rations we use borderings and pictures from ad vertising circulars, and similar found art. Your advertising and catalog can be pastej up for photo-stenciling or put together for photolith reproduction if you plan large quan-j tities. If you use a photolith printing com pany, you can usually get a lot of help and/or. tips from their paste-up artist (at no extra charge). If you plan to use photos, be sure they will reproduce well and that they show ^ : your product clearly, which usually means criSf black and white prints. If you're as hopelesS!

with a camera as I am, "crisp black and white prints" translates as "ask a friend to take the picture": I've even been known to make Brownies and Instmatics malfunction! Packaging can be as plain or elaborate as you like. It can cost next to nothing, too. We ship in cardboard boxes thrown out by supermar kets and liquor stores; we use wadded newspaper to cushion the contents of these free boxes, and egg cartons, and discarded styrene pellets— what ever we can get our hands on. Peanut shells make good packing cushion; so would rice hulls or co coa hulls— anything light and relatively uncrushable. The important point is that your shipping wraps should be secure and suitable to the prod uct. It's a real drag, psychologically and fi nancially, to replace items damaged or lost in the mail. The best aspect of mail order is that you can work on your own schedule. I'm a night per son, so I frequently fill orders and take care of correspondence in the evening, rather than waste a perfectly good day on an indoor activ ity. And we hardly work at all in the summer, because we have a seasonal market that lasts from late fall to mid-spring. So when it's time to plant and cultivate the garden, we have the time and the energy for it. We also have time to sunbathe, or go walking in the woods, or just sit and listen to the rain. Right now, we're getting ready for a final move to the country. We're not going to have to give notice at our jobs, because the business moves with us. And it'll be as successful in the country as it has been this last two years in the city. I don't want to paint mail order as all roses and sunsets. It does take discipline, time, and a certain amount of ingenuity. You must be reliable— ship when you say you will, and ship what is ordered. You do need to be creative in your approach to the situation. And you have to keep plugging or you won't make a livable profit. Which includes the ability to be a self-starter. There are times when you have to work even though you'd much rather play; but it s like farming in that there is a time to plant and tend crops, and then there's winter, when you mend harness and spit on the stove. If you think mail order might be a good way to get secure in your livelihood, consider it very carefully before you get into it. We started out part-time, with a small stock and working outside jobs. It's necessary to think the en tire operation through so as to have the situ ation in hand before you're overwhelmed by it. What is a possible product? Is the supply lim ited or renewable? Is it something you'll be willing to make— in large quantities for weeks 13

on end; or slowly, all year, aiming at a special market? If you depend on outside supply, how fast can you get replacement stock? How are you going to ship it? Is it so heavy that UPS is competitive with insured US mail? How will you price it— ingredients plus an averaged hourly fee? How small an operation do you want to start with, as a test of the market? Remember that a poor first season may not be the fault of the product but of misplaced advertising, for example. How will you arrange your business year so that it won't interfere with important recreation? Cross-country skiing, for example, or an annual family reunion several hundred miles away, can seriously backlog your business. So can unplanned illness— will you have help or are you working on your own? There have been times when I've really hated having to wrap and ship orders, but our mail or der business sure beats inputting a corporate computer and we've met some real nice people through satisfied customers calling to say they were in town or just chatting while they placed an order by phone. PIETER

BACH

OUR MAIL ORDER BUSINESS PIETER BACH Here are rome particulars about our mail order business and how we work it. We deal in books which are specialized Jrnto two areas of research. We sell almost ex clusively to college and university departments and professors, because that's how our mailing list has evolved. Also because it means we have less hassle when an account becomes over due for payment. See below for more on this point. About 90% of the books we stock and sell are out of print, some of them for many years. We rely pn what the trade calls "book scouts" to uncover them for us at garage sales, Sally Ann, Goodweill, etc. and the scout's markup is usually quite high, but since we deal with him/ her by mail, it's worth it to us. Scouts also usually understand that we're buying for re sale— they don't markup beyond what we can also markup, and they understand that a book doesn't have to be immaculate, since we both are quite adept at cleaning and repairing bad ly treated volumes. Robb has taken classes in bookbinding, which has stood us in good stead when a book is presented to us as in need of sepair, or is damaged in the mails.

/A A C H 0

Sometimes a bootc is so old or so badly in need of total rebinding that we simply cata logue it as "binding copy," figuring that the time we would have to spend in redding it is not worth what we can sell it for, over what we paid for it. This is not frequent, how ever, since we also have to keep our reputa tion for supplying books in good condition in mind when we put out our catalogue. (Does that sentence make sense?) In terms of mail order space require ments, a business like ours is not quite typic al. Books require dry storage, and a lot of it. And when you have a lot of them, at the beginning of the sales season, you can literal ly find yourself stepping over piles of orders and receiveds just to get to the desk. Also, books are heavy, which means that our packing materials have to be much lighter than most packing materials (postage considerations), and not so uncrushable, although it also means that boxes have to be about twice as strong simply to withstand the weight of what's being shipped. As to credit and collections, which are very important in any situation where you can't see your customers eye-to-eye, we have solved the problem of orders from individuals not connected with a college or university by requiring CWO, or cash with order, on first orders and then monitoring the check, if that's what they sent, to see how long it takes to clear their bank, before we consider extending any credit terms (i.e., invoice due within ten or thirty days) on future orders. This is a point that anyone in the mail order business should keep in mind: if there is any doubt that an order will not be paid for, figure out how to get the money first, then ship the goods. If you can plug into credit card purchases, it's probably a good thing to do, since the credit card pays you and then goes out to get its own money back from the credit card holder— rather like a small, short-term bank loan which doesn't leave you stuck holding the bag. Which is why credit cards have an annual interest rate of about 18%, something the average small business can't afford to pay.

Be do business using our home address, which is a liability in a city because we do not welcome customers on a walk-in basis, and hardly ever see customers even by appoint ment. Since the books are not in the house, now that we're in town, that means an extra liability in terms of rent paid out. Luckily, this is small in our case and probably for any mail order business, because there's no necessity for a retail shopping area location. But still it cuts into the profit. When we were in the country in Califor nia, and when we finally move back to the country in San Juan County, the books can live in a separate building on the land. We converted the garage at our last farm into the book office, with insulation, wallboard, etc. (lovely multicolored scrap carpet bought on sale kept the floor warm). It felt more like having a job in the sense that the pre sence of the business on the property was not so heavy as it would have been if it had been inescapable— say, putting it into a spare bedroom, which we've tried and hated. From our experience, I would advise any one going into mail order to start the busi ness out very small in the house, however, and move it into a separate building area only (a) when the business can afford it, or (b) when the businessperson can't stand look ing at another whatever and wants to shriek everytime he/she walks past the room where the business is. The biggest advantage of having your own business on your own property is that the proportion of floor space solely used for the business can be percentaged out of mortgage payments, taxes, etc. as a legi timate business expense. This only works if the space is devoted exclusively to that busi ness, and the Fed and State tax people are very picky about that. They'll get you on the allocation if they can, and make life miserable if they only think they can. So anyone putting such information into a tax return and we all have to fill those out— must be careful.

Same with telephone, auto expense, postage charges, and business office supplies. They must be apportioned according to what was devoted solely to the operation of a function ing business. If you've only got one room, small or large, and the business takes up a corner or one wall, and the telephone is used for both home and office, and you use whatever transportation for business and personal use, EXTREME CAUTION is advised in dealing with the tax people. In this case, if there's any doubt, see an accountant and segretage floor space totally, because they can ask how much of your desk time is spent writing business correspondence and how much is spent writing that dream novel, as well as how much of your space is devoted to each. It can get really sticky. We just call ourselves Shep Books. Not very imaginative, I know, but it's something that happens in the book trade a lot. Crea tive business names for mail order books are out of the question. They belong to retail shops, like The Upstart Crow in San Francisco and Shambala in Berkeley— hardly any mail or der and lots of walk-in traffic. As far as taxes are concerned, the tax to be really careful about is your own state's retail sales tax. You MUST charge that tax to any customers writing from an address within the State. You MAY NOT charge it to custom ers writing from an address outside the state. You MUST report any State retail sales tax on a regular basis, usually quarterly (which is a stone drag) but sometimes less frequently. You may lose your business license and/or be subject to legal prosecution if you flub your tax records on State retail sales tax— and whoever heard of an appeal that actually work ed in such a situation? No matter what other records you do or don't keep, 00 KEEP TRACK of State sales tax if your State has it.

One final thought: I hope no one who reads the article gets the idea that mail order is a part-time business. It's a way to make a living, and once you've established a clientele and learned your market, you do have to work to keep your reputation intact. Of all things important to mail order, the most important is reliability. So much is published in newspapers and magazines about mail order rip-offs that the general public • is ready to go to court at the slightest hint of irresponsibility. Which is why we are answering orders this month with a typed post card telling our clientele that illness forces a slower than usual response, but their order will be processed in the order it was received. That way, they know they're being paid atten tion to and they don't get so impatient. The same type of card should probably be sent when an unforeseen shortage of goods, for ex ample, crops up. Always let your customers know if there's going to be a delay for what ever reason, and t h e y ’ i stay your customers longer.

o J h c u jn -

c u s n

Chain saws are very intense tools, the use of which creates in me a deep awareness of the compromises I am willing to make with the patri archy. The use of such a machine also keeps me in touch with the part of me which is willing to take part in a violent transformation of treebodies into fuel or building material. The awesome destructive power of men and machine is frightening— the chainsaw is perhaps a first step in a path which leads, through a progres sion of technological ante-ups, to nuclear power and laser beam space warfare. Despite all the misgivings I have about the ethics of chainsaws, it is a time and labor-saving device which allows me to do other things than saw wood all winter. I have been involved with woodcutting for almost 10 years, having joined a "tree expert co." in cutting trees around a reservoir so it could be enlarged. I was the first "radical/freak" to join this crew, and ^Jf^^gcame a part-t ime chainsaw operator as wel ter. I remember the status and me by the use of that tool, fa&fcher older men who worked t! attempt^! to start their saws. .. After 1 mo\ê4 to the Country living in a mixed commune, d ch^J which never worked vefy(well. 1 attemj’ share my limited know|.e<&e o f i ^ s opetfj of the women who |ive$5».>re. w« rounded by sawnflUr, W 1 # didn't far for slabs ahd tVStyjJSS,which sawed by hand. W iiftiiiiMwiminW* mu >if,i our use of elect^c^JJ^JBCS#;rosi and relied solely \ba»Maa4wa4fith a pie, hauling and ciiWWJpBWff was all around the hoin|e and barn was tritus (tree debrief) of 12 years depWit. neighbor offered ttKjoan us a ch^lp saw, but declined. I didn'Alcfcow how to maintain rapv chines, and that w^s one more„ I djjip’t iêcra. A year or two later, “Je eccepteci' his offer. Hegave us a Remington "Bantam" which had the largest body and smallest bar of any saw I’ve ever tried to use. The Straight man who I as sisted in its use mixed burnt motor oil with the gasoline, and fouled the saw up completely after several months. I thought he was the ex pert! He knew better but didn't hiaye any re spect for that particular machine, I guess. When that man and most of the other "com munards" moved out one fall, 1 tealêd it was self-reliance I had to develf^.m t^kr relying on collective energy. So, I took the burned-out saw back to the neighbor and he gave me a HUGE, monster saw, a red 1957 Homelite! When I first saw that machine, I couldn't believe that I could handle it at all and felt embarrassed to take it to him for minor adjustments, etc. Its

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C U /Y X & C L U r

occasional use got me thru one winter rather nicely. Luckily its 24-inch bar matched the mass of its engine, etc., so it was worth lug ging around through the woods. It also started well, and kept going reliably. The next winter, I had an offer to cut trees down on the border of another neighbor's field. He would sell the logs and I could sell the firewood. There were plenty of people who would buy it from me at $20 a truckload. I had a new chain put on the saw, and it cut like a beauty! The heft of the body provided force to push the chain thru the wood, and the shav ings flew! I read up all I could on chain saws and how to care for them, got good oil, and learned a lot (If it makes shavings, the chain is sharp— finer dust means a dull chain). Up until this point, I had only cut dead or sick trees to meet my pwn fuel needs— as well as ones that had grown up in our old orchard and crowded the fruit trees. Cutting what seemed to me to be massive oak trees was a hard course to undertake, and I wept for their fallen bodies. I also learned a lot about various woods— Black Gum (Nyssa sulvatiaa) will not split, and will not burn. It might burn after a year of curing, but I don't bother with it. I always wear a plastic hard-hat when working, because of fall ing trees, limbs breaking off, etc. However, it was a double-bit axe (labrys) rather than a chainsaw which almost killed me. I limb of a big oak had become pinched under the tree, and I tried to saw it loose. My misjudging the com pression of the limb caused the saw to bind in it. I then used the axe to chop it through and free the saw. The axe caught an even smaller limb and bounced back on my helmet. I felt the blow, and commented to the old neighbor who was working across the fallen tree from me. He said "'at was jus' that limb" thinking the limb had rebounded against the helmet. A few minutes la ter, I went to take a piss, and taking off my hard hat, saw the cut in the top, a 2-inch slit that would have "rent my head in twain." So, the woods fairies will protect you if you have good vibes and wear your hard-hat. They have saved me several other times, from tree-butts which jump up when the tree hits the ground. Very nasty to fly up into you— possible instant death. Enough of the horror stories and anecdotes: on to some solid advice. Get a reliable used saw, or a good brand of new one. I feel that Poulan, Homelite and Husquevarna are good brands. People I know seem to have a lot of trouble with McCullough and Sears types. Don't get a selfsharpening chain, possibly not an automatic oiler. These are just systems to go wrong. Do not get a hybrid saw. with a longer bar or a

smaller body— it won't run properly. Do get a good file and a file guide— keep the chain sharp. Use good oil in the chain oiler. Regu lar 30 weight motor oil is OK, but I prefer the special bar and chain oil — it is colored red so you can see it on the bar. If you have a new, saw, get the fuel oil in the little ^-pint cans and mix it by the gallon. For my old Homelite, I get 2-cycle oil in quarts designed for out board motors, which is less than $2/quart at this writing. 1 mix 4 gallons of gasoline (un leaded is best) with a quart of oil. This is known as a 16 to 1 ratio; some newer saws use up to a 50:1 ratio. Too much oil in the fuel will make it smoke. Watch out for water in the fuel— this has happened to me and necessitates cleaning the carburetor and draining the gas tank. When you are pouring out the last bit of fuel from a can, especially if it has been stored for a while, look for water which may have condensed in there. Actually, storage of fuel is not advised, it can get "stale". Never store gasoline or oil in plastic milk jugs— this kind of plastic is not designed for storage of oils— it can dissolve slowly into the gaso line, leaving a residue on plugs, pistons, etc. as it burns. Use metal cans, or plastic jugs which hold oil or anti-freeze. We burn kero sene lamps— always be sure people know which is gasoline and which is kerosene. A mistake could ruin your machines or blow up your household. Along with a hard-hat, other accessories I recommend are: 1) ear plugs: the inexpensive kind that fit in your ears are as good as the highpriced plastic ear-muff kind, according to Con sumer Reports; 2) clear plastic goggles: sawdust in the eyes can be a drag, as well as little twigs that snap back in your face; 3) basic tools: screwdriver, sparkplug wrench (for the plugs, as well as the nuts which hold the bar in place), toothbrush (for cleaning small parts); plastic wedge for driving in to free the saw if it gets stuck. I also recommend reading all the owner’s manuals you can get hold of, especially about safety. Also get a manual of the parts and how to fix the saw if you have a used one. They are really simple machines (at least a 1957 Homelite is). All the thousands of people who work on machines are not geniuses— with a little application of our minds, we fairies can take control of situations where we are dependent on a machine to help us perform a task. I have an old white fake-leather purse with a shoulder strap that I carry in the woods— it holds all my tools, gloves, rags, and ear-plugs, and serves to remind me that under this hardhatted macho-appearing woodcutter hides a gentle being who loves the trees and all creatures. 1 love the trees all the more since they will ingly (in some cases) provide their bodies to keep my body warm. I never forget that they are bigger than I am, and that my body will one day feed the trees. Yes, a chain saw is a first step to a horrible future of technology gone mad! But we can stop the journey whenever we choose, or even backtrack and give up the machines. Each step must be a conscious one--we don't have to follow the path of destruction. There are places and situations where use of a chainsaw is totally inappropriate, but it is also a valuable tool when properly and safely used.

Consciousness is the key— prayerfully thank the saw before you start it up. Be aware of its power— over you and over the trees. Using a chainsaw can give the operator a (false) sense of power— an almost sexual macho sense of "Pow er between the legs." Sometimes the way 1 hold the saw makes it feel like a huge mechanical dildo! As aware fairy-beings, we must be aware of the dangers of destructive tools to us and to our environment. We can and should learn to use machines, but not become identified with them or their power. The real power in a wood cutting situation lies with the trees— they can fall on you, jump up and smash you, or grab the saw and not let go. Properly released, their energy will keep you warm and comfortable, or put a roof over your head. Let us all be thank ful for the numerous and varied trees which in habit our planet. One final bit of advice— never cut alone. Milo

In lookinq for* information on vari ous makes of chainsaws, we found arti cles in "Consumer Reports," Oct. 797? and "Popular Science," Sept. 19?H. These magazines rated gasoline- and elec trie-powered saws, listing thencurrent models anil prices. There was considerable variation in cuttin/g speed, fuel economy, control, and price. All gas-powered saws were ra ther noisy (t 110 decibels). In choostjt ing a saw, first consider how much you plan to use it, and what size trees you if will be dealing with. S a w w s s f t s w w f i s a w a w a w ; : 17

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A CHANCE TO DANCE

high on a secluded mountaintop lush with pink and red t ’was another prolific spring another winter dead a quiet scene a sanctuary where many birds gather and fly together

gull watched iridescent pheasant saw boundless color saw keen forest grown eyes a designed spell and the gull fell vulnerable gladly

unpredestinated yet as if it were written the two birds soaring separately landed and met fanning their finest plumes they slow stepped and circled round donning smiles excited they danced! A DANCE OF ACQUAINTANCE

unwrapping long coastal wings surrounding pheasant each pressing close Feeling their warmth pour forth and mingle

pheasant took elegant tail gracefully tickling tiny feathers under gull's beak a heart felt touch so pure the outreach so overwhelming the needs so delightful the yoy in contact

taking all of their time under divine wing of high emotionality and intuition announced "this moment still will last even after all flights are flown... and they stayed awl swayed giggles bubbled up and they danced! A DANCE OF TENDERNESS

as if to summon friends to feast on timeless shores gull bugled out loud and clearly "Good news! Good news! I ’ve found a pheasant friend!"

native to separate climes the birds appropriately live apart still through time and distances together they live in each other's heart

soon and slowly a host of multicolored birds gathered and together came identification and understanding honoring their ritual of feather friendships love came out all ways so they jumped and leaped laughter abounding they danced! A DANCE OF PASSION

and when it is that side by side i t ’s open feathers and fancy flying free

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'tie no mischance these birds enhance each other’s beautiful differences SO they advance through circumstance winging their common senses

Stella Mifsud 18

frk^THEk* frEHINfr EAfe* Dear Friends at R.F.D. The Spring and Summer issues of R.F.D. were forwarded to me here at Leavenworth from Marion. As you may recall, 1 was involuntar ily transferred from the Washington State Penitentiary at Walla Walla last March and sent to the federal prison in Marion, Illinois. State officials said I was moved out of state because of my political beliefs and the dis ruptive effects they were having on the popu lation. After three months at Marion the feds decided that they didn't want me there either, and ordered the state to take me hack. To aid the state in this respect, I was trans ferred to Leavenworth's hold-over ti£r, where I presently reside. The state, however, does not want me back. Hence they undertook a frantic search for another jurisdiction that would be willing to accept me. And now they have finally found one— the state of Tennessee. Naturally I was pleased to see that tne summer issue of R.F.D. was put together in Tennessee, as I will soon be needing some friends in that state. Would you send me the names and addresses of potential contact peo ple in Tennessee, especially that of the fine folkB who put out the last issue of the jour nal. Mail should be addressed to me here as I do not know how long it will take my captors to move me again, it could be anywhere from three weeks to three months. I'll con tact you again once I'm settled in at my eventual destination. Then you will have a permanent address for me (until I can secure mv return to Washington).

The summer issue of R.F.D. was out standing in most respects. The works of June Boyd were both powerful and inspira tional. I hope you will publish more of her material in future issues. What I did not like reading was the letter from a Colorado prisoner named Frank Martz. And it is this point I want to touch upon now. Frank writes that gay prisoners being raped, prostituted, extorted and murdered on the inside are being victimized because they are not good convicts or are insecure in who they are. Frank says that gay victims of sexist homophobia on the inside should not blame their oppression on their gayness, but on their own weaknesses as an individual. He suggests these weaklings either get them selves together or check into protective custody. It is his opinion that we cannot be free of the sexist laws of convictdom, and should therefore stop crying about the terrorism being waged against us by straight prisoners. I am a commie fag and proud. I've been confined a long time and have never been raped or otherwise physically abused by my peers in captivity. This is in part due to the fact that, as Frank would emphasize, I am reasonable secure in who I am and what I'm doing. But it is also because I am more potentially violent than most of my gay brothers (I am serving two consecutive life sentences for attempting to kill two police officers). Even so, there is a constant barrage of verbal and other forms of indir-

ect oppression I must deal with on a daily basis. Moreover, I see rape- the buying and selling of gays, etc., going on around me and cannot in good conscience blame the vic tims, which is what Frank attempts to do. My response was not to adjust to the sexist status quo at Walla Walla, but to organize Men Against Sexism. M.A.S. did anti-sexist skits for other prisoners, screened feminist movies, distributed literature within the population, and took direct action against rapists and their ilk. We also did propa ganda in the gay community on the outside in an effort to expose the intensity of our oppression— what Frank would call sniveling. This isn't being written to say "see how right on 1 am," or for the purpose of putting a talented sister down, but rather to draw a contrast of our respective posi tions on how to address the question of gay oppression on the inside. What I'm trying to say is that we can't sit back and smugly dismiss the victimization of our gay comrades as due to their lack of confidence and low ego-strength. It has been my experience that It is the rapist who is insecure with his sexuality, an insecurity masked with the worst aspects of macho aggression. Of course many of us fags are less than confi dent of ourselves in the prison setting; but given the prevalent atmosphere of homo phobia and other manifestations of sexism in this all male environment, it is not surprising that unorganized and often iso lated gays respond to their situation in a manner unacceptable to those of us who con sider ourselves to be solid convicts. We who are more secure should blame the forces of oppression that work to cripple us, not the victims of these forces. Our priorities should be to help strengthen gay prisoners, not write them off.

Lear Sisters & Brothers, Hows the Family? 1 hope every one is Gay and feeling well (smile). I received the first newsletter from Caycon Press even tho it's their seventh it’s my first. Anyway I'm in ways feeling sorta good cause I realize I'm not the only one strug gling against the phobia and sexist attacks of the moral Lefts and Rights. I have plans on serving life for this here picture, because "wow" I never even knew this was going down, no one never asked me, yet I'm seen on "T.V," every day. Bummer! Anyway, Loveletts, I heard you pub lished what I wrote. Thank you, here's a kig wet kiss (X). I would like a copy if it's cool with y'all! You know I would also like you to send your copies to Monroe (Washington) c/o Sandy or Stew. They're new in this struggle. Help them. Monroe has a Gay group and they're trying to close us down. We need Gay support Now! Yours Star Leonard Star Carter 626293 16-F-6 P. 0. Box 520 Walla Walla, WA 99362

Gay prisoners with leadership abil ities should start study groups, rap ses sions, do community outreach, conduct propa ganda and, most importantly, organize for self-defense. If an authority exists other than that of the pigs, gay victims of homo phobia will not have to check in. By or ganizing to fight back, not only against sexist prisoners, but against the inhuman conditions of confinement suffered by every one, we will gain the respect of straight prisoners. This is something we must earn. And we can't earn it while divided and iso lated from each other. Gay Prisoners in Washington (M.A.S. at Walla Walla and the Sexual Minorities Group at Monroe) are organizing for what wtll be a long and difficult struggle. Prisoners in other states should follow them in this direction. This is your duty as a gay prisoner. It is necessary if we are to overcome our oppression. None of us can be free until we are all free. Organ ize and educate for liberation! Love and struggle, Ed Mead #00911 Brushy Mtn. Prison Note: Ed is already Petros, Tenn. 37845

★

in Tennessee 21

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I CLP! Need supply of Vitamin L(400 1-U*s) "arnTTor monev. Brother prisoner was deliber ately given an antibiotic he is violently allergic to (and officials knew this) and neeas funds to get an outside and unbiased doctor into the prison to treat ulcer caused in right leg (bone deep) or amputa tion could be the alternative because osteo myelitis has set in. Getting no treatment at prison! GWM, age 30, your choice! Please mail to: Dean Justin McKeever, Box C— Drawer 8841, Waupun, WI 53963...or...Dean J . Mc Keever Fund, 4831 N. 126th St., Apt. Lower, Butler, WI 53007. Money orders, cashier s or bank checks only. Please help before it's too late!

First, I'd like to express my overall en joyment of RFD’s format. Rotating the areas and personal responsibilities for each publi cation insures variety and continued interest from readers. It is important for all of us to grow and expand through sharing our know ledge (or lack of it) with not only country faggots but all people. I feel that a loving critique of Michael Loris’ article in #21 is in order. We all know that nuclear energy is a threat to our rural lifestyles and environments. Country faggots desire companionship which city sissies” might be able to supply (if they re made aware that gays live in the backroads areas). Women are fighting for sexual freedom and by joining with our lesbian sisters we find that the combination yields a vast number of people who are listened to. An important part of our cul ture should be the resolution to accept all peo ple and work together as best we can. After all, don’t we know what it’s like to be pushed away or alienated from people? We should be true ex amples of human fellowship and interaction for how else can we accomplish Preach and promote civil rights? ., As a prisoner, I find myself catagorised by Michael and self-pride (which is extremely diffi cult to maintain under the circumstances) demands that I give him a reply. I was born in the heart land or rural America and know firsthand exactly what it means to work with the earth for a living. In rural communities you will find people sharing and trading opinions with one another in mutual respect, if not agreement. In conclusion, I wish to express my enjoy ment of several articles in #20 dealing with coun try living. Wild Fruits from Coast to Coast, Country Antique Dealings and my favorite which was rustic Fireplace Drill. , , . 1 am a country faggot and though my body is being confined for a short time, my heart and mind remain in the dirt, so to speak. 1 appreciate being able to receive RFD and 1 will understand if you feel unable to publish my letter. If anyone wishes to share knowledge and love, please feel free to write. Love, David Frey. #41379 2605 State St. (Oreg. St. Pen.) Salem, OR

97310

Dear Friends of Gaycon Press: With GAYCON PRESS NEWSLETTER being tlK only newsletter in this country for and about gays in prison the number of free copies sent to prisoners has grown to over 1400 in four issues. The cost of printing and mailing has grown also, and thus this l e t t e r .

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It has become necessary to send tnis letter to you and other friends of the news letter in an attempt to raise funds for tn purchase of a small used printing machine that would allow me to continue with the newsletter and afford the rising costs of

Any donations should be in the form^ a money order made out to me personally (<* GAYCON PRESS) or cash (concealed in carbon paper to prevent detection and possible W at the hands of others). This method is ‘ to the fact that the bank will no longer c checks made out to GAYCON PRESS due to the large number of "bum checks" I have rece I hope that you can see the need .o> the printing press and will respond with * donation. In Unity and Struggle, Ronald Endersby, Editor Gaycon Press Newsletter 216 Eddy Street #203 San Francisco, CA 94102

GAYCON PRESS NEWSLETTER is letter in t h i s country f o r in prison. It is sent free Subscriptions are $$/year

the on ly new* and about g3* to prisonersf o r free peop

^❖ NTACTS Hi to in me

there everyone! This is my first letter RFD. 1 truly hope that someone out there the "free" world will see fit to write to as I am very lonely. My name is Richie and I am a 24-yr-old Italian gay boy who just recently "came out" of the closet. First I want to say that being in prison is really a bad trip particularly if you are gay. But I manage. My crime was ignorance, but 1 offer no excuse in my de fense. Now I can only plan for my future which begins when I am released on Aug. 31, 1983. 1 want to be free and happy but you need someone to help you get along in life. I love gay sex but that is not my first priority. I want to explore life, the arts, etc. I would love to hear from someone be tween 18 and 30, though I will be satisfied with whatever. By the way, I am 6 tall, 180 lb., hazel eyes, and brown curly hair. 1 also have a beautiful body, so 1 am told by the ones here who peek at me while I shower. Please when you write to me send ^me a photo if possible as I love collecting photos. I will answer all who write and who knows maybe fate will bring us together for all time. Also please be frank with me as I like honesty in a person. One last thing. 1 do not look to correspondence as a way to monetary gain. My sole purpose is to find and establish new gay friends who I can honestly call friends as prison is so full of phonies just wanting a sex play. Well I. look forward to hearing from future friends and possibly lovers. Bye for now and peace always. Richard Carbone #B-95549 Box A - Rm. #8332 San Luis Obispo, CA

ALL ALONE, age 27, W/M into French and Greek, gay, 5'10", 145 lbs., blond hair, blue eyes, smooth slender body, 9" erect, needs sincere relationship, has no one, no family, release March 1980. PLEASE only sincere people reply Write to Mark Lane, P-1348, P.0. Box 9901, Pittsburgh, PA 15233.

Dear RFD I am an inmate at Iowa State Prison. I am attempting to obtain an out of state parole to New York State. If secured the parole would be in the spring of '80. My uncle lives In Brooklyn but I would prefer a rural communal type home and occu pation. I would appreciate any help anyone could offer me in obtaining a place to stay and occupation. I'm 23, gay and Leo. I love nature and art and love to work, especially outdoors, and I learn quickly. I'm 6'1", 150 lbs., blond, blue eyes, and would enjoy correspond ing with anyone who would like. I'm a long hair and into yoga. So write soon and I will too! Yours truly, Terry Putman #907411 P. 0. Box 316 Ft. Madison, IA 52627

0 0 - € > 0 - € » € > 0 " € > I am a Gay inmate doing time at the Chillicothe Correctional Institute, Chillicothe, Ohio. 1 would like to correspond with peo ple on the outisde. Thank you for your time and attention. Thomas Stewart #154-164 Chillicothe Correctional Institute 15802 State Route #104 P. 0. Box 5500 Chillicothe, Ohio 45601

We wish we could write more here about the current situation at Walla Walla prison. We don’t know whether the lockdown is still in effect. Readers who know, please write RFD. 23

Dear People: Would you please help me out on some thing? Have been in prison since the 6th of January 1958 and will be coming out in a year from now and while I am here I would like to be able to receive your wonderful newsletter which I know is a. Pine one. Hope that vou may be able to help me on this matter. Love thru Christ, R. 0. Workman #1635 P.0. Box 1100 Avon Park, FL 33825 P.S. Do you know any one that would be will ing to write to me?

G.W.M. 26 years old, 6', 180 lbs. "firm," brown hair and eyes, seeks correspondence with GWM's preferably 40 or older. Write Lanny Swift #150-458, P.0. Box 45699, Lucasville, Ohio 45699.

Dear RFD I'm presently incarcerated in upstate New York and I just happen to come across your journal and if I may say so it was very good reading. So I would very much like to be put on your subscription list in time to receive the winter journal. I'm hoping to be released in the spring of 1980. However I would like to write to some gay people while I'm here and maybe become more than a pen pal. Thanking you in advance, Prof. Demetrius Tompsen 76A3669 Box 307 - Bldg. 13 Beacon, NY 12508

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RFD I received your #20 issue of RFD on Aug. 3, 1979. Thank you very much. I was really impressed with the contents. 1 am from Missouri, raised on a farm. But 1 am familiar with parts of Tennessee because I have relatives in Ripley, Dyersberg, and Mary's Chapel, Tenn. This is up close to Memphis. I haven't been back there since 1968 so a lot has changed, I suppose. I have been in prison in California since February 15, 1970, but I am due for the Parole Board in November '79 this year. I was really interested in the articles on Indians in RFD. I am French-Indian, Osage tribe, from Canada/Oklahoma/Missouri. The article by Milo on Wild Fruits from Coast to Coast was very good. I have always enjoyed antiques, so the article by Foot Adze in terested me. I am into poetry, so pages 14_ 15were very good. 1 enjoy RFD because it seems to lean toward the country. I really don't like city living. I prefer the country, outdoor living where I can feel free. I will be look ing forward to your next issue of RFD. Keep up the good work. If you know of anyone who wishes to write me, please give them my address. I ’d like a friend/pen pal. Peace/Love James E. Champ P.0. Box B 28426 Repress, CA 95671

23 year old would like correspondence with rural oriented man who desires helpmate and/or long term friendship. I have country background and enjoy hard work, sharing, and truth. My interests include writing, music, and poetry, reading, theater, animals, and working with the earth. I love chess, as trology, card games, and enjoy giving mas sages and eating right. I tend to be a vegetarian but respect the rights of carni vores. I would prefer a mature person 30-50 who is together and gentle. Surface beauty is not important to me so please don’t hesi tate to write. Let's talk things over and get to know one another. Photos exchanged if you wish. David Frey #41379 2605 State Street Salem, Oregon 97310

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Ke r n u n n o s T a b l e o f C o n t e n t s ; 1980 F a i r y Gathering F l i e r f or S p i r i t u a l Conference for Radical F a i r i e s , 1979 An I n c r e d i b l e Weekend by John Ky p e r The F a e r i e s G a t h e r , a t r u e t a l e as t o l d by D a v i d C a wl e y Desert C i r c l e : P a s s a g e s by W i l l Ro s coe F a i r y S p i r i t u a l i t y by Ron S h e r i f f Army o f L o v e r s by A l l e n Page A Dr ama o f F a i r y P o l i t i c s by D a v i d Liner A M e e t i n g o f P o i n t s o f V i e w by C r a z y Owl S u b j e c t - t o - S u b j e c t , from a paper by H a r r y Hay G r e a t F a i r y C i r c l e by T i m o t h y O'Brien Ar e We Not Men? We Ar e F a i r i e s by Rita Rose F a i r y G a t h e r i n g Phot os C e n t e r f o l d R i t u a l Not es f rom t he G a t h e r i n g of R a d i c a l F a i r i e s by P h i l l i p Moon A Re - me mbe r i ng by D a v i d Cohen Fr om " L a v e n d e r E x p r e s s " by James Moor e A R e p o r t on t h e G a t h e r i n g by F r i t z Fr ur i p Mud R i t u a l P h o t o s by M i l o G u t h r i e Shaman S t o r y by Ron S h e r i f f L e t t e r from F or es t F l a t I n v o c a t i o n t o t h e Moon, Poem, and P rayer Wi t c hwo r k

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It's been whispering in the winds; two robins were overheard talking about it just last nite: Another call to Gay brothers is going out! A great faerie circle is once again about to convene! This time among the crags and piney scents of the Rocky Mts. The closest reading we have right now is "one to two hours from Denver," sometime between July and early August 1980. A local contact is: Pat Gourley 1660 Madison Denver, Colorado 80206 1-303-377-7280 (homfe) 1-303-394-5110 (work; it's okay to ask for the Faerie who works there!) They probably could use any contribu tions to help with the organizing expenses of spreading the word, obtaining a location, supplies, etc. A Winter Solstice gathering in Denver of faeries in the region— Colo rado, New Mexico, Nevada, etc.--is happen ing to carry on the most Important work be gun this past summer. In Faerie Spirit, Faerie Love— and the belief that it is not too late. She’s calling us Home!!!

A CALL TO

A SPIRITUAL CONFERENCE FOR RADICAL FAIRIES TO BE HELD LABOR DAY WEEKEND

AUGUST 31-SEPTEMBER 12, 1979 AT A DESERT SANCTUARY NEAR TUCSON

• exploring breakthroughs in aav consciousness • sharing g ay visions • the spiritual dim ensions of qayness 27

1 N C R E D T B L E

W E E K E N D September 17, 1979. Two weeks later, it is still very difficult to write about the Spiritual Conference for Radical Fairies, held in the desert near Tucson. It was an incredible weekend. I do not exag gerate when I describe the Conference as one of the most intense, joyous experiences in my life. But it went much deeper: It was a homecoming. Ten years ago the gay liberation move ment was spawned in the wake of the nowmythologized "Stonewall Rebellion," when patrons of a Greenwich Village gay bar, for the first time, resisted a police raid and fought back. It was a catalytic event, like Rosa Parks' refusal to sit in the back of the bus. Years of quiet organizing by Mattachine Societies and other homophile groups in a few large cities had paid off: the new consciousness had been transferred from an elite to the mass of the gay community, in cities and towns throughout North America. Like many others, to learn of Stone wall was the final push I needed to come out and accept my own homosexuality. Conscien tious objection had led, inexorably, to gay liberation. By my refusal to "measure up" as a Man and kill in Vietnam, I realized that my Manhood was dispensible. (I later rea lized, also, that it was the strength I had developed from being constantly taunted as a "sissy" that had enabled me a few years before to see through the patriotic hys teria and the official rationale justifying the war.) To assume an unnatural machismo would be self-destructive of all that 1 most valued. 1 soon joined Boston's fledgling Gay Liberation Front, for myself and for my brothers and sisters who were affirming their right to be. These were heady days— we sought to question everything. As the women's move ment was discovering, we learned that the issues of personal existence are the most basic politics of all. Our energies soon

dissipated, however, because we were trying to go in too many directions at once. Gay liberation was eventually superceded by a more narrow focus on "gay rights" or (sani tized in an attempt at respectability) "hu man rights." Certainly obtaining the legal protec tions enjoyed (at least theoretically) by blacks and other minorities is a worthy goal, but it has become an end in itself for most of the gay movement, as if a few super ficial reforms are all that Is required. "Gay rights" becomes a watered-down con cept, particularly when it is used as a ve hicle to maintain white privilege, male privilege, middle class privilege. Thus individuals can misuse their sense of being "oppressed" in self-indul gent and exploitative ways. The process is most blatant in San Francisco: Some gay real estate agents make distorted compari sons to black oppression to justify their buying up of black and poor neighborhoods. As in any other community, factions jockey for patronage appointments. And the postur ing machismo of Castro Street mimics the male-supremacist values of those who hate "queers." To many, "gay music" means the macho thud of the Village People and their paeans to militarism. The game of pretending we're "just like straight folks except for what we do in bed" is an attempt to minimize dif ferences with the limited vision of the lar ger heterosexual society. This drive to fit in at any cost to our integrity and good sense, motivated by the desperate desire to be considered "normal" by the standards of a society that judges us sick to begin with, denies our own unique contributions and in sights. In Los Angeles some organizers of the national gay march on Washington in October wanted to enforce a dress code, for getting that it was the unrespectable street queens who led the revolt at the Stonewall a decade ago. I was excited when I learned of the Spiritual Conference for Radical Fairies, early in July. I had just participated in a large Fairy Circle in a redwood forest, led by Arthur Evans, author of Witchcraft and the Gay Counterculture (Boston: Fag Rag Books). I had once criticized such explora tions as "escapist," but now I had felt the magical energy in this group of four dozen men in a great circle— singing, dancing and celebrating our sexuality. Arthur's work has been an important influence, tracing gay spirituality to the pagan nature religions that Christianity has systematically exter minated in its 2000 year career. Despite the attempts of some gay Chris tians to domesticate us all into monogamous eouplehood, our sexuality seems inherently subversive in this society. Joseph McCarthy' campaign against the "Communist homosexuals" in the State Department had its antecedents in the medieval inquisitions that judged homo sexuals, witches, heretics and pagans alike as threats to church and state, and executed them. The very word "buggery" is a corrup tion of the name of a Bulgarian heresy that flourished in the tenth century.

Once I saw a flier for the Fairy Con ference, I knew I had to go. Its organizers included Harry Hay, founder of the first Mattachine in 1951, and Don Kilhefner, director of the Los Angeles Gay Community Services Center. "A Call to Gay Brothers" enumerated their vision for the Conference: To share new insiqhts about ourselves; To dance in the moonlight; To renew our oaths against patriarchy/ corporat ions/rac ism; To hold, protect, nurture and caress one another; To talk about the politics of gay enspiritment/the enspiritment of gay politics; To find the healing place inside our hearts. . . . The spirit was contagious. They had initial ly hoped to attract fifty people, hut nearly 200 ultimately attended. Some people have criticized the Con ference because it was held in Arizona, a state that has refused to ratify the Equal Rights Amendment. Organizers addressed the issue of the E.R.A. boycott, advising people to purchase toiletries and tobacco before they entered the state. The site had been donated, and food was being supplied by the People's Warehouse Co-op in Tucson, whose members are active.in tne struggle to ratify the E.R.A. in Arizona. The Conference was held at Desert Sanc tuary, an ashram located on a ranch at the foot of the Rincor Mountains. Bill Haines, its founder and teacher, has studied in In dia and in the West. Unlike many spiritual disciplines that are anti-sexual and anti gay, he has written that the ashram is "ex clusively Gay-oriented, calling upon the unique enspiritment of Gay people who can share a dedication to the growth of this sup portive, intentional, and singular community — a sharing of Gay Centering and Gay Vision." We were miles from the nearest paved road, a welcome relief from the distractions, lights and noises of the city. People were arriving at the Sanctuary all week long, from all over the United States and Canada. Rid ing the 550 mil es from Los Angeles, with eleven other people in a van that broke down once in the middle of nowhere, deepened my enthusiasm when we finally arrived late Fri day afternoon. What followed were three fantastic days of Fairy Circles, workshops, a raudbath ritual, meditation. Through it all the followship of living/eating/swimming/celebrating with my brothers in an atmosphere of such relaxation and freedom that I cannot imagine even in San Francisco. I had known only a few of*the people before the Conference, but it didn't matter. Outdoor nudity is still something of a welcome novelty to me, and I felt a warmth and casualness that easily overcame my usual Vermont reserve. Uninhibited, we showed affection and even made love in the open, which was equally casually accepted without the guilty voyeurism that greets other people's sexual behavior out in the "real world."

Friday evening we opened the Conference with a Fairy Circle on the lawn of the ashram. We invoked the Fairy Spirit, different gods and goddesses, Harvey Milk, Walt Whitman, the names of friends who are no longer with us. Harry Hay spoke of his gay vision of "subjectsubject relationships," of people sharing as equals, rather than the subject-object rela tionships that pervade our society, oancorously deforming human interaction to the level of exploitation. The energy was even higher at the Fairy Circle the following morning, as one person after another spoke movingly of their experiences of growing up and grow ing as gay. Before we realized it, we had gone several hours over the secheduled end of the Circle. There were many other highlights. A Men Against Rape workshop, by the Louisiana Sissies in Struggle, exposed the pain of those of us who have experienced such brutal ization or who have had close friends who have been raped. Murray Edelman led a "Dif ferent Kind of Night at the Baths" group, which was similar to his program of encounter exercises that had proven so successful in San Francisco. But my best memory of the weekend was the mudbath ritual: Joyously caked with mud and with several dozen of my brothers— singing, dancing, shouting— I evoked a sensation of timelessness that I sometimes feel during especially satisfying lovemaking, that I am in touch with something thousands and thou sands of years old. This skeptical MarxistBuddhist-Unitarian has become a true believer in the Fairy Spirit.

Time has come! declared Harry, the Elder. Heman has gone too far! Though our spirits be ever young, his evils wear away at these bodies. Before we are called to leave them, let us gather again. I need to hear laughter and music from our kin. Oh yes, my love, yes! exclaimed Brotherjohn. I, too, long to see our faerie brothers and give them sweet kisses and hugs. Don Bushbeard joined in. I shall help send the call. Let us form a circle and sing out our hearts. He reached out his hands, closed his eyes and beamed quietly. And so it was. From coast to coast, from North to South, silent voices rang out. And faerie bells tinkled everywhere. In the cities, wearing their Manmasks and gaysex object clothes, faeries heard. Alone or in small isolated groups, country faerie ears perked up. The outrageous ones, the quiets, those faeries who were almost totally invisible (even to themselves!), all heard the call and set out to join the Great Circle, Convocation of Faeries. Meanwhile in an oasis far away in the desert, Swamibill heard the call. Friends! he shouted to his little family, We must prepare. Sisterbrothers come! In his big heart there were excited flutters, but he added gruffly, Sillisissies all over our chaste, little Ashromesweetome. I can hear them cackling now. He grimaced and put his hands over his ears, but no one missed the twinkle in his eyes. Animals heard the bells tinkle as well. Birds chattered, burros brayed, butterflies flitted nervously. Oh dear, oh dear. Will they remember us? They asked among themselves. Will their heartminds be open? Are we safe to welcome them?/ Some look so much like Heman. We must keep up our guard to be sure they are Trueheart Faeries. They agreed to be courteous but maintain their own spaces. So the gathering was set. Dust fell from many stiff, little-used wings. Some faeries had never stretched their wings to fly before. They shuddered with anticipation. Others who had once flown only to be shot down by Manstings, wept. Scars ached deeply. But they held themselves and their tears healed them. PatchÂ ing their tattered wings they resolved to try once more. A few faeries heard the bells as they glided and danced in the sky. Smiles sparkled and their brightly colored wings made a rainbow for all to see. 0 joyous day, calloo, callay! We meet again!

Sing to the flowers, shout to the breeze.

One small circle of Angeleno faeries fought their way across barren desertland. The dark work of Heman's magic turned against them. But these were smogsane faeries who knew the Free ways. Peterabbit suggested to Lady Dave that they make an offering of their large water jog to appease the creature. Slowly they edged toward the sanctuary, stopping many times to quench the beast's thirst.

At the sanctuary the Elders met. Even with the light in their hearts, their Maleminds gave way to little prickles. But these problems were soon solved as they all felt the waves of love rushing toward them. And they knew everyÂ thing would be fine. As the opening date approached, even the shyer creatures, rabbits, snakes, small birds, peeked out to inspect the multi-hued faeries as they arrived. Midweek, three faeries from the Northlands arrived on a high flyer. One from the Creek of Wolves, two from the City of Saintfrancis, lover of small creaÂ tures. Elder Hay and the Seer Mitch greeted them and all were transported to the site. As did each of the faeries who attended the gathering, the three from the Northlands brought gifts to share. Carl brought the magic of his flute and dance, LaRee carried an extensive wardrobe of silliness, Dayvd held his magic wand. The early arrivals shared in the work of preparation. They baked loaves of love, cleared the land, painted signs to mark the way. Some unfaerie-like plans and details needed attention but everyone helped and soon all was ready. Bright faeries flew in from everywhere. Scores of every description. Big and small, short and tall, dark and fair, young and old, rich and poor. Faeries, faeries, faeries. Far as the eye could see and beyond. For there were many who could not bring their hardselves to the gathering but their spirits wove a tapestry of love and light to make their presence known. The first great circle was convened. Bright faeries relaxed beneath a cooling arbor. Overhead birds chirped excitedly, wondering what was to come. Invocations came from all points of the circle. Faerie voices rang out. Into the center, one by one, they stepped. Each offered a feeling, hope or idea for all to share and consider. Time slowed down to allow the variety of styles to emerge. Facets reflected in the sunlight. And with each voice from the great circle, particles of crust and callous fell from each of the faeries. Sighs of relief joined to form a refreshing breeze. Soon they were naked again. Stripped of defenses, anxieties, and worries. Free from the ugly, green frogskin which hid so many beautiful faerie princes. Free at last, free once more. The faeries had come home again. For three days and nights did the faeries delight. Splish-splash in the water they played. Or sang gently in the shade. All loving one loving all. Some had a ball, others balled. Bland masks fell from bright faerie faces, colors sparkling in their places. Dreams of lovers, dreams of friends, sisterbrotners on the mend. Healing, feeling, soaring up. Caring, sharing the same cup.

Some convened in small circles to speak their hearts with each o t her’s words. A band of Earthones ran out into the desert to make mud lushious monkeyshines

in an old streambed. . Others danced and made music, swam in the pool, or were quiet and contemplative. Hugs abounded, kisses flourished. As those who know know, many faeries are horned creatures with magic wands. Be they little or large, the faeries love to stroke their wands and to drink deeply from each other's horns. Murraybear brought forth a circle of faeries to touch and heal each other with sexmagic. ... „„ Dayvd shared his knowledge of the whole self, the serpent which consumes itself, And so many seeds were sown. Freely and openly, the faeries made love. On the carpet of grass, in tents, on covers or pads in the sand. Faerie to faerie, mantoman. Past present future melded. Time became as silly as the sillisissies who made joyous offerings to the gods and goddesses of their kind. ' 0 Diana', 0 Barbra, 0 Marilyn, Judy and Bette. Sing the songs of the bards of the Great White Way and of the Town of Mo. Chirp like crickets, warble like birds. Songs of our survival, hymns of our hope. As if in a flash the days disappeared. A great circle was called for the last night together. All day the faeries flitted about with expectant smiles and grins. True faces were painted on in rainbow colors. Flowing fabrics, flowers an scents adorned each beautiful, unique faerie body. Faerie dust sprinkled from faerie fingers. Some took on the task of constructing a framework for the evening s ritual. Throughout the day plans were laid for the Creat circle. Songs and dances were devised, a path set for the procession. A lavender sunset darkened to violet. Clouds floated, stars shimmered. The moon filled with the light of faerie love, rose to show the vay* Musicians led the procession out into the desert, into the night. Instru ments blended in harmonies with the music of the night. For a time a hush fell over the procession. Wonderment and awe brought tears to faerie eyes. Hand in hand. One and all in the night. Until everyone arrived at the sacred place. A circle path met with the circle of faeries who stood arm in arm, rocking gently around yet another circle of candles dancing in the center. Again invocations were made. Voices filled the darkness. To the night To the shadow, to the light. To the trees, to the hills, to the birds an bees, to faerie knees. Magic spiraled from faerie lips. Calls to the glad, to the tragic, to the peaks and dips (and faerie hips!). Beloved David, mythmaker, recited words of love from our forebear, the Whitman A community of loving brothers. Now and forever. Phillip of the Moon gave testimony.

Sing hallelujah, give praise.

1 do believe! Offerings to the Great Goddess. From Aurora, Oakleaf, Crazy Owl. Hurtful energies released, healthful ones absorbed. Wild dancing and chanting. Lunacy. When the procession returned to the arbor Smilingene led a sitdovn monkey dance Spirits dashed, faster and faster, from side to side. Then came the delicate waterbrother ceremony. Jugs blessed with faerie s p i n , faerie love, passed from brother to brother. Each serving another equally. After the ritual ended weary faeries drifted off to sleep. Some alone, some in pairs. Others stayed awake for a time to sing late into the night. A circle with Swamibill shared dish at a poolside table. Chortling, cack It * faerie voices Laughing and joking with each other until they, too, felt the eyelids heavy with sleep and crept off to bed. 32

In the morning, even before the farewell circle could be convened, some faeries had to fly away. Reluctant to leave at first, one by one they came to know their duty. The sanctuary had provided a breeding ground for new hope and ideas for the worlds within and without. Now the time had come to take that energy back to the old "realities." A last sharing, a final invocation. Tears of pain and anguish mixed with strength. Round and round turned a circle of faeries from the Southlands. Sensitivity and empathy for our sisters who suffer as we do under the bloody fist of the Heman. Scream and yell, vent the rage. Cry that his power be diminished quickly. Dominion over the earth has been unforgiveably abused. No more! No more! No more! And so it ended as it had begun. Tears tinkled like crystal bells as they fell from faerie eyes. Hugs and kisses were exchanged as the departures began. In the Man's machines the faeries packed up their wings and disappeared into the desert. But they never left. Hearts bonded once so strong, stay bonded deeply, stay bonded long. In our dreams we awake together once more. Sleeping the reality of what is until we arise to discover the actuality of what shall be. So be it. And there is no end. Only sweet farethewells til we meet again.

DESERT CIRCLE: PASSAGES AND IMAGES FROM THE SPIRITUAL CONFERENCE

...the ceremony I had just witnessed was performed after a battle in ease any of the boys who had just been killed wished to return and that those who had lost their hands might wish to do so sinae the body is b o m whole. However most of the spirits would have gone to the Blue Desert of Silence. Wild Boys, William Burroughs How is it love comes to fill your mind?::where does this love come from?::something you can hold in the eye of your mind::a place faraway in an ancient space— from faraway you see move ment, white moving up and down a circle of people dancing faraway can barely see and don't hear the music— where does this love come from?--from a time and a place but it feels like the way you love a person and can long for him— white sails in the desert, wings of twenty feet or more in length— mov ing silent and huge close to desert face, jackrabbits stop in path sit still watch fearlessly waft of wind, a breath of dry brittle desert air, of sun and day, air of the earth of the desert breathing— lover of the dance, lover of flight, lover of this bright blue jewel, shimmering, throwing off flashes of light bright and clean like knife edges— like one most beautiful, meditative, sublime insight, like a concept of love and birth— the several days and events are merged into one lovely memory-jewel in my mind, an image that brings a love and yearning feel ing to the fore— I've been to a very special little-boy space, I've been to the edges of a dream, I danced with the fairy-spirits there, I slipped away unnoticed and did not once bother to couch the earth the whole time— white sails in the desert, on the hori zon, in the haze-wavey heat of the valley plain edge you can see white figures move around a white sail there, barely see the motion, the preparations, the packing and fluffing of a journey to come— I'm sure I wasn't missed....

Our first ritual— the Ritual of the Naming, or the Ritual to invoke the Fairy Circle Family::In this ritual fairies in the circle I announce themselves, present their images and body-forms, using all their gentle wit and humor, expressing a love and an under standing at that same time— the fairies make 1 offerings of themselves through their images S (and take such terrible risks!)— yet it is a I time of great laughter and vulnerability— ex-1 pressions are offered as gifts of vision of the total image— many devices can be used, story-telling, confession, singing, dancing, | talking, touching, chanting, even disagree ing sometimes— it is important still that the fairies avoid what the mortals call "one-sided" presentations of themselves— in the spirit of contradiction, diverse-unique- 1 conflicting combinations of who/what fairies 1 are, this is the greatest act of vulnerabil- 1 ity, of self-disclosure— and it is this ritual-process by which we are known to each I other, by which we initiate a transition out I of hetero-modes of relating and create a sub-| ject/subject space, giving space for indivi- I duality, taking space to share and express secrets— by the natural end of the ritual the focus of communication shifts from the spoken word/image context to the subjective mode, where body language, emotion, attitude, j and empathy are relied on to communicate more, much more, in a compact form, than what the mortal word can convey, word-by-word I patterns— in this sense the fairies slip into I a new dimension, the space between, the magi-I cal space where contradictions, where indivi- I duality and group feeling, where trust and differences all abound— this is a space of absolute unpredictability, of near-pure crea-I tivity and spontaneity— out of this terrific i possibility, this sparkling mixture could come nearly anything.

Glow of moon slices over aura of skin::blue 1 august moon::came to a place in the desert — moon white smooth brush tip of cock bead of clear fluid there— "bodies fit together in so many nice ways" he said— said slipping i cool evening legs between each other skin frictionless lubricated cool dry— feel two 1 cocks balls pressed together warm soft mix ing rubbing pressure— feel leg with leg, sto-| mach with stomach, smooth heart, warm hand, soft smile, dark corners, cool smooth even light— sound of crickets chirring— blue august moon— bodies fit together— passing hand along side silent sound of skin touch- j ing not touching floating, sliding— swoosh along form— so many ways— cool edge to the night— sun-warmed desert air— on lawn head in lap, moon in corner of eye rises to straight above lawn and this desert sanctu- I ary— lips press around head of cock, lick at tip, tongue swirls down throat opens to swallow cock and life giving pleasure pres- j sure of leg against leg— bodies fit together 1 — dusk slipping in, inside, voices in the dusk, quiet conversations around us— crickets!

Little hoys playing in the mud, fingers toes squirmy, slap and splash of mud glop ping and slipping down hack, break of laugh ter: :MUl) RITUAL: :a glimpse between hushes on old creek bed— a hundred fairies blackened and caked in mud eyes shine out electrii, white glowing, lit tip from inside like a bobcat at night— coming toward you, sticks, mud, white eyes, handfuls of straw, in bowlegged swagger, walk of an ape, arms swing ing from sides mud drips from el bows::rol1ing up from the creek bed and gully below, a break in time, wind and crickets suddenly silent, from the green clump of the desert sanctuary nestled below, screams, whoops, chants, and hollering, the wild shouts roll ing up tlie foothills, the sound of the mud ritual, rushing on toward the mountains ahead; ".ACT-OUT:’ .act-out the erasing of your personality. Act-out the return to the mineral elements. Act-out the discovery of your form as the mud is washed off. Actout the disengagement from your Image. chirring against bint- moon— -white light cool dry fluid pours over form— moves together under blue august moon light air warm dusk skin yields to gentle pressure passing time in the evening perpetual casual eternal suspended moment of time hung from a thread above the breathing desert— arms, arms, arms slip through arms quiet smooth perfect to embrace this world-moment, love-of-you-ofall neath the moon’s light in arms of a lov ing community— resting passing time this great fairy circle dusk of magic drawn from the sky by couples in arms licking kissing smelling pyramids of blue light around them — glittering dusk settles on all, all are blessed by this sensuality under moon light this quiet time together outside time for ever permanent and perfect forever bliss forever warmsoft skin forever birth of cul ture and 1ight and hope of the person— eye turned to blue moon above, clear and seeing — "real possibilities in our lives"— couples in arms on the cool green lawn under the rising moon (passing time before tonight's great fairy circle ritual). WE ARE A SUBJECT/SUBJECT PEOPLE::Fairies sitting and sprawled on lawn In circles around Harry sitting on a stool, in the grow ing dusk and Harry in a light-colored kaftan, a glowing, animated shape in the dusk, a voice coming from the darkness::WE ARE A SUBJ ECT/SUBJECT PEOPLE::it ’s in the knowing, the knouitV! of the Other, we, as fairies know the other as ourselves, don't think about the Other but think of him::we know him because we know ourselves and he is like us it's a whole different basis for bonding than the dualism, the wrestling and manipu lating of hetero bonding, it's based on af finity, likenesses, it's not opposites or either-or/good-bad/man-woman splintering of the psyche::sudden 1y the mind soars free! — you think so much faster in subject/subject mode you're thinking picture images, per sonal symbols, in lik'ness and similarity, ln what you identify with, associations, sen sations, key phrases, feelings, you're think ing without fear of the different or the un known, the mind open, receptive to possibil ity—

Whether the fairy-spirit has always been in us waiting to he activated, or whether it entered us (our bodies) from the outside at some time, we know that it is an ancient, timeless spirit. Rituals, raw image-making, primitive rituals create the images that bring associations back to our primordial sensations and functions: :wt''rc creating pic tures, images like hieroglyphs, three-dimen sional living pictures that unlocked spirit memories and ancient visions::a circle of people on a plain, moon overhead si ides be hind clouds, spills white glow through sky, pyramid shaped mountain hulking in the dark: :a circle of people each hugging the other:: naked boys swimming in pool, splashing and playing, other boys lay sunning, naked at pool-side, eyes heavy in late afternoon still dry heat and low sun:{circles around circles of fairies In rings running in circles, each ring in alternating directions, running in Circles holding hands around an altar, a great cloud-carpet of dust rises in the air to engulf us::these rituals are touchstones to remind us, to invoke the fairy spirit in us. (As we learn more, perhaps we can transcribe these basic images into incanta tions and glyphs that release the fairyspirit and free the person from Word/Image bondages.)

The secret of levitation has to be laughter ::moment at the very beginning of the Great Fairy Circle, when David read the invocation "this is to you 0 Walt Whitman"— he stood in the center of a circle of two hundred fairies, standing right over a ring of can dles around an altar in the center of the circle, his long white robe only inches above candle flame— there's a sudden hushed anxiety— no one wants to break the silent wonderment of the moment— shifting from foot to foot around the circle— then at that mo ment, exactly one queen (Bill) in a sari broke ranks and with light, quick, efficient steps crosses the center of the Circle from behind David, knelt to the ground, bent for ward and with a feather held in his hand, delicately lifted David's robe back away from the flame, David, the whole time unaware and reading from Democratic? Vistas— crisis solved— just another queen doing what had to be done— and at the moment I thought the repressed giggles and cackles around the circle would lift us all right up, levita ting there, and in one final sublime chuckle rise off the desert floor in a great sigh of the earth upward into the night air. Oh such passing, fleeting moment-glimpses of what we really are— why is it is brief?— why just this one afternoon of hundreds of days of cities and streets, of hard work in fields and offices, of schools, of buildings, of small apartments in edges of ghettos?— yet who could doubt that this is where our hearts are forever drawn::where does this love come from?— from a place and a time but it feels like the love of a person— as if we spent every afternoon of our days relaxing in the spinning culture of our own creating, music, light, gentle touch, play and prepara tion— we are here together— we are here in a cream— we are invisible— oh, oh, I know we have left the poor planet earth far behind, I know we have soared beyond our bodies at last, understood at last we were not born there, we were not meant to "be" there, were not meant to stay— still, yet, the final rea son of our time on this planet just slipping around the corner ahead— something we've al ways known, something forgotten like a dream you wake up from, it's in there, in the body, you feel it, strain to finally hold and know it .fully.

Other writings and photography from the (Fairy Gathering have been printed. Carl .Wittman in "Gay Community News" (Vol. 7, ,No. 11, 10/6/79); Mark Thompson in "The ‘Advocate" (Issue 280, 11/15/79); and Blase ,DiStefano in "This Week In Texas" (Vol. 5, fNo. 27, 10/04/79).

Then, that evening (after flowing freer than I ever had, 'cause I had stopped trying) Mitch Walker held a circle on spir ituality, and I knew I had to be there, wanted to be there. We were afar off, in a shelter open to the air, centered on earth, and flow ing energy from the men who had built this being/building of stone and wood and cement. We walked out to it, in the desert, flash lights guiding our path} helping each other on this journey, and there was a stillness in my heart. This was where I belonged, where I was going. We sat in a circle, can dles and incense glowing, linked hands, pas sing, the energy around the circle. We shared ritual smoke, and I knew our kiva was born. Mitch said we did not have a special reason or season to celebrate, but I knew we were here, to begin this, as a gathering of elders, as in the distance fairies sang and danced in the moonlight desert. Mitch talked ol fairies and why we are here now, gathering, as wit ness to the planet, an evolutionary bridge, and while his message was the sad one of a dying planet, 1 felt, hoped, that there was a joy and purpose beyond, a healing of the planet, and a spirit of fairies. 1 wanted to ceremony and heal the planet, but I must also look on the sadness, 1 thought, even though touching it is so desolating, so cosmically sad, and I've always denied that I could feel it, that 1 have been feeling it for so long now, always denying, always hoping I could be wrong, that Mother Rarth couldn't possibly be hurting that much, that somehow things would work out, and all would be shining butterflies again. But just as later, on Sunday I would go out to mourn my leaving of tills sanctuary, this circle of friends, somewhere 1 knew I had to mourn first before I could begin, to work and heal.

Fairy Spirituality

For me, the conference was a great gathering-in and bringing-down of the energy, so we can begin our work in earnest, in sup port with our brothers. For me, Saturday evening and morning were most important this way. With each brother telling of himself, each adding of energy in the morning circle, till the air glowed golden and our voices joined so diverse in calling the energy to us, in us, with us. I had my eyes closed, but I could see the glow, pure and vibrant, and out beyond the sanctuary walls 1 saw a gathering of Indian spirits, silent standing, looking, waiting. That's when we lifted off this planet, set our energy. And in this crowd, this glowing crowd of men, I sensed brother shamans, and I did not need to know who they were...just to know I, too, had kindred here.

All the rest, the silly sissies, the ritual and myths coming back, coming back to the planet in us, majiek-time, the lovemaking, the floating still in the pool, poetry and food, all that was the little joys for me, the free things, the coming to gether. The pain was in awareness of my sbamanhood, feeling set apart, not always being free to blend and forget, wanting to, but not able. I felt so separate at times, so unable to share the joys of the lawn, the laughter, hugging all this knowing inside, hurt and comfort together. 1 had known the circle was breakthrough-time for me, not knowing what or how. Just knowing it would happen. And there were brothers who helped me, listening when I could only spill words in a flow, getting them out so fast, so overwhelm ing. Holding, touching, acknowledging me, letting me be. Civing me strength. Giving me love not held back. 37

Two hundred and twenty-five of us gather in a circle in the hot Arizona desert. It is Labor Day Weekend, 1979. A young man In glasses rises in our midst, offering to tell us a story... Weeks ago, when he first got the call, he agreed that the conference was a good idea but felt no urgency to attend. When another announcement later came to his atten tion, he asked the Goddess to show him whe ther or not he needed to be here. The God dess was silent; but at the urging of friends the young man drove cross-country— thinking the trip would be a good vacation at least. The ride was long and hot. And on the floor of the ladies room at a highway reststop, he unexpectedly found a woman giving birth. The Goddess had finally spoken; and the young man knew why he had been called to the con ference... it was his destiny to assist his brothers in the birth of a culture, the crea tion of a new and more meaningful mythology. Bells tinkle. Witches among us go shrill. Shamans circle with their feathers. We are father, artists, athletes, sissies. We do not fear gentleness and have no need to compete. We believe in the power of con tradiction and the magic of laughter. That the quality of energy exchanged in lovemaking is more important than the gender of the bodies. We acknowledge the sacred desert around us. Invoke guides from the spirit world. Evoke our true selves. Free of heterosexist oppression, we have gathered in this space to explore and affirm who and why we are, provide a sense of community, and nurture each other’s growth.

The moon grows full. We dance in its light and review the lore of fairies. Elders remind us that, originally, fairies were mischievous magical nature spirits, the op pressed remnants of the antecedent Goddess religion, a lithesome race which had its own ethical code and was often misunderstood— even when it helped the unfortunate. It was variously associated with the Druids, Wicca and Pan. In patriarchy, the history of the op pression of fairies parallels that of homo sexuals; thus, in particular, have homosexu al males been pejoratively called fairies. In some cultures, however, homosexuals have been openly respected as praise-singers, shamans, and reminders of the psychically androgynous ideal. Only in patriarchy have they been condemned as evil, along with all things feminine, including magic. The stars twinkle in the crystal night. Around our great circle, various of our bro thers stand and express what we'd like to experience over the next two-and-a-half days. It is clear that we all hunger for some fresh and supportive appreciation of ourselves. That we wish to retrieve what we have lost. Wish to discard the models we have inherited, and establish new ones for how we seek to be. From this open-ended session is formulated a variety of events and experiences. They are to be led by ourselves and undertaken in an unpressured way.

Ln the purifying heat, with the taste of our bodies' salt on our lips, we meditate, explore ancient myths, run healing energy on one another, practice yoga, stroke the horses learn Celtic dances, walk and identify the desert's herbs, discuss good nutrition, pre pare vegetarian meals, watch the rabbits, examine our dreams, give massages, share poe try, swim like fish, discuss the spiritual significance of sexuality, stand with the trees, envy the airborne birds. We play. Make'music. Make love. Make magic. Nude, a group of us walk the cracked earth into the desert. Here we cover our bodies with burnt-orange mud, forming a cir cle, our arms locked around each other.

A young man shakes a rattle and stands up in a speckled dress. Despite the femin ine reserve suggested by the old print gar ment, this man is exploding with emotion. He reads a letter he's just received, re counting how a girlfriend has been raped in a southern city. The account leaves him crying in anguish. Several brothers rise to comfort him. We who remain sitting, sing softly. Our brother is soon calmed, but his anger against the rapist goes un-eased. He asks for our energy to help dissipate the anger, sending it back to the universe. Though most of us have had no direct experience with rape, we are able to relate to some form of psychological violation we have endured. We rise and circle our bro ther. Our chanting intensifies. Someone sobs. Others are openly crying. We invoke our sisters. Scream in fury. Shout in de fiance— a righteous rage. The rape of one is the rape of us all. All things gentle. All things feminine. The Earth. Our Mother. A cool breeze refreshes us...an elder breaks the mood with a witticism— a proud silly sissy, reminding us of the healing power of laughter. But someone among us dissents against laughter, demanding Justice to all rapists. Another among us rises awk wardly, trembling emotionally, unwilling to transmute his lovingness into aggression and violence, refusing to hate anyone, even patriarchy. Stunned by his emotional elo quence, the rest of us are silent as we won der what can be done. Somewhere in the cir cle, someone tells us what we can do with the rapists...

Wearing our Ion* i-winged feathers as we fib, Wearing our long-win/jed feathers as we

fiy\

We circle around, We circle around, The bound'nes of the Earth. On the ground in the circle's center, one of us is stretched on his back. Mud is layered over him. Twigs, sprouts and flow ers are planted on him. Swept by its own momentum, the chant's rhythm accelerates. We are soon screaming and shouting invoca tions— mud-covered sprites, dancing to the voice of a solo pipe...by some holy madness, bring Earth to flower. Spontaneously, our wailing subsides. The "living" man is lifted above our heads to the sky. Lowered to a standing position, eyes closed, he becomes the silent, stable center around which we unite and uphold each other. In a long line, holding hands, we weave back toward the ashram like a heady desert snake. Brother to brother, we are em powered and transformed.

We are one in the spirit. We are one in our love. It is difficult to leave such a place. But the richness of this singular retreat requires that we return to our separate worlds to more fully digest what we have shared. The pain of imminent parting hangs heavily over the closing circle. While much remains to be done among ourselves, our work in the world must also begin. Listening to my brothers express what these three days have meant to us, I am haunted by an elder's words yesterday...

Love them to death. Thus is our work set for us. Let us move into the world, an army of lovers. The trellised arbor is still. Quiet ly, a brother gives birth to a new chant in our midst. It sweeps us along with a regenerat ive fire...

We embody masculine and feminine ener gies in a unique way...the unconscious re generative Earth Mother, and the conscious constructive Sky Father. These seemingly opposite qualities often prove destructive when used in and for themselves. Our work as fairies is to bring harmony between the two— to take the gifts of the Father back to the Mother.

In the beginning, we flew! In The Beginning, We Flew! IN THE BEGINNING, WE FLEW! The clouds move. The quality of the light is changed. Our vision renewed, our selves made whole, freed of anger, we make our farewell embraces. Reminded of our gifts and our desire to help heal Earth, we return among you...in gentleness, with laugh ter, lovingly.

A TiT^A/AA

(An aside for definitions. Polities is the art of government. Art is the balance of inspiration and discipline. Government is the steerage of a course already set. So, politics personally refers to how I accom plish what 1 want to do. 1 was given a defi nition— thanks, Lightning— of violence that works so well in my thinking I've adopted it. Violence was defined as limiting possibil ities. Howsoever I limit the possibilities of myself or another, I do violence.) I hand't stood outside the angry con frontation of the drama. 1 saw and remembet— ed when last I acted in a similar role. It wasn't protagonist I saw there, nor antagon ist: it was myself, split, fragmented, and recognizably me, recognizably a particular situation not resolved in my past come up again. And this time I saw a solution. Now, I'm not talking of a final solu tion complete for eternity. I'll change. Circumstances'll change. New insights in future will spring from this ground once it too disappoints. For now, for me, I saw this resolution, and it worked. In fact as I later traced down results of the drama in others, I saw that everyone had won. Every one had won, at least, with a stake in the outcome who had anted up during the play.

I saw a drama at the Spiritual Con ference for Radical Fairies. Political drama hadn't been chalked up as n circle. On the board was announced that Harry Hay and Don Kilhefner would meet a circle on "Politics of Gay Enspiritment." But confrontation met instead. I understand that each present saw a different play. I saw and participated in a scene of politics. About three months ago I first was shown a poster with that mystifying, openended title, Spiritual Conference for Radic al Fairies. It heated a boil of inspiration in my brain, visions fueling visions of pos sibilities. 1 had been to only one other gay convention. I had had a taste there of the dragging, iron-locked pace of committee discussion and several deeper experiences with the frenetic, dizzying, and satisfying energies of closely packed gays. I was hard ly surfeited and not at all cynical or burned out. I would not force my ideas of this con ference into any pattern; I would accept the possibility of any and all. One recurring phrase among these ideas, "A new way of doing politics," sparked my riads of related thoughts. This way isn't working. People are burned out physically, emotionally battered, hounded, and even killed. Harder times yet may be coming. And where's the boat big enough for us all? I mean, everybody's not winning with this way of doing politics. There must be another way. And, more at home, the thought that be ing gay, just being myself, is a political statement. I surely don't like the way, the competitive way, politics-as-it-is plays with that one. And, in the internal politics of my spirit, the old way too was discredited. What will people say? just keeps landing me in trouble. There must be a better way. At the very least, another way. I was receptively primed, like a space-weary, alien spore, quivering under the shrubbery, attentive to passing con sciousness for use as pattern. I had no idea what shape a new way of doing politics might assume. I only knew this phrase de scribed something desirable, illusive in form and purpose truly, and definitely alluring. At the conference, contact followed close on contact. All systems were go. And ideational need and aspiration smothered un der immediate experience. Then, of a sudden, in unexpected place of further, soaring con tact, there was the drama. I was upset, set down, and twisted from my contact high. What's this? Conflict and confrontation, anger, shame, and loads of difficult vibes flamed and snuffed out the high places. An other man who had come for a circle and stay ed for the play responds to his inner tur moil by inviting me to chant with him. "Let's manifest that spirit stuff and let peace, shanti, hey! peace pervade!" And the anger and the angry disappeared. My brain flashed on, and 1 saw it. There it had been, right within and before me, the new way of doing politics I'd hoped for.

The plot of the play goes like this: Enter angry Old Thor. Fairies buzz and cir cle around him. Thor shouts, "There has been bet raya1!" Enter plotfu) Loki. Fairies buzz in anger. Loki sneers, "I am the one betrayed!" And shouting mounts. Exit Thor, "You admit your action. You undo the deed. I do not care for explanation." Loki turns to the fairies. They do not lis ten. They demand and witness Loki's undoing of his deed. The fairies still do not lis ten. They form a circle of transformat ion magic, and Loki disappears with it. Epilogue. Loki and Thor enter the empty stage. Loki courageously admits error and deed. Thor is gladdened, Loki wiser. The resolution I spoke of was not the outcome, instructive as it is, but the means of the outcome. When the fairies circled and called up a mass of transformational energy, in which each might change in accordance only with inner need, there was the new way of do ing politics. Instead of worrying how to overcome and convince my enemy, it's of more use to use my energy to learn to brew up this nondenominational potion of transfor mation. When I drink, I step outside con frontation and find firmer footing. When I pour it in libation over my enemy's head, the brew can eat down into the straps of his armor. With that defensive, confining shell gone, his own inner forces expand beyond the limits of external strictures. If it's true that All Is One, it’s likely that my enemy and I will look more alike, having both changed due to the effects of the brew, both changed following internal routes of unity rather than external ropes of multiplicity. 40

least some portion of all the others. Ima gine introducing a shiny, new thought in the belly of the sphere. See how the flashes of brilliance at once proceed in every direc tion and reflect and re-reflect universally. Magical transformation is simple, hut hardly mean. Harry Hay, Fairy Grandfather of the Conference, told me that it's time perhaps to go to the limits. 1 like another friend's phrase, to terrorize the straights. Harry suggested that allowing myself full freedom of fey behavior would quickly result in a major experience of just how hemmed in I am by the straight world's strictures and the straight voices in my head. The thought frightened me, I mean, all I'm doing is dresses, paint, feathers, and beads; but straights see it as terrorism and respond in force. With the power of the circle lift ing me, with the insight of the drama un clouding my vision, I see another outcome as possible. Fear of being smashed recedes be fore a shimmering wave of change. I'll do no violence to myself, nor to any other; the phrase blurs and is rearranged; I'll enhance the sum of possibility of all. When in con flict, when the old ways just aren't working, I'll just be the very most myself 1 can. The power inherent in doing it my own way, a power not blunted by standards of what will people say, flies me directly to the con frontation of separateness and beyond. So, the new way of doing politics is the old way of magic. And there's a simple test for the presence of magic in how I'm * doing politics: Does everybody win?

Angry confrontation depends on maintenance of the form of multiplicity. In unity, mir ror reflects mirror; and who is transformer and who transformed as changes flash, mirror to mirror? Tt's odd the powers words possess. All the feeling, all the insight, all of the drama's powerful turmoil was validated final ly when.the words came. I will do no violence to myself, nor to any other. I will accept no violence be done me. And the politics of these is magic. Fairy, transformational magic that accepts and encourages rapid and sensa tional change. It is no weapon of violence; neither is magic a mere defensive tool. It neither imposes attitudes of good or bad, nor forces experience along certain courses. Magic as tool needs another name. It frees of necessities so called and gives room to Necessity. It's like a catalyst or good tim ing. Magic as catalyst allows. Magic as timing enables. There is a power attainable through the dark, left handed, moonstruck, meditational, and receptive side of me that can be brought to bear in conflict. If the power he a sword, it is two-edged; for all change. If the power be a wall, it is uni versally encircling; for all are closed within. If the power be a skill, it is in nate; for all are touched by it. I realize I may sound simple and pitiably naive, or to others, raving. What happens in the real world, the mortal world, outside a Fairyland conference? What hap pens when some rabid homophobe poises, ready to bash my face in and rattle all the pretty thoughts? Well, such did once happen to me.... I stood there, no more than fifteen inches from him. His muscles were corded with tension, his face flushed, his jaw set, stretching the skin from around his eyes. His right fist was raised and pulled back, and he ached to smash me. I looked at his eyes. I spoke inside my head, "There is only love between us. 1 don't hate you. There is only love between us." I readily admit to fear— he was ready to hurt me! But my thought was, "There is only love between us." I saw that silent exchange change his eyes. He dropped his fist, sat down, and massaged his temples. I dropped down, too, as the sudden ebbing of fear loosened my tension and muscles shook.... And that had happened when l stood alone. Now all those other radical fairies stand with and about me, a circle to amplify and nourish, bulwark and tool. Magic works, call it whatever name. Meditation, prayer, invocation, tapping the power of the group unconscious, or just plain magic. Just so I remember, just so we remember, to work that fairy magic, no situation of violence need erupt from circumstances. Each being is en meshed in circumstances, a personal, separ ate, changing space alone. Magic cuts through the mists of circumstance, blows clear; and each from his mirror may reflect and view every other in his. Imagine a vast sphere, lined within by curving mirrors, each of which reflects at 41

A /A&^tirvg of *Poirvf^ of \Ji£.w David Liner's view of the discord be tween Harry and Ezekiel at the Fairy Gather ing has prompted me to write down my view of the same event. In my view, what I saw was a clash of ideas, of opinions, which was re solved with a minimum of hassle. I think it is to the credit of both parties that the resolution was so easy. To begin with, I had noticed Zeke and Dan copying the mailing list. At the time I accepted what they were doing and felt that what they were doing was in good faith, an attempt to increase communication among our selves . I was also present when the clash be tween Harry and Zeke took place. I felt that Harry was viewing the situation from his ex perience of blacklisting and government snooping into private mailing lists. I share Harry's anxieties about the privacy of these lists because I am in the FBI file of danger ous queers and have been since 1960. I agree with Harry's politics. I also accept Zeke and Dan's good intent. As I watched the altercation I could feel with both parties. Zeke and Dan could not, at their age, appreciate the feeling of danger that Harry saw automatically. They had not experienced the witchhunts of the past and the disasters they caused. They could not know how dangerous mailing lists can be in the hands of a witchhunter. Harry remembers, 1 do, and others may. What pleased mte about their encounter was their attempts to control the violence of their emotions. What pleased me about the encounter was the contenders attempts to con trol the violence during the heat of argu ment. I felt that both parties were aggrieved and each justified in their own minds; yet both tried to maintain rational behavior when It was very difficult. 1 applaud the fairy (who was nameless to me) who served as mediator at the end of the conflict and helped soothe the wounds. I think he was a volunteer peacemaker who risk ed the wrath of both Harry and Zeke in hope of cooling them out. Blessed are the peacemakers. I hope more people take the courage to mediate these conflicts. Our lives are full of these kinds of differences, conflicts, and hassles. What we need at these times are mediators and peacemakers. In the American/Caucasian ethic, when a quarrel takes place the bystanders remain silent and merely watch the parties slug it out. No one does anything to make peace un til they become witnesses in an assault-andbattery case. That ethic makes peace after the war, not during it. I would like to live in a world where peacemaking happens before the war, not after.

I would like to see more of us become media tors in the daily conflicts of living. If we do nothing more than walk up to the hassle and say, "Can I help settle this peacefully?" and ask the parties to describe to us what they think is happening. I want to thank the (now) nameless peacemaker who did this for Harry and Zeke and all of us. 42

SUBJECT

-TO-

SUBJECT

How to infect other Fairies with the same excitement we're bubbling with? One way would be to share the steps by which we made the breakthroughs to subject-SUBJECT Consciousness. And then, beyond that, to share some of the riveting insights these new dimensions to the Oay Vision lend to problems that heretofore have locked us in. To begin: How old were you when you first began to be aware that you held an excitement within you that was different from what other boys felt? I was nine when my Father attempted to unmake the sissy in me by teaching me to use a pair of boxing gloves...and 1 simply couldn't understand why he wanted me to hit somebody else. I didn't want to hurt the other boys, I wanted to be tender to them in the same way 1 want ed them to be tender to me— even as I also knew the while that I couldn't share such heresies WITH ANYONE. All the time I would pretend that I had a friend who felt the same way as I did, and who understood every thing; but of course I knew there was really no such person. I knew that I was the only one like this in the whole world. I suppose I was about eleven when I began first thinking about— and then fanta sizing— HIM! And, of course, I perceived him as subject in exactly the same way as I perceived myself as subject. I had already become aware that among the many boys at school some few had beautiful cocks: I did n't yet know what I wanted to do about them besides admire them, and perhaps caress them in awe and tenderness, or maybe even gently kiss them. But I knew that HE whom 1 dream ed of would also have a beautiful cock and that HE would wanf: me to think so even as HE would think that my cock was beautiful too. I knew that all the other kids around me thought of girls as sex-OBJECTS to be manipulated... to be lied to in order to get them to "give in"...and to be otherwise (when the boys were together without them) treated with contempt. And, strangely, the girls seem to think of the boys as objects, too. But HE who I would love would be another ME ...we wouldn't manipulate each other, we Would SHARE and we'd always understand each other completely and forever! Then came that second shattering day IN THE LIFE...when I first met THAT OTHER. And suddenly— between us— that socially-invisible Arc flashed and zapped into our two eagerly ready bodies total systems of know ledges of which our flesh and brains had al ways been capable but neve;-— until that moment of imprinting— had contained. Like two newhatched chicks whose incubator-attendant has just now sharply tapped on their tray so that their feet, registering the vibrations, sud denly trigger body-mechanisms by which the chicks know to peck the ground at their feet thereby triggering again, in turn, how to feed and drink, we two Fairies knew— through that flashing Arc of Love— the tumult of Gay Consciousness in our vibrant bodies in ways we would never again forget. AND THIS— in

ourselves and, simultaneously, in each other — WE ALSO KNEW. ..SUBJECT-TO-SUBJECT! 43

To all of this we Fairies should be, essentially, alien...because that OTHER... THOSE OTHERS...with whom we seek to link, to engage, to slip into, to merge with...is an other LIKE ME...SUBJECT— LIKE ME! I say "we Fairies should be alien" because we also know — all too glumly— just how easily and how of ten we fall prey to self-invited oppressions. How often do we allow ourselves— through fuzzy thinking— to accept, or to identify with, hetero-originating definitions or misinter pretations of ourselves. The hetero-male, incapable of conceiving that there could pos sibly be a window on the world other than his own, is equally incapable of perceiving that we Gay People might not fit in either of his Man-Woman categories...that we might turn out to be classifications very else...that the notion that persons are all varying combina tions of male and female is simply a hetero male notion suitable only to heteros and holds nothing of validity insofar as Gay People are concerned. Yet we Fairies allow Bully-boy to persuade us to search out the "feminine"in ourselves..."after all good o l ' Bully-boy used to tell us we threw balls like a gurl." Wow! that surely is pretty sexist thinking we've internalized right there. Did you ever ask the girls if you threw a ball "like them"? They'd have put you straight— right then! You had not thrown the ball like EITHER a boy or a girl— but like something OTHER. You were not a Sissy— like the boys said. You were

You surely don't suppose that we <tiare eubJect-SUBJECT vision only in the spheres of Love, and personal relations? Actually, almost at once we began to become aware that we had been accumulating bits and pieces of subjectto-SUBJECT perceptions and insights all our lives, storing them up for the wonderful day when we finally would flash onto what they all meant. The personal collecting, and stor ing up of these secret treasures— these beau tiful beckoning not-as-yet-comprehensible secret sacra— is part of the hidden miserycum-exaltation of growing up Gay. For the world we inherit, the total hetero-male-oriented-and-dominated world of Tradition and of daily environment, the SUMMUM BONUM of our history, our philosophy, our psychology, our culture, our very languages of communication ••*<Jll are totally subject-OBJECT in concept — in definition— in evolving— in self-serving orientation. Men and Women are— sexually, emotionally, and spiritually— objects to one another. Under the "Fair play without which there ain't no game" rules of the hetero-male aggressive territoriality, even the hetero males— precisely because they conceive of themselves as in competition with one another — engage themselves endlessly in tug-of-war games of Domination and Submission. The most lofty system of governance the hetero male has devised— Democracy— must be seen as a domination of Minorities hy a Majority, a tyranny of the Majority, if you will. Domi nation-submission, subject-OBJECT, fair play, the Golden Rule, equality, political persua sion, give-and-take— all of these are condi tions of subject-OBJECT thinking. In each of these cases a given person is the OBJECT of another person's perceptions...to be influ enced, persuaded, cajoled, jaw-boned, mani pulated and therefore, in the last analysis, controlled. In the parliaments of government the game of administration is to persuade Minorities to make of themselves objects of approval instead of objects of Disapproval ..but OBJECTS regardless.

OTHER! What OTHER? Let's enter this brave new world of subject-SUBJECT consciousness, this new planet of Fairy-vision, and find out. All kinds of our friends would like to hear what we see. For instance, the Women of Women's Liberation would give their eye-teeth to know how to develop some measure of subject-to-SUBJECT relations with their men: and we who have known the jubilation of subject-to-SUBJECT visions and visitations all our lives have neither shared nor even spoken! Of course we haven't yet spoken because we haven't as yet learned how to communicate subject-to-SUBJECT f a multidimensional consciousness which may never be readily conveyable in the hetero-maleevolved two-dimensional, or Binary, language to which we are presently confined in terms of communication. And we need more than mere words and phrases. We need what scientists invent out of the whole cloth when they at tempt to describe and communicate new concepts — working models, a whole new mathematics per haps, a new poetry, allegories, metaphors. We must re-examine every system of thought here tofore developed, every hetero-male-evolved subject-OBJECT philosophy, science, religion, mythology, political system, language...divest ing them every one of the binary subject-OB JECT base and reinserting a subject-SUBJECT relation. Confronted with the loving-sharing Consensus of subject-SUBJECT relationships all Authoritarianism must vanish. The Fairy Fam ily Circle, co-joined in the shared vision of LOVE (which is the granting to any and all others that total space wherein each may grow and soar to his own freely selected full poten tial), reaching out to one another subject-toSUBJECT becomes for the first time in history the true working model of a Sharing Consensus. 44

To "vt'ii begin to prepare ourselves for a fuller participation in our Cay subjectSUBJECT inheritance, we must— both daily and hourly— practice throwing off all those heteroimitating habits, compulsions, ways of misperceiving, which we breathe in from our en vironment. For this we need the constant company of our Fairy Family. We need the spiritual and emotional support of that non verbal empathy which sociologists assure us comprises almost 7/8ths of the communication in any culture, that empathy we now refer to as Body Language. We need the marvelous input of each other's minute-by-minute new discover ies, as each of us begins to explore this vast new universe. As ours are the first feet' upon this pristine shore, there are no guideposts as yet erected nor maps to have been found in bottles nor even the prospectuses of ancient visionary seers.

Well, not quite right. Sufi was, for instance, a philosophical discipline capable of bringing its students to subject-SUBJECT ways of relating and perceiving the landscapes of earth and heaven around them. It was in vented and developed by Gay Persian Mystic Poets and kindred Islamic scholars, such as the great philosopher-poet Omar Khayyam, dur ing the 9-10th centuries A.D. It has long been generally recognized that Sufi vision was a capacity open only to a few— though the theory never went on to say WHY. For those capable of cultivating subject-to-SUBJECT vision, explanations were not necessary; for the heteros who were incapable of subject-toSUBJECT perceptions, explanations could only have been incomprehensible. Reworking all previously developed sys tems of hetero thought will mean, of course, that all the data we previously have gathered concerning Shamanism and Magick must also be re-examined, reworked, and reorganized along subject-SUBJECT evaluations. Which is just as well because, in failing to perceive the LETHAL subject-OBJECT character of most tra ditionally evolved Berdache ritualism and priestcraft, Gay scholars have misted bro thers and sisters of vulnerable Minorities and have toxified themselves at precisely the moments when we desperately need the most crystaline of clarifications.

It is time, therefore, that we FAIRIES faced the reality that no he.tero-dominated culture, geared as they arc to subject-OBJECT conformities, Is ever about to discover accep table Gay-Consciousness tolerances within theselves— left to their own devices. ONLY when we Fairies begin to validate the contri butions Gay Consciousness is capable of de veloping and delivering, are the heteros go ing to begin to sit up and take notice. Only when we begin to manifest the new dimensions of subject-SUBJECT relationships superimposed over the now-obsolete hetero subject-OBJECT traditions— and the heteros begin to perceive the value of that superimposttion— will they begin to see a value in altering their prior ities. Only when they begin to need our con tributions to their world vision (and when they equally discover that their laws are in our way impeding our further output in their favor) will they find themselves sufficiently challenged to restructure their perceptions of human variation. In the meantime, Fairies everywhere must begin to stand tall and beautiful in the sun. Fairies must begin to throw off the filthy green frogskin of hetero-imitation, by which disguise they managed to get through school with a full set of teeth, and discover the lovely Cay-Consclous notMAN (as the early Greeks called us) shining underneath. Fairies must begin creating their new world through fashioning for themselves supportive Families of Conscious Choice within which they can ex plore, in the loving security of shared con sensus, the bottomless depths and diversities of the newly revealed subject-SUBJECT inheri tances of the Gay Vision.

GREAT FAIRY CIRCLE

It's an age-old procession Fhe fairies marching through the desert. k resurrected rite ro circle in the waxing moon ro call across the ages to fairy-heroes everywhere ro invoke the spirit of manly love ro dance together To kiss Wheeling within the great circle To call upon the Great Fairy To witness your love, our hope, our future. Butterflies and clouds look on Remembering with us Past times When the fairies gathered in the desert.

Are We Not Men? We are Fairies

Life is a series of changes, plateaus and valleys. If the past months have been valleys of celibacy and frustration, the pre sent is a sweet plateau of warmth, sensuality and friendliness. The world outside is in a state of war and the mobilization grows daily; the causes of frustration increase by the minute as we read of the trial of Dan White, the gas shortages and the price of maintain ing even a minimal existence in this inflated rat race. Despite the horrors of modern industrial imperialism there are glimmers of beauty and splendor in the world. Small pockets of peo ple here and there are aware and struggling to find something nice in the middle of a disas ter.

The events of this week seem highly ir regular for me but they were joys each and every one. 1 feel affirmed and well taken care of, both by myself and by the men I spent time with. The sex was a-1 fabulous but it was the closeness and waking in the morning to find a man lying next to me that was the supreme delight. Arthur Evans's book affected me deeply. We are SPECIAL! There is something so unique and wonderful about our sex and the ways in which we can share our bodies. We are tied by a bond of sexuality which we often think is not very much but that comes from society's guilt ridden feelings about sex. Sharing sex Is alot. It is a joy and a very creative form of expression. Words are replaced by sounds and sensations. Thoughts are replaced by passion. Two bodies wrapped in each other, melting into one form. Two naked males lick ing and sucking and groaning. The ritual brings joy and laughter to both. In the morning the head turns to gaze upon the sleep ing face of the other man. The other awakes. They get up and go about their days separate ly, not seeing each other again for days or weeks, but the memory of the ecstacy lingers until the next meeting. We share our lives in many ways. Sex is often the key focus which is enlarged upon by other areas of interest. These other areas help deepen the feelings of closeness. We are enriched for the experiences of sharing and learning. We are all warlocks in a coven of holy creatures who feed upon the sperm and sweat of each other's bodies, Ours is a spec ial place— a new yet old place that once exis ted eons ago when our magic was recognized and respected. Along with the women we were creatures of healing and passion. We are the fairies the men despise because we affront their places of questionable strength. Their masculinity is so tenuous that our spirit awakens in them something they fear. We are the strong survivors. They will die. We don't need their 9-5, their fast cars, their credit cards, their ulcers, their wars or their boring, guilt ridden semblance of pas sion they call marriage. We need the sun. We need the ocean. We need music. We repre sent the excitement of life, the full blooded sensual creative spirit that has been deadened by Christianity, imperialism and technology. If the world is to be saved our energies must expand and create changes in others so that they see the need to end the bullshit that is wrought every day on the world and its people. — Blessed Be the Fairies

RI TUAL

For example, as we entered a campground a child was born. In a public toilet, in the middle of nowhere, a being drops in. He wasn't expected. Mom didn't even suspect that she was pregnant until a week before. She said she was a fruitarian and this often caused false pregnancies. Only this one wasn't. Dad was freaking out. He kept try ing to help, but really didn't. Chuck hugged him and gave him much needed fatherly advice: get stoned. Eventually we all got to visit bringing herbs and juice for Mom and welcom ing our new brother. Some kid, visited by the Magi at that age. As for me, I knew this was an omen, one of the visions I had been asking for. Only I didn't understand until later. Whatever else he was, this child's birth meant something to me, something about creation. What it was, was culture. Faggots

NOTES FROM THE

GATHERING OF RADICAL

FAI RI ES

I decided to ignore the dominant iohe of my brain and go to the Gathering of Radical Fairies, i had misgivings. But since the deva in my garden had been buzzing good omens, 1 chose this as a journey of pilgrim age. Once made, my decision was joined by the decisions of other fairies and so we be came a band of wanderers, Magicians, Witches, Wise & Foolish, Fairies and Angels of Light. What happened on this trip was verv highlevel magic. Mostly it was beyond our con scious or individual control. It is the form of this control I wish to share with you: our rituals. Our uses of these rituals varied, but some common features do appear. One of these features is that all of our rituals used faggot energy, our specific life force, gay spirit if you will. (It is what makes us different from heteros.) They' also oc curred with us touching each other in a cir cle. We used invocations, chanting, visuali zation, stories, or sharing of feelings and visions, anything to focus and strengthen the fairy energy. I want to share five of these rituals, two from the Gathering, three from the Southeast Band.

don't reproduce sexually, i.e., faggots dOn t make baby faggots. Where do we come from? Magic? We are born of hets, but truly know ourselves when we find a faggot brother/ lover/friend. Culture is the tool and our journey was to a Gathering to give birth to fairy culture: baby faggots. So goes the omen.

Mud Ritual at the Gathering On day two of the Gathering, we had a ritual mud bath. This is a misnomer because there is no mud in the desert, only sand. The ritual occurred spontaneously, after two false alarms and with little preparation. A mass rite of some sort, social initiation or passage maybe. A large group gathers in a site prepared with water and what some folk called mud, and proceeded to noisily smear each other with it. Everybody got to smear and be smeared. Long-lost memories of mudpies and shit finding some sort of social valida tion! Also a token of being connected with the soil. The sixty or so faggots have a variety of skin colors, but we all were the same color during the ritual: desert tan. We chant dirt songs and raise sand temples to Dionysus. We build a circle of dirt lovers and hail newcomers with cries of "more mud!" I saw tourists with Nikons standing on a bluff above us, stealing our visions to sell and felt maybe how aborigines feel when they find their faces in National Geographic. "Mud men of the desert...Alive, Alive." Afterward a communal wash. Fantasies come true, wet and naked as fish, we slither and swim away, satisfied and well fed.

A Ritual of Invocation S Protection on the road First day out and we've hit rain. Our spirit drops and the bus is leaking. What's happening? Someone suggests that what’s hap pening is that our not having a beginning ritual may have something to do with it. Perhaps the spirits are reminding us to slow down, remember them, and start this thine off right. The first ritual was crude and clumsy, individual and loose. Touching hands as best we can in the bus, some singing and chanting, ending in Om. We visualize/create a circle of blue light around the bus, protecting and nurturing us and our Jouriiey.. We say some words and don't know how to end. Silence. I ask the Goddess for vision. We finished, A simple thing, but Che collective soirit is queer and strong. I felt better, and since the bus was running better, he must agree. As the day passed, the rain cleared.

Prepar'atonj Ritual in New Mexico This occurred some days later, in the desert on a mountain. It was to be a power ritual and a preparatory cleansing ritual prior to using sacraments. We had been at the site for some time, exploring and getting a feel for the place. Beginning in indivi dual silence, we move into a circle. Focus ing on our breath, we purify the circle and begin the sound with chanting. The invoca tions began with personal guides and teachers (like the fairies and my garden deva) and end by calling elementals (like the Spirits of the four directions and the Sun and the Moon and Mother Earth). We ask these spirits for their blessing, and for their guidance. Then take the sacrament, acid, and kisses all round. Then we close in silence. From this point on events changed. Imperceptible, yet unmistakable. Things began to hapoen: vision was bursting forth. 50

Great Circle at the Gathering The Great Fairy Circle Ritual was our only structured ritual, coming out of a work shop on rituals. Some of us in the planning session viewed this as a Great Counsel, which to our imagination would generate a fairy liturgy to be used in orthodox fairy circles around the world. Others saw it as a re-occur rence: we, as a band, had been together before. So these were seen as remembrance rites also. Political correctness and personal meaning were balanced by need for spontaneity. Some insisted on historical perspectives. Some of us were trapped in planner/faci1itator roles, a personal claim to some power. Other people defined their role as that of servant. Vanity. In the end the musicians won. They voted with their feet and provided entertain ment while the rest of us argued all day.

The final part of this ritual was a water rite. This came out of the metaphor of water in the desert— queers finding each other in spite of powerful opposition. Water was blessed with these words and then passed around in pitchers, each faggot serving an other then being served himself. Rut people soon slowly wandered away. Criticism of this ritual included con trol issues, as well as problems that people had with the content and the actual process. In response I can only say that as we do ritual more we will get better. Can a group determine its own limits? Yes, 1 believe it can. Does it always need facilitation? No, it does not, as the mud ritual showed us. But underfac111 tat ion is as bad as too much. In rituals as in meetings, you must have di rection. My sense Is that if you want divine ly inspired ritual, you must give reign to individual creativity (including your own!) and provide structure for l imp"«r when crea tivity won't produce. Many found this ritual to be profound. For me, 1 was high from it for days. The forces that I perceived while I was in the center of that circle were amaz ingly intense. 1 was aware of a humming in my head and my crotch. Some saw a white bull watching from the hill above us. All 1 saw was the Goddess.

Fairy spirits surged beforehand, fed by a freef lowing agenda which the committee had posted. Fairies in costume, fairies in makeup, drag, horns! Halloween and orgiasticfinery. For once the drag queens were in demand: they alone could do good makeup. A small group began preparing the sitebefore dark. Swami gave us lots of candles for a circle, of light. A desert plant which was growing in the circle was sacrificed, then added to the altar. We knew it would otherwise be trampled. Incense and Deadly Nightshade blooms were added to the Altar. Also personal talismans and objects. Some dance around the circular altar, some sit and meditate in silence. A few scatter hyssop and others burn herbs. Most folks gathered for a torchlite procession to the site of the mud ritual. After parading through the desert to the sound of flutes, celebrants entered the cir cle from the north and circled left. I was shocked that we were so many! First we danced a circle dance of greeting— hugs and smiles all round. Our invocation was a mul titude of voices, calling Goddesses and Gods by their many names, spirits and principals, people alive and dead. And calling ourselves by names we knew and knew not. Each fairy calling his own invocation. In addition to this invocation we did a casting out of the hetero demons, remembering insults and pain to our gay spirits. We chose as a concrete symbol for this a piece of steel fence. As it was passed around, folks were asked to focus the negativity of the wire and get rid of that stuff, to yell and cast that evil stuff from our midst. With shouts of cele bration we danced with purified psyches. The offering ritual had two bases: one was that it was familiar, and the other was that giving to other faggots is what keeps us all going. Again, the variety of our species was apparent in people's gifts to the Goddess: a joint, a piece of jewelry, three stones from the River Ganges, a fea ther from Woolworth's, a picture of a long dead lover. These gifts were collected and then redistributed as talismans.

Final Pitual in Tennessee The last ritual was a parting ritual. We had been parting with people for almost a week, first at the gathering, then with fel low travelers all along the route. Now, down to the original group (minus one) and back in Tennessee, we circled for a parting ritual. I felt a need to start shring ex periences of this journey and to start sup port for integration of these experiences Into our lives. We also shared feelings for traveling companions and sadness at leaving. And finally, we offered thanks to our spirit guides for their protection and guidance. We shared a kiss and that was that. Heading home, I wondered why if I'd left home,I never felt away from home. Take these rituals, use or adapt them for your needs. Their forms are fluid, your energy will make them real. Do so. T want to urge you to approach ritual with an atti tude of reverence, but also with playfulness and to be experimental with ritual. Just be warned by this Sufi story: If you don't want elephants in your living room, don't make friends with an elephant trainer.

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It was I who bore t)ie thyrsos... through the exile and to the place of homecoming. What I wish to relay here is what that detail of Huwlay night's ritual meant to me, what it conjured then and conjures now, and how because oj .. that bearing I am changed. If at times I seem to speak from out of the fabric of dream or memory or moonlight, so it is; T write not only for you but as an act of recovery. I am trying to hew the scattered limbs, to renew and reanimate, what time and distance and the conditions of another life have again t o m apart. I am trying, like the gay and goddess-blessed culture we came together in the desert to celebrate and to invoke, to piece myself back together.

1HHBB n g g

a ju ta K ifE iia g '

I had almost not brought the thing. As tall as 1 am and always coming apart, it was probably just show-off-y in any case and be side the point. I would feel silly carrying it. But the flyer for the Spiritual Confer ence for Radical Fairies had asked that we bring our magic and our items of ritual. T thought again. Th e object in question was a five-foot branch. Attached to its top was a honeydipped pine cone from which vines of ivy might be curled down toward the base. I had fashioned it some months before in conscious imitation of the sacred staff known as the thyrsos carried in ancient Greece on Mount Cithaerea by the maenads, the frenzied female nurse/worshlpers of Dionysos— a god whose ec stasy and whose passion had struck responsive chords in my soul long before books or teach ers had brought his image directly in view. Like so much else in my life that has at first seemed random, pointless, absurd, or nonsensical, the branch and the pine cone had been gathered separately and for no apparent reason on different moments of wandering through San Francisco's Buena Vista Park; skulking, crawling, prowling through San Francisco's Buena Vista Park. One night I was looking thru a book of plates of Greek art and discovered just such a branch de picted in the hand of the god himself...and realized, with the uncanny quickening that always accompanies such essentially unshareable moments, what archetype was informing me and what I was to do. I connected branch and cone with a length of rough hemp twine. I understand now in a way I couldn't have then how much having thpt tnyrsos physic ally present in my room, standing unobtrusive ly in a corner, began a process of inner trans formation, a kind of approach to Dionysos that allowed him to instruct me from within as well as from without. Heraclitus called him "the Lord of Souls"— and the same as Hades who rules the depths. Looking back I can glimpse

how subtly those depths began to open upwards into me with the aid of that concrete symbol, much as the masks of the divinities must have ; taught and illumined from within the actors who moved across ancient proscenia. Holding ; the staff and feeling earth-energy move up it; sensing it as a rod that also brought down currents from above; reading speeches from Euripides as I held it in my hand to brandish like a spear or lean on like a staff; arching it out and upwards as a large stiff cock: 1 played it seriously, as a child plays. (One night remains vivid. I lie in bed j

next to a lover who is no longer there, on the eve of my finally admitting to myself — after months of painful longing and evasion and denial— that my hopes for a future with him are self-deceptive and futile. 1 iiave held to him too tightly and he has withdrawn what once he offered so freely and generous- j ly. I feel betrayed, panicked, abandoned. He sleeps. I am more and more awake. His beautiful body, his serenity and quiet breath-l ing become torment to me as I begin to let go j of all the ways I ’ve lost myself in him and in the fantasies of our merging. The panic grows— I want to wake him but know that that is no longer an option, would only be a hook \ to try to reattach. When I reach out it is to that staff standing by my bed and all the \ thoughts and all that pain come coursing through my fist and into it, grounding me, comforting me as once I'd been comforted in happier times sleeping a whole night with his j scrotum cupped in my hand. I last through the night. Later it seems as if I've irons- ! ferred my clinging from the human to the god. I where it becomes something else. Not that the m ou mi m g did not come but that it shed a j different light. I feel close to Ariadne, the Cretan princess in later versions of the i myth, who is abandoned by the hero Theseus on the isle of Naxos after she has helped him j slay the minotaur in her father's labyrinth at Knossos. It is Dionysos who comes to her j then too as lover and as consort, making her i his priestess, shifting her perspective from j ego to soul.) It is as if an initiation had been pre pared .

I will plant companionshit> thid: as trees alow; the rivers of fimeri•?<?, and along the shores of the greatlakes, and all over the ;retries, I will make inseparable cities with their arms about each, other's necks, By the love of comrades, By the manly love of comrades.

Bits and shards of my character and his tory assume new meaning when viewed in con nection to this ancient diety. That womb I seek in the laps of men? Does it relate to the birth of Dionysos from his father Zeus' thigh? The past dozen years of struggle to keep my fairy sexuality growing and alive in the midst of a heterosexual marriage? Isn't it Hera— the goddess of wives— who eternally seeks to dismember the horned child, to drive him mad; who represents a principle of con tained energy and order with which he in the wildness of the natural world is utterly in compatible— (not just my literal wife, I realized, but some principle I still worship with me too). And what of his early years in hiding dressed as a girl, or the fact that he is a god of women unleashed from their do mesticity to run with him on the mountain sides holding baby animals to their breasts, or the satyrs who are always with him, al ways erect and bursting with life, or the bull or goat that was torn to pieces biannually in his rituals in celebration of his dismemberment, as stand-in for the god: were these not all of them images for me of the mystery of my nature, this vibrant uneasy collage of the female and the phallic that join and fight and become one another within me? Dionysian androgyny, I discov ered, is not the balanced and ordered con junction of medieval alchemy's hermaphro dites; these is ferocity and devouring; real death; a different sort of coming back to life. But neither is it just unbounded drunken frenzy and release as simple rendi tions have pictured it, anymore than Diony sos is just a god of wine; he is god of all vital liquids— of coursing blood, chloro phyll streaming through the leaf; the surge of sperm with shining sweat; mother's milk. Overarching all the passion and deep within the heart of it, there is a fugue of unbrok en silence.

All this that I have written was back ground then, of course, at the conference; talking about it here directly has made it more the focus than it was for me there wher< so much else was happening. Perhaps one meaning of that conference for me is exactly the way in which it brought that background into focus, helped me to discover during those four days hew much of my own back ground I tend to discredit, to repress, to ignore; I am learning through if how I have participated in my own dis-memberment. What I re-member how is what it was likt to sit in the fairy circle that first morn ing with these two hundred other gay men and to realize that each of us had grown up be lieving that he was the only one of his kind. I felt from the depths of that early isola tion how much I longed for a community of other men who understood.

— Walt Whitman We were a tribe re-convening. For centures we had been parted. Our ways had been lost in the ways of the foreign patriarchal culture which had overtaken us. But now the members were regathering. Such was the myth. I became part of the group which formed with the intention of evolv ing a ritual for Sunday night. My staff, far from being a point of alienation, had become a kind of identifying mark; a point of connec tion with which I could teach or play or bless Away from here it. was a symbol of shadow— -of what I held inside. Here it became persona-how I greeted the world and made my place in it. (I hid behind it too, of course. As all of us, accustomed to hiding, found our pro tections. It .would be a disservice to the ftrhole fairy surgence to let the love of what we wish for get in the way of seeing clearly how much there remains to do. We were not the ideal community out there In the desert — tho the common longing that united us spoke

through the anger of the dissenters as well, even spoke through our defenses.) The planning of the ritual was itself an event— and fascinating to be part of as T watched the splits emerge between the intuitives and the organizers; watched the wavs in which decisions were arrived at; conflicts opened; compromises found. One point seemed insoluble. Some of us felt the site of the event should be outside the compound, in the desert itself, in the wilds. Others found that jarring, feared rattlesnakes and scor pions, thought the central area had ample room. 1 believed that staying too close to the encampment would tend toward an event that was a clever exercise rather than an ac tual opening to the unknown and the unplanned and so went with two others to see if an ap propriate area could be discovered that would meet both needs— the one for safety and the one for openness. On the outskirts of the monastery we found a large clearing where candles could be set out in the middle to create a central altar as well as around the circumfrence to define the "congregation." Adjacent to an area just behind it was a wash where once a stream seemed to have flowed. We checked with the monks of the ashram. Yes, we could march the whole gathering out of the front gate, into the desert, and then up the streambed a mile or so before cutting across to the clearing which— after that walk under the nighttime sky with the mountains outlined by the waxing moon's light and the clouds and stars all above us— would feel, sufficiently removed from the encampment to truly let the sacred in.

Thyreos bearing revellers

My task was to meet the fairies at the front gate and lead them with my staff in hand through the desert to the appointed site. I was delighted of course to be able finally to act the shaman I’d always drempt of being; and stirred as well, sensing how real was the possibility of becoming the shaman I'd always acted. I knew how much power was in that desert and in that gather ing, that staff, myself. And as the day con tinued, I became even more aware of how much power we conjured all ready, every time I looked into sets of open unclouded eyes or overheard conversations or watched bodies move. Often on a street in a gay section of town or in a locker room, I've had to take a deep breath to let down into the ef fect on me of all that male beauty which I find intoxicating, sometimes to the point of illumination. As a youth in a small town in upstate New York, or even in the city sometimes, I found that terrifying and used to be on the edges of what psychoanalysts would call a "homosexual panic." Here that panic had a different face. Breathing free ly in open confirmation of desire, it wasn't panic but Pan I saw and all of nature was alive with Him and my whole soul quickened. I prepared for the night. Toward sundown some cars remained in the clearing. I went there to see about their being moved and to prepare the space with candles, to prepare myself. I began to talk with a group of brothers from Louis iana, men who had been living together in a collective and who had between them a palp able love I found strength-granting and nur turing. As we talked and struck up an easy fellowship, I became aware of another man standing beside who clearly wished to speak but held himself back. When invited to come closer, he hestitated; then said perhaps he'd better come back later as what he wished to say would change entirely the mood of our pleasant conversation. We encouraged him to speak. His story was indeed horrible and his telling of it was often overwhelmed by re leases of deep and violent emotion. A form er lover was in trouble, he told us, a boy of nineteen who was to stand trial in the Deep South for a terrible crime— he was ac cused of participating in the rape and mur der of a fourteen-year-old boy. He himself was a complex of contradictory responses. He was filled with disgust at the crime it self and with hatred for what his friend may have done, but was, at the same time, fearful for his friend's life and aware of how much desperation must be part of his involvement in such a thing if the charges were true. As we held his sobbing body and listened to what he said, sometimes inco herently and from the bottom of his pain, I was forced to look at everything the ideali zed conditions of the conference had kept away from me— the still hideous repression of homoerotic love and feeling that was part of the creation of such a situation; the guilt and fear which still surround us in this society where the possibility of witchhunt is still so close; the grip of

sexism and violence that still holds us and destroys innocent lives. "Still," 1 thought as I held him and looked into the crying eyes of the man across from me who was cradling his sobbing chest, "still... still." There was still-ness. We were quiet. I had deepened. The mystery had re opened. 1 went back to the clearing for my things where I'd set them. Ry the tPiyrsos, unannounced, a friend had placed a mask he's fashioned of a satyr’s face which I knew I was to wear that night. I was quiet. I couldn't stop thinking about that nineteenyear-old boy who was sitting in that jailhouse when he should have been here or about the fourteen-year-old victim who maybe should have been here too. I felt deep longing in my heart for a world in which they might have been connected as comrad-lovers in a womb of mutual support rather than this world of competition and brutality. I sensed the darkness that was in me and in fallen man and at the same time felt some other thing: Her dark wisdom. Even, fleetingly, that the act had been a sacrifice, a tearing apart. I remembered Dionysos' jour ney to the underworld to see his lost mother, and all the son-lover-victims who'd died in the oldest myths I knew from back before our deaths were seen as endings of anything... I donned my gown; I put on the mask; I picked up my, staff. It was later than I knew. No sooner was I dressed than the whole procession was there before me, faces gaily painted, singing, dancing like the Israelites before the Golden Calf. I had to silence them, began to dance in a circle before them, first slowly, then faster and faster, then held up my thyrsos to bar their way until all noises had stopped. Finally no one spoke or sang. There was the sound of wind on the desert.

At that moment, 1 felt my familiar self leave me. It was as if lkivi</ had been put onto hold for awhile while someone else had charge of his form, of my instrument. My role had taken me seriously and 1 knew enough to step aside and let the deeper center act. T waited another moment, then held up my staff and pointed the way. As all were passing I stood and watched them, became a kind of concrete evocation of the spirit we'd come there to embody. ("Fairy spirit, fairy love" we would greet each other later.) My experience of the stranger's tale had opened my feelings beyond my own resis tance to them; other channels had opened as well and I began to imagine all the faggots who had ever lived walking in that line and I saw my role as being greeter and guide, the doorkeeper who beckons and admits. I invoked all the gay men everywhere who still live in fear or in terror of their one true natures, or in fear of the terror of their neighbors who would harm them if they should sense that truth. I invited all the powers of the sky and of the earth as well, and the fairy saints I worshiped, most especially Walt Whitman who'd invoked all of us in the first place...

1 will make the continent indissoluble ... With the love of comrades, With the manly love of comrades. I ran to the front of the line to be there as the pointer toward the clearing. On my way I gasped and stumbled and cut my feet, holding the thyrsos over my shoulderblades and across my outstretched arms like a piece of the cross the god bore up Golgotha in a later manifestation. I did not know from one moment to the next what I was going to be doing the moment later; and yet I felt very distinctly that my every movement had

ourik,?istory lucirr, magic doll of uneurcd akin, Green land Eskimo ( AMSII).

Music and dancing arc cultivated among th£gay good-natured Eskimo. They celebrate great festivals, to which tfiey invite neighbor ing tribes, whom they entertain with magic dances asking the spirits, represented by the masks, the totemie guardians of the participants, for success in future forays. They also celebrate a great festival to honor the dead and provide for their spiritual needs. These dances take place in a great semi-subterranean ceremonial house.

been carefully planned, even rehearsed manv times. At the other side of the wash I stood quiet again and again pointed mv staff toward the centra] altar. In the moonlight I recognized Harry Hay wrapped in a white sheet. We acknowledged one another. All night I'd been aware of a conversation w e ’d had the day before about his research into the less-reported aspects of ancient culture, into the suppressed history of gays and fair ies. He'd spoken of the young men who'd gone into the wilderness between the settled city-states and had "the wrong visions," wo men's visions, and had thus been banished from the patriarchs' circles— the men who'd been punished for their maenad souls. it was these men, he indicated, who had formed a culture in the bush, who became the shamans and oracles. We nodded now, silently. He moved o n . As the last man passed, I removed my mask and entered into the converging circle to read the Whitman poem I've quoted from here and begin the next phase of the ritual. My offering that night was the pine cone that had topped my staff. Some claim that on the outskirts of the gathering of brothers there had stood illumined a white bull who ap proached, watched for a time, then bounded away in the glare of an exploding flare, lust such a bull had been worshiped in Thrace as a form of Dionysos. * * * That night I lived what before I'd only known: that the very most personal places in our souls are exactly the places that open to the most profoundly shared ones. As I walked through the wash the next afternoon.

I was full of the memory of a walk I'd taken years before one Good Friday in New York City to the spot on the corner of Greenwich Ave nue and Christopher Street where I first was picked up by another gay man. On that earl ier occasion T'd gone to the city on a lost weekend, spent four days trying to get up the courage to really "do it," then finally, finally met him, a sailor on leave and, at nineteen, a year older than I. We'd gone back to an apartment I thought was his and, as the television flickered a re-run of Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman, had sex on a mattress on the floor. I was all surrend ering virginity— full of relief and excite ment and terror. Suddenly the door burst open and in swept my companion's lover— the apartment was his I later found out— and I quickly retreated to the bathroom in confu sion, guilt and anger, where I listened to them quarreling; listened to the outraged lover, a creature out of Warhol, shrilly de manding, "Who is that little bitch in there and what is she doing in my home?" I laugh ed then though inside I was devastated and ashamed. I felt doomed to eternal exile in this frightening demi-world. Sitting on that curb, years later, I was able through bittersweet tears to recognize that what had appeared then to be an exile was in fact the beginning of a homecoming, the beginning of an active acceptance of my nature that in cluded an affirmation of the Natural itself ...herself. My thyrsos- bearing walk through the wash that pains-of-Labor Day eve became for me a way of sharing that journey through exile with all my soul-bound brothers, a way of affirming that all of us, re-awakened were coming home....

Fairy is a term of loath in;?. Fairy is a may,leal being. I'airv is sissv. I'airv is ridicule and snickers. Fairy is taking the pink triangle of oppression and turning it into a symbol of liberation. I'airv is self definition, beyond hetero-imitation — the discovery of our spec ini ness. Fairy is the awareness that we are not just like anybody else. !'airy is the awareness .that pay sexu ality is only a physical manifestation of a deeper spiritual uniqueness. When T was very young and going to the public library to learn what being "homosexual" was all about, most of what 1 read was not too encouraging. I read about sexual hunger, dominating mothers, castration complexes, and ruined lives. Then, in some now-forgotten book, I came across a curious and hopeful sentence concerning the Hopi's treatment of gay people. ft went something like this: "The llopis do not despise or ostracise homo sexuals from their community because of their belief that everything comes from spiritual origins and therefore homosexuals have a spiritual direction, a spiritual purpose to play in the tribe." In a library containing literally tons of printed material, I found one sentence that validated my deepest being. And, dear readers, I nluna to that sentence for ue<iV8, repeating it over and over silently when tossed by doubts, when condemned by the preacher, the Sunday School teacher, the psychiatrists and the school bullies; repeating it like a mantra, an affirmation - which, after all, it was. There is a meaning to being gay, a purpose. A recent exciting theory of sociobiology suggests that homosexuality contains a survival value to the larger community. Here is a person who can devote the fullest energies to the betterment of the community. True, our society has not allowed this to happen; hut that doesn't mean it's not biologically planned. Look at the celibate priest. For that matter, look at the shaman.

LAVENDER

I am washing dishes after lunch and I have a tense neck. A man I have not mot takes my hand and manipulates nv thumb. Immediately my neck releases. Then he massages a pressure point between mv thumb and forefinger, "Ait, this is where your real tension is," he tells me, "in your shoulders. What, burden are you carrying?" I am overwhelmed. I close my eyes, feel ing a sensation that is both physical and non physical . "Drop your burden," he coaxes. In my mind’s eye I see a seagull circling the ocean, free; and 1 hear a voice that says, "Take care of yourself." Later I ask Davie! what method he was using. "Oh," he grins, "a little bit of reflex ology, a bit of shiatsu - but mostly it was a 1ove-exchange." * * * The room is intensely silent. Groups of five are practising energy/bea1ing, the laying on of hands. I can feel the energy flowing from my pa 1ms. During the discussion a man says, "I realized there is only one energy that heals, no matter what method you use." * * * A beautiful man, slender and tall, stands facing the mountain in rapture, playing his dulcimer. It is like he is playing to the mounta in. It is so perfect. Like a haiku. I begin to dance. Awkwardly, at first, but then to the mountain. When I look up, he is smiling at me. There is so much more to say about that weekend; and yet I feel now is a good time to wind it up. The specifics, the form seems unimportant now. Names of workshops, names of "important" people, the mud bath, the ritual... There are two key concepts 1 came away with. Gay enspiritment: We possess an energy and we are spiritual. We can assimilate Into the straight culture if we want to, hut by doing so we sell our souls. Fairy empowerment; It does not do anv good to find this energy that is the essence of our being, if we cannot protect it from that hostile outside world. We need real power In the real world. This would be our manifestation, our gift to the world. Empowerment was brought home to me very strongly at the workshop on "Rape and Vio lence against Women." In the course of the workshop, I scribbled these notes; Any man who holds a woman powerless is a rapist. Any woman who holds a woman powerless is a rapist's accomplice. Every time a gay man allows a straight man to hold him powerless, he is a rapist's brother.

So, it's off to the desert to attend a confer ence called by Harry Hay, driving non-stop over 1800 miles. It's easy to forget the oppres sion of gay people when you live in a large city, but it's strikingly clear in the Dairy Oueen in a small town in Oklahoma, or in a truckstop in Texas, or a shopping mall In Mexico. At road blocks, we instinctively hid our gay books along with the roach clip. That fear - how could 1 have forgotten it? *

EXPRESS

There is one rule of the Desert Sanctuary. Ahimsa or nonviolence. No living thing is to be harmed and that includes the ants, the flowers, and each other. I must confess 1 squished one or two of the ants out of habit until l successfully reprogrammed myself; and I think that if today an ant crawled up on me, I would merely blow it off as 1 learned to do that weekend. Meals are vegetarian. There is home-made, whole-wheat bread, sun tea and fresh fruit. We wash our silverware and cups outside in a tub of soapy water and rinse them in a tub of clean water. "It’s a good thing I don't believe in the germ theory of disease," quipped one fellowfairy merrily.

" — ..........

...................................... .............. ....................—

.................. - •

The way to stop rape is empowerment. $ Por women to empower themselves self-dfiJ fence should he taught to girls in junior • high school; for gay men to empower them- • selves the first step is self-definition. • 57

ming pool was spring-fed and surrounded on three sides by a low wall painted with scenes from the Buddha's life. Beyond was the flat ness of the desert with the rising mountains in the distance. On the fourth side was a red and yellow striped canopy under which were tables and chairs. The canopy was con nected to a large rectangular aluminum build ing, plain outside, but lavish inside. Along the two long interior walls were trees in tubs whose branches reached the peaked ceil ing. At the short end, opposite the door, was a large Buddhist altar with candles, incense sticks, flowers and pictures. The wall was gold with red branching tendrils painted on it. This is where I had my sleep ing space, along with about twelve others. In addition to the main complex of buildings and gardens, there were other out lying structures, two of which are important to the story. One was the library/dining hall, a wooden building with a beamed ceiling and interior supporting posts. Under normal conditions it would have been quite adequate for space, but with our large group certain adjustments needed to be made. There were only ten available chairs, so you either sat on the concrete floor at one of the long strips of butcher paper laid down for the occasion, or outside on the wall, or meandered with friends. To minimize the kitchen duties, everyone brought and washed their own bowl and utensils. I had borrowed a set of camping silverware, but wish now I had taken only a pair of chopsticks.

Over the Labor Day weekend I went to the Spiritual Conference for Radical Fairies. It was held at the Desert Sanctuary, the Sri Ram Ashram (a gay men's collective) in the desert west of Tucson. There was very little 1 knew about the gathering prior to arriving. Instructions to bring a sleeping bag, eating utensils and a bowl, a hat to ward off the sun, insect repellent, a colorful flowing nonhetero garment and, if you wanted, a musi cal instrument and writing to share said it wasn’t going to be a traditional conference. We paid $50. This included nine vegetarian meals, registration fee, and sleeping space: no alcohol or drugs, pets or children. I flew from Los Angeles to Tucson, was picked up and driven the forty miles into the desert. I had expected something awe somely austere, I suppose, but the Desert Sanctuary was a real surprise. It was love ly. Spang in the middle of the desert, 4500 feet above sea level, was this lovely oasis. There was a low stucco wall surrounding most of the compound; the entrance led through a landscaped garden with a fountain, large shade trees, and rows and rows of flowerbeds. Indeed, the entire olace was dotted with small, Ingeniously planted "mini-gardens," statuary, and pools, some with goldfish. The main house had a large side lawn ringed with flowers and a huge arbor shaped like a tent covered with trumpet vine. The Olympic swim

I'm afraid this was the only preten tious piece of business I found during the whole stay: lots of shots of the moon, waves crashing on the rocks, meadows full of flow ers, and lots and lots of slides of F.astern and Western art. Occasionally there were shots of handsome, well-built young men in full arousal, but later these were1 claimed to be unfit for inclusion because they were oppressive. An hour was too much. My ass got tired. Subject-subject consciousness which 1 just mentioned is too important a concept to leave hanging, for it is the central core of what Harry Hay believes to be the unique gift of gay persons and actualized by fairies. Rather than perceiving the world as subjectobject (material object, sex object, manipu lative object) one related to the world in a subject-subject fashion...conceiving other as self. The night was clear with a breeze blowing through the gardens and the moon was almost full. Fairies, not liking scorpions and snakes, slept on the lawn under the arbor or among the gardens under the sky. Some slept in the main house, around the pool, or in other buildings. There was much giggling and some lovemaking, and hardly anyone slept because we were excited about the prospect of being together.

The other "build inn" was a huge Indian meditation tent erected, for the gathering. The ashram has a tiny meditation hall, hot it was far too small for the 220 persons who registered. The meditation tent was a long blue rectangle with mandalas in green, red, silver, and brown. The ground inside was covered with orange and salmon parachute silk, spotted here and there with candles in ambercolored glass jars— like you see in restau rants sometimes, but without the plastic net. It overwhelms me even yet at the num ber of people who were there— from as far away as West Virginia, New Orleans, Ann Arbor, New England, and as near as Denver, Seattle, and from all over California. Ihe original intent was to have a small conference, away from everything, to talk about new directions people are experiencing in the Gay movement. Several folks have begun to look beyond the heavy economic investment gays are making in the society and condemning tactics used by many gays against others. The conference was issued as a "call" in the Sufi sense. Those who hear the call can respond to it, as they choose, and those who don't hear the call obviously can't. It's a matter of readiness to hear. As I said before, I didn't know what to expect and later 1 found out hardly anyone did. You'll see why in a short time. We all came with a sense of great personal anxiety which was increased by the forty mile trip through the desert with nothing but mesquite and prickly pear cactus to look at. In the instruction sheet we got when we registered, we were all called fairies— a term that would take on many subsequent positive connotations. I was regaining my stability as I saw things looking pretty organized. But I wasn't elated with the lines that read: "Fairies should always sleep in groups. Rat tlesnakes and scorpions avoid large numbers of humans, but they are not so careful with just one or two. Always shake out your sleeping bags before getting inside. Never go into the desert at night without a flashlight." Jee-zus, I thought! "Fairy" was well-chosen and much fairy lore was used during the gathering. For ex ample, we didn’t have meetings or workshops, but fairy circles. It probably sounds unut terably precious at this distance, but it has come to be quite significant for many of us. The strong theme of neo-paganism in the new gay thought became evident when we gather ed in our first large fairy circle on Friday night. There was an extended period at the beginning during which all sorts of spirits were invoked amid much rising and falling of chants. Some fairies shook clusters of tiny bells and containers of dried beans or shot. Then silence and a small welcome speech and a few remarks on "subject-subject conscious ness" by Harry Hay, founder of the Mattachine Society and generally regarded as the Father of the American Gay movement (remember Word Is Out'i) . Then Christopher Larkin (producer of A Very Natural Thing) showed us his hourlong slide-tape production called "Erotic Consciousness." 59

On Saturday morning two hundred fairies attempted to go about abbreviated bathroom routines with two inside hot showers, two outside cold showers, two sinks, two flush toilets, and two chemical toilets. 1he very lack of facilities immediately brought many of us to reality— no shaving and a dip in the pool would have to do. No cosmetic nice ties, no need to impress, just the hare us. At breakfast we were encouraged to take a thousand milligrams of PAHA as protection against sunburn in the desert. A lot of fairies had already chosen nudity as their mode of existence during the weekend, so pro tection of underexposed parts was a necessity. 1 joined group meditation in the tent for this morning only. I prefer to do mine alone and on a chair. Groundsitting was get ting to me already. At about 9 A.M. we con voked the next fairy circle. The nudity was slowly spreading, and it was lovely to see so many people shedding clothes as they shed anxieties and fears and found themselves among friends who thought as they did. There was no one around except gay men. We were the society. We weren't meeting in a building outside of which were heteros. We were the society, and we were beginning to experience what it was like to be the majority and make the rules. The circle was without structure. We were asked to take the time to say whatever we wanted or needed to say. And the incred ible variety of statements, jokes, stories of wonder, pleas, confessions that followed for the next five hours was amazing. Many people talked about what they brought to share, many spoke of what they wanted to take home with them. Some observed the passing scene. Some said they had to speak nude before the group and share part of their hurt and anxiety. One fairy said his first lover had taught him yoga and he had come to be able to suck himself off. It was an affecting story and he offered to do a circle (workshop) on autofellatio for anyone who might be inter ested. They were. He had to schedule the circle twice. Another fairy talked about what crap the conference could engender if it were al lowed to descend into maudling imitations of pseudo-psycho-fakers. Another one wanted a less caustic line on heteros. Someone else said he had come to the gathering because he had lost nearly all his gay spirit; he had spent the last two years almost exclusively with straight people. He begged to be able to regain his identity. Another wanted to dance and chant and pled for a new vision where gay persons could take their rightful place in society. Finally, almost at the point of exhaus tion and an hour and a half late for lunch, the circle rose and hugged each other and the first of the spontaneous dances broke out. They were tribal in character and would mark most of the large gatherings for the rest of the weekend. The dances were a mixture of joy, pain, exuberance, and the thorough delight gay men seem to have when they aren't con strained by hetero gender roles or the "clone"

mentality which repress and dictate a sullen macho image. It was great to dance and break free of artificial constraints and to get a good look at the laughter and love inside everyone. In the afternoon then, anyone who want ed to offer a small circle simply chalked it up in one of the available spaces on the black board on the front porch of the main house. There was an expected variety: a native desert plant walk; fairy spirit visions; nutrition and your body; ritual dance; politics of gay enspiritment; gay publications; massage, a guided orgy; rape and violence; myths of male bonding; fairy sexuality; ritual makup; healing/energy; autofellatio; ritual planning; Celtic and English country dances; group sensual/sexual experience; actors/directors; silly sissies; Middle European folk dancing. From chaos came order. These were cir cles given by people who knew, taken by people who needed. They were not planned prior to the conference; they were not sought out, "credentialed experts." It evolved organical ly. The lack of competition, of acrimony, of petty bitchiness was amazing. People were trying hard to make a beautiful experience better and getting in touch with that subjectsubject part of ourselves we had not nurtured for so long. By now people had begun to wear fea thers in their hair, to wear earrings and necklaces and bracelets, to paint their faces — at first with small stars and tattoolike markings which would later grow into elaborate designs covering, in one or two cases, the en tire head, neck and shoulders. Fairies now started to wear skirts or skirtlike sarongs, and more chose to wear nothing at all. They also began to caress someone as they greeted them, many not stopping to chat, but simply touching a brother on the shoulder, the arm, the chest as they passed. Something was be ginning to happen, but hardly anyone cared to be analytical. There was too much work to be done; there was a lot of time to be made nn for; many men who had been just gay were rea lizing they were fairies and had to learn how before the time was up. Saturday night's highlight was "A Dif ferent Night at the Baths," the guided orgy mentioned above. A program being done in some baths in San Francisco, the idea behind it all is to put some affection and caring into what is normally a casual, often brutal situa tion for sexual encounter. I must say it was an interesting experience, but it didn't af fect me as strongly as it did many others. There were all sorts of rules which helped humanize the experience— a sort of psycholo gical resensitization process. About 80 peo ple ended up "sexually encountering" each other around the pool. It was handled with dexterity and finesse, so I certainly wasn’t morally pigged out by it all. And...there was no alcohol and no dope. One of the goals of the evening was to be able to approach someone who attracted you and tell them what you liked about them and what you wanted to do. Take a chance. Don't be so afraid of rejection. The approached per son is to be kind, but honest. If they need to turn down a person, soften the rejection as

Ill

much as possible, and be flattered by the at tention and acknowledge it. After I had been, ahem, sexually en countered a couple of times, I was leaning against the wall watching this incredible scene, when the All-American Boy sauntered up and said "Hi!" Now, since morning, more and more fairies had decided nudity or near-nudity was the road to travel, so by afternoon hardly anyone paid attention to genitals any more. I had given up looking at bodies after lunch. There were so many shapes and sizes of people; fairies came in all sorts and conditions. All this was a prelude to getting at the most important aspect of your brother— his spirit. The human form, pretty or not, was a commonplace; one im mediately got into intimate conversations, by passing shapes. However, before my early aft ernoon desensitization, I thought the All-Amer ican Boy was something to write home about. His name was Alex and he was nervous. After about 20 seconds of small talk, he claimed I had what he thought were the prettiest eyes this side of the Sonora desert, and he, uh, well, wondered if I would just go somewhere with him and, uh, could he just look into my eyes for a while? On later comparison of notes, there were many, many gentle fantasies like that played out during the time in the desert. How simple to agree and give someone plea sure and support. It also did strange things to my head having someone sit in front of me, staring into my eyes, stroking my forearms, and talking softly about how much he liked what I'd said in the morning circle, and how he knew 1 must be a Leo and that I had cat's eyes. For sure, a trip! I wondered later if I had been a willing rape victim, but it couldn't be; it was all too gentle; it was a wonderful seduction. Some fantasies were private, confied to two or three, and some fantasies became sig nificantly important to the total group exper ience. The mudding ceremony was one of these. A fairy from LA who had been at the ashram all week baking bread and preparing food said one of his urges was to take buckets of water into the desert and cover himself with mud. Forty men went with him Sunday morning.

What started out to be a lighthearted romp turned into a serious tribal affair. Something about the nudity and the primitive ness of the chanting and the ambiance of the gathering triggered a primal urge in them all and the chanting became more real, the dedica tion to the task seemed almost total. I was a spectator only after someone ran back into the compound saying this was something too important to miss. When I got there they were all covered with ochre-colored mud, hug ging each other. Another bystander was taken by the spir it of the gathering and took off his clothes and started down the bank. Immediately there was a sense of initiation. They held him on their shoulders— a completely white-body amid the mud people. They lowered him into the ooze and covered him over. Then they held him up high again and began to chant. After they put him down another spontaneous dance broke out. It was truly watching a tribal ritual. F.ven the photographs I've seen since are uncanny— like right out of National Geo graphic. The men in the photos aren't ac countants or teachers or movie camermen or lawyers or students or radical leftists or physicians or clerks or postal workers. They're members of the same tribe. It did not escape anyone how leveling the mud was. They were all the same and they got an elec tric sense of unity and power from it. I couldn’t help be professionally interested in the flow of this ritual, spontaneous as it was. Nothing was planned. How in harmony they all were. I was sorry I hadn't parti cipated. I didn't know, though, the main ritual the next night would surpass anything I had ever seen. The next morning after meditation and PABA, I led the combined ritual circles. Ritual was very much in the consciousness of the fairies and they wanted to have a big ritual on Sunday night to mark the gathering — I had spoken at the Saturday morning cir cle in support of ritual and what it can do, but I did not want to lead the groups; I wanted to try to participate fully. How ever, it didn't turn out that way. After a long process of discussion with about 60 fairies who showed up for the ritual meetings, we finally decided the best way to accomplish anything was to meditate and speak out of our meditations. Then a small group of people spent the afternoon sifting that material and organizing the ritual. After the success of the mudding cere mony, there was concern about over-organizing the ritual. Much talk about refraining from cognitive, linear interchanges floated around, and to good purpose. We eventually took the meditation material and structured eight broad areas: (1) Silent procession, (2) Invoca tion, (3) Cleansing, (A) Offering, (5) Greet ing, (6) Sharing, (7) Water rite, (8) Sending forth. I wanted to have the experience of taking raw material and seeing where it went and how ritualmkalng in a serious sense would work. A great deal of the success was that very many of the fairies had rejected the in stitutional Judeo-Christianlty some time ago and so were "culture-free," one might say.

During the afternoon a raggle-taggle group of fairies who had brought recorders and dulcimers, small drums and flutes and such set to work practicing. They turned out to he absolutely remarkable! It was felt that part of the ritual should happen outside the ashram compound in the desert somewhere. So we decided the pro cession would begin from beside the pool into the desert to the mud place, then down a wash to the broad circular area we had cleared for the first live parts of the ritual. Mere we took some forty candles in their amber glass jars and spotted them around, but most of them were in the center in a circle in place of a large open fire. We also posted signs out lining the parts of the ritual, and what fairies could do to prepare themselves for it. Other circles were continuing as we prepared for the evening, but there was an excitement and a growing anticipation. A lot of fairies ate early so they could begin making up and dressing for the night. There were two general themes to the mAke-up. One was pagari, earth-spirit and animal-like. One fairy looked like the picture on the cover of some editions of 0o< i of the IH tehee by Margaret Murray: a foxlike creature with small branches for antlers and a few strands of lea ther over one shoulder :•/;</: sandals. We alt knew enough now not to go into the desert hare of foot. The other make-up theme was more flam boyant and less sinister. This was the true "fairy" make-up with lots of color on the face, occasionally extending to the shoulders and chest. Sometimes there were just ribbons of color, sometimes elaborate designs. Many who had long hair wove beads through it, some spread glitter into the make-up and some did designs with sequins on their faces. The costumes were mostly less than more ...lots of gauze and nylon chiffon (remember the old silk chiffon? Sigh!). But most just wore brightly colored swatches of cloth eith er belted like Indian breechcloths or wrapped around themselves. Some had elaborate head dresses, others carried staffs topped with feathers and bells. In the twilight the gathering of the fairies around the dim lights of the pool was extraordinary! They looked at once very much alien and strange, but they belonged there. It was their place and no one else's. There was no self-consciousness, everyone seemed to anticipate doing a great work and they be gan clapping and chanting as the musicians began to play, ready to begin the procession. 1 wondered what was going to be the outcome of all this. I was nervous. I had to act as a sort of stage manager and, as 1 said before, l had wanted to be able to participate without having to monitor the event. Because of this role 1 missed walking in procession which started out, contrary to our wishes, as a noisy and jubilant one. 1 scooted down another way to the 1|ig circle where most of the rest of the musicians were waiting for a cue to begin playing. Some people told me later the procession was one of the roost impressive parts of the ritual. They said as soon as they got away

from tlie compound and into the desert under the moon, they became quiet, arid as soon as they entered the wash with its scraggy trees and low roesquite hushes, power seemed to enter them. They fairies and they were going to do an important, work. A former Roman priest told me later that procession was in credibly energizing as they walked through the moonlight. They were the owners of the land and what they were going to do belong to them. At the circle I had trouble hearing them. I couldn't understand that they'd quieted down that much, hut as soon as I saw them come out of the wash I knew something had •changed. The musicians began to pi.ay and the fairies (although at this point I want very much to call them a tribe, or tribes since there were many, many interest groups there who were coming together to share strength) formed In the circle. Over 200 men, most in incredible costumes and make-up, was really impressive, and they realized it too as they faced each other across the circle. No one looked I ike anyone they knew, but there were the strong feelings of kinship everywhere. I had chosen to take for my "colorful, flowing, nonhetero garment" a cape. i bought a big remnant of some deep rust polyester for $1.50. A friend stitched it up with his ma chine, and it was a full-length beauty. It swooped and swirled and had enough body to it to make it work right.

As soon as everyone was in the circle, I walked to the center and began the invoca tions. These lasted a long time, just ns they did on the first night. Then another member of the ritual team walked to the center and picked up a small cage he had fashioned out of some old chicken wire. The was the object for the cleansing section. The idea was that as we came together and our fairy conscious ness was raised and sharpened, there were things we had come with— thoughts, ideas, anxieties, fears, anything which chained or shackled us--we would not be taking back to 62 our other world with us. These were whisper-

space-time don't te ll th in g s got

etl, s p o k e n ,

sc reamed i n t o t h e c a g e and n e v e r l e t out nK>iin. As t h e c a g e be ga n t o make i t s way around t h e c i r c l e , sp on ta n eou s c h a n ts began. M o s t l y t h e s e had been "Om" o r r e p e t i t i o n s o f one w o r d , o r o c c a s i o n a l l y s h o u t s , but d u r i n g t h e c l e a n s i n g r i t e t h e y t o o k on a d i f ferent

f o r t h e s m a l l t h i n g s we n o r m a l l y each o t h e r . And so many u n s a i d said.

I was in and out of the ritual because, even though much of it was spontaneous, a fin ger had to be kept on the pulse of the group, and 1 was continuously checking with the musi cians and the other fairies who had leadership roles. So, as 1 passed in and out of the greeting circle, I had occasion to note how others were responding. 1 was impressed, for example, by how many persons notice eyes; I hardly ever notice eyes. Yet about three people mentioned mine. I told one brother he reminded me of a person with whom I had been in graduate school and whom 1 respected be cause of his brilliant mind and his fantastic good looks. He blushed through his make-up and gave me a long hug. This part of the ritual was so very positive and so construc tive, and I was incredibly personally affirmed. There are so many things I do or say when l'm with other people that are good and I never hear about. It's nice to have them called to my attention; it makes me feel very good. How good for fairies to do this sort ■f tiling, because straight men's gender roles certainty prevent them from doing it, and the normal gay bar/bath scene certainly doesn’t encourage it either. I have been trying to remember the times in my life wtien I have been in situations that afforded me as much affir mation as came from the heart and I can rmfnt them on one hand— all of them were gay situa tions. It doesn't take much more than that to let me know the prevailing hetero/macho style is counterproductive to a growing, de veloping psyche. Don't take my word for it. Read The Hazards of Heiny t-iale by Herb Gold berg, in paper, published in 1975. A welldocumented springboard to the men's movement. When the greeting was nearly over, the leader of the musicians was was also a dancer, began to work the group into a spiral pattern ed dance around the fire. Three concentric circles, running in opposite directions, emer ged from this and then the leader who was do ing the Offering segment took over. The move and flow felt right and I continue to stand in great wonderment at the efficacy of medi tation as a method for eliciting ritual com ponents. Just as we had rid ourselves of some thing, now we had the strength and power to offer something. Brothers had brought objects to drop into a large brass bowl which they of fered to "the Fairy Spirit." They spoke into the bowl; they sang into the bowl. Then this was laid in the midst of the candles and the dancing started again, preparatory to leaving the desert circle and reforming on the lawn inside the compound for the next sections. And as the dancing began to build in speed and fervor, mixed with shouts, a large shoot ing star exploded over our heads! What an omen, I thought! Then another one exploded, and T realized someone had the foresight to bring fireworks. And so as the dancing slowed and the music became softer, we formed a long procession again, with fairies picking up the candles and moving along the trail to the com pound. We bad spent two and a half hours at our work in the desert.

complexion.

A low hum began but quickly moved into more agitated, coarser, emotion-filled cries. Hisses and isolated screams— and then came the most frightening of all— the animal noises. From seemingly nowhere, howls, barks, growling, roars began softly and grew to a terrifying proportion. At its height I really expected to see a muscular, skin-clad man with his hair in braids leap into the circle and begin to do a frenzied dance around the fire. But there was no dancer. It died as quickly as it started and was replaced by a soft keening. I have never experienced so many people in harmony, nor had so much gooseflesh. When the cage had been around the cir cle, the leader took it to the center and held it up, over his head. Slowly he walked around the fire so everyone could see what they were throwing away and then, with a great shout, he flung the cage and everything it contained far into the desert darkness. The music played, there was great applause, and it was time to greet the brothers. One of the musicians divided the large circle by l’s and 2's. The idea we had was to have a sort of Grand Right-and-Left so every one could greet each other. We thought this was going to take maybe ten minutes at the outside, but when they weren't through after forty minutes I began to have the slightest Suspicion we'd hit on a ritual greeting that worked. The mood after the procession, invoca tion, and cleansing was exhilarated, full of love and power, and most of all, incredibly joyful. So instead of muttering a perfunc tory greeting, the style was to have a long kiss, stroke each other, linger, say many good things and move on. F.ach encounter took probably 30 seconds and with a hundred bro thers going each way, it finally took around 45 minutes to complete this part. Later I found out this segment was valuable in an other way. As open and free as everyone was during the gathering (I still resist the word "conference"), there were some things said during the ritual greeting that simply could n't be said anywhere else with ease. It was time and space out of time and space where love and freedom prevailed and in sacred time and sacred space, deeply personal affirmations can be made. Sacred space-time is also the

The fairies settled themselves under the arbor on the lawn. The only lights were the forty-odd candles twinklIng here and there. We had started sticks of incense and in the clear silent evening, with the sound of the fountain, it was a paradisical scene. We were to have a session of sharing whatever anybody wantred to share, a water rite and a short speech by Harry Hay which would be a kind of "where to go from here" state ment we called the Sending Forth. As I said 1 wanted to keep in touch with the energy level of the group, and since I'm still not very good at that, I was relying on a couple of brothers who were. They thought we had had enough by now, and so we decided to keep only the simple water rite and end there. Most of us had become sensitive to the necessity of water since coming to the desert. Dehydration was a reality, so large contain ers of cold water were placed at designated locations for us continuously. Since we were nourishing and nurturing each other, we thought the appropriate symbol to ritualize this was water. When everyone was comfortable on the ground, we passed Jugs of water for the fairy brothers to either help another brother to drink, or bathe his face, or sprinkle on him. The idea was to actively nourish and to be nourished. And it was over— very fitting and an incredibly successful ritual experience. I must be quick to say not everyone was as involved with every section of the ritual as I may have suggested. But checking around the next morning, there didn't seem to be a person who was not profoundly moved by one segment or another. And they were also moved by seeing others similarly affected. Many persons tried to talk about a strong sense of diversity within unity and that made me feel It had been successful. The evening ended with a Symmetricon performance. The Symmetricon is John Burn side's invention— a projector which produces mandalas In a kaliediscope manner accompanied by an audio tape. The colors were rich and glowing; the effect was totally relaxing and, as we know, mandalas are very whole-making. There was a lot of affection and caressing and kissing and some iovemaking along with a tre mendous sense of group wholeness— there was a feeling of "this never had to end because we didn't have to get up and go back 'out there.'" We were home for the first time for a lot of us, and it felt so good. It felt normal and natural and the care which each brother took with his other brothers was tender and freeing. I was so delighted all this could happen— again— without aLcohol and very minimal use of dope. I was then and continue to be struck by the parallels of this gathering with the re ports we have of the early Christian church. Both are/were groups with a strong shared vision, and both are/were persecuted. 1 was sensitive to this parallel when we had our gay group at Notre Dame. That group grew and functioned and took shape very much like the early church. The gathering in the desert extends this parallel. Both are/were radical and antiestablishment. The desert group is

in danger of becoming institutionalized and having its living spirit drained away bit by bit. I am lucky to have experienced this parallel vision because it informs me increas ingly clearly about what Christianity must have been like— and also what an empty shell it lias become. I ran only wonder at the power the original message must have had. When I returned to LA some friends in vited me to dinner to share the conference experience with them. They also had invited a mutual friend who attended the Dignity con ference at the San Diego Convention Center on the same Labor Day weekend. I hardly have to mention the differences in style, tone, deport ment, and content. As acknowledging as T would like to be about good work that was most surely done in San Diego, I can only report it seemed to be an imitation of depressing hetero conventions, but with peculiarly RC overtones — top-heavy with clergy, "groveling abasement" (Steve's words) to the hierarchy, etc., etc. The system sucks, my friends, and it oppresses us. The final morning in the desert revealed simple brothers, washed clean of the night's fairy glamour, stronger and more serene. I relaxed and went: to the Celtic and F.nglish Country Dance circle. This is probably going to be the way for fairies to dance in the fu ture. It's like square dancing, only far less culture bound for us and, according to the bro ther who teaches it in Oregon, some of the pat terning and the history have cosmic overtones from pagan roots. There were priest's dances and dances for six and dances "for all who will." We've brought them back to LA and last Friday danced in Barnsdall Park, high on Olive Hill, in Hollywood. And that, my friends, is it. The clos ing circle was emotional and tearful. And I was wondering why I didn't feel that way until a brother said, "Let's just go back and love them to death." That was my trigger and I dissolved. Three brothers held me and stroked me and supported me while I cried. Thank God! I used to cry at dog movies, and I'd thought I'd lost it.

The t i m e o f t h e i n i t i a t i o n was a p p r o a c h i n g , and I had no one t o h e l p me. A g a i n no one o f t h e v i l l a g e s f e l t c a l l e d , s o , o n c e a g a i n , as t h r o u g h t h e many y e - e r s , I must a l o n e p r e p a r e t h e ways o f the r i t u a l . So soon i t seems e a c h y e a r p a s s e s and t h e h i g h t i m e o f t h e summer c o me s . I prepare, I cleanse, I i n i t i a t e , and t h e n t h e l o n e l i n e s s a g a i n , and no one comes t o h e l p . No o n e , i t s e e ms , h e a r s t h e c a l l t o t h e f o r e s t f a t h e r . W e l l , no m a t t e r , t h e t i m e f o r l o n e l i n e s s and s e l f - p i t y i s over for a w h i l e . I h a v e t h e i n i t i a t e s t o p r e p a r e f o r and t h e r e I s much w o r k , and mor e p r a y e r t h a n e v e r I s h a l l g e t t i m e f o r . I we n t b a c k y e s t e r d a y t o t h e f i e l d s by t h e l a k e , and s a t by my s p e c i a l t r e e , w a i t i n g f o r t h e t h o u g h t s t o come t o me. ! did n o t know y e t w h e r e 1 w o u l d b u i l d t h e s a c r e d t e n t o f l e a v e s and y oung t r e e b o u g h s , n o r had I y e t f e l t t h e s u r e n e s s o f who w o u l d be e l e c t t h i s y e a r , f o r i t seems a l l t h e s i g n s a r e m u d d i e d , u n Â c l e a r t o me e v e n a t n i g h t when my s e n s e s a r e l e a s t a s s a i l e d by t h e t h o u g h t s and d o u b t s o f t h e v i l l a g e r s . Oh, I know t h e y m i s Â t r u s t me, f e a r I am t e a c h i n g t h e i r boys a l l w r o n g . But some o f t h e m, t h e o n e s who a l m o s t h a v e t h e t o u c h , t h e s e , who t h e m s e l v e s w e r e t o u c h e d by me i n i n i t i a t i o n , t h e s e s h o u l d know b e t t e r . I c a r e i f some boy f e e l s s t r a n g l e d by t h e c l o s e n e s s o f wh a t goes on w h i l e we a r e i s o l a t e d up h e r e , g i v e n f r e e r e i g n ( a s l o n g as I do n o t go " t o o f a r . " And t h e h o n o r g u a r d o f p a s t i n i t i a t e s i s w a r n e d by t h e v i l l a g e e l d e r s t o b e w a r e I do not transgress). How h o n o r e d , t h a t t h e y f e e l I w o u l d w a n t o ne o f t h e i r p e w l i n g b o y s , when o n l y t h e c o m p a n i o n s h i p o f one who i s c a l l e d as my e q u a l i s f i t f o r my l o v e . Ab ou t t h e n o o n , when t h e a i r was war m and t h e g r a s s d r o ws y i n t h e b r e e z e , I d e c i d e d t o q u i t my t r e e f o r t h e c l e a r w a t e r , t o c l e a n s e m y s e l f and p r a y a g a i n . I l o o s e d my t u n i c o f c o o l w h i t e w o o l , l a i d i t a s i d e , and e n t e r e d t h e w a t e r . C o o l n e s s t o u c h e d my t h i g h s , c l e a r e d my h e a r t , and as I s a nk b a c k w a r d i n t o g r a t e f u l water I le t myself f l o a t . . . . Smoot h g l a s s y r i p p l e s t h r o u g h my f l e s h , c a r e s s i n g , f r e e i n g . T u r n i n g my s k i n t r a n s p a r e n t , one w i t h t h e w a t e r and t h e mood o f t he sun. G l a n c i n g o f f r i p p l e s , s i n g i n g i n my e y e s , t h e a l l p o w e r f u l sun o f my d a y s . Re l a x e d , r e a c h i n g out to touch I f e l t t h e s h o r e s , sun on c l o s e d e y e s , e a g l e w i n d s o a r i n g a b o v e a h i g h c l o u d l e s s s k y , and f a i n t l y , f a r a w a y , t h e v i l l a g e s c r e s c e n t a g a i n s t t h e f o r e s t , f a c i n g o u t w a r d t o p l a i n s and m o u n t a i n s . Not f e e l i n g l i k e i t , b u t k n o w i n g my t o u c h i n g was e s p e c i a l l y h i g h , so r e l a x e d and e f f o r t l e s s , I r e a c h e d and t o u c h e d f o r t h e i n i t i a t e s , g a t h e r i n g t h e i r v i b r a t i o n s f o r knowi ng t h e i r t i m e . So f ew t h i s year. An i n s t a n t o r t w o , and I had c i r c l e d e a c h i n my m i n d , and knew w h i c h I w o u l d t o u c h . . . . I w o u l d be g o i n g t o t h e v i l l a g e s s o o n , i n my new r o b e oY t h e g r e e n s t r i p e , and t h e v i l l a g e r s w o u l d know t h e t i m i n g had a p p r o a c h e d f o r t h e i r s o n s . I woul d t o u c h . B u t , f o r now I c o u l d f l o a t , l e t go my c a r e s and p l a n n i n g s , s e nd o u t my own p r a y e r s s e l f i s h t h o u g h t h e y m i g h t b e , a s k i n g f o r a compan i o n . 66

< 30 o —JCO

I awok e t o s h o r e n o i s e s f l o a t i n g a c r o s s t h e w a t e r a b u t ? w i t h sunflies. I had f l o a t e d f a r o u t , s a f e i n t h e d r i f t t r a i n i n g o f my f a t h e r s . B i r d s f l y i n g t he r u s h e s , c a l l i n g in a n x i o u s t o n e s . Someone was a p p r o a c h i n g , o r had j u s t g one by. I c o u l d n ' t be sure w i t h o u t t o u c h i n g : a h , my " l i t t l e 11 p r e _ i n i t i a t e f r i e n d , t he one who b r o u g h t me w i l d b e r r i e s s we e t w i t h s u n , i g n o r i n g p e r h a p s I was a f o r e s t f a t h e r use d t o f i n d i n g f o r m y s e l f . But t h e s e b e r r i e s we r e a l w a y s s w e e t , and I had w o n d e r e d w h e t h e r he had cj i f t - . , or p e r ha p s t he c a l l i n g . Onc e , c u r i o u s , and a l i t t l e a f r a i d ( l wtr. l o n e l y a t t i m e s by m y s e l f i n t h e w o o d s ) , I a s k e d h i m, l y i n g i n t h e ' s u n , d a p p l e d by l e a f s h a d o w, i f I c o u l d t o u c h h i m i n t h e s p e c i a l way o f t h e f a t h e r s , t h o u g h he was n o t y e t r e a d y f o r i n i t i a t i o n . S h y l y , eyes h i d d e n , he n o d d e d . I a s k e d hi m t o l o o k i n t o my e y e s , r e l a x . Open he l o o k e d a t me, and I f i l l e d m y s e l f w i t h h i m , w i t h e v e r y b r e a t h and p o r e o f h i m, and t o u c h e d , s o f t l y as mot h w i n g on moon n i g h t , and t h e w a r mt h o f hi m was n e a r and d e e p . I c l o s e d my e y e s and f e l t t h r o u g h h i m , t a s t i n g t h e b e r r y on h i s l i p s and t h e q e n t l e b a t t i n g of his h e a r t . I f e l t h i s powe r o f g i f t s , b u t t h e r e was o n l y h o l l o w wher e c a l l i n g s h o u l d be. I f e l t his not"Spoken a wa re n e s s a t s a r r o w o f t h i s c a l l i n g t h a t was not t o be h i s . Before I c o u l d w i t h d r a w I f e l t h i s h a l f - t o u c h on my s o u l , a s k i n g . And I knew t h e n he w o u l d a s k , when I was w i t h m y s e l f a g a i n , wha t I d i d n o t w i s h I had t o t e l l h i m. Truly. I f e l t as t h o u g h t h e w o r l d was mo c k i n g me f o r h e r e was one who l o n g e d and y e a r n e d f o r t he c a l l i n g , f o r d e e p s h a r i n g , and w o u l d n o t h a v e i t . Be k i n d t o h i m, I p r a y e d , as I w i t h d r e w . Though t h e sun was wa r m, I f e l t c o l d as I a l w a y s d i d r e t u r n i ng t o a s i n g l e b o d y , a s i n q l e s o u l . Now i t seemed t h e sun d i d n ot s h i n e , but was h i d d e n b e h i n d sad g r a y c l o u d . I l o w e r e d my hea d as i f t o w a t c h some h u mb l e b u g p u s h i n q t h r o u g h t h e g r a s s . I w a n t e d t o h o l d h i m, c o m f o r t hi m as s o m e t i m e s I had i n i t i a t e s , a n y t h i n g r a t h e r t hai . b e t r a y w i t h e y e s my f e e l i n q s . I f nothing e l s e , my t r a i n i n g w o u l d g e n t l y f o r c e me t o l o o k a t h i m . So, b r e a t h i n g d e e p l y , t o c a l m m y s e l f and a l l a y my a c h i n q , I raised my e y e s . In t he f o r e s t a b i r d c a l l e d . " S h a n , you know I c a n n o t t e l l you o f g i f t s b e f o r e y o u r t i me o f i n i t i a t i o n , b u t i t i s a l l o w e d me t o t e l l one who a s k s w h e t h e r I h a v e t o u c h e d upon t h e c a l l i n g . Much I f e l t w i t h y o u , but not t he c a l l i n g . I know you s e e k i t , b u t I know no c o m f o r t i nq w o r d s . I can t e l l you n o t h i n g y ou a l r e a d y know. The f o r e s t c a l l s y o u , b u t n o t as t h e c a l l comes t o me. The f o r e s t i s g e n t l e w i t h y o u . T h i s you k no w, and I t a k e j o y i n s h a r i n g t h a t b o u n t y w i t h y o u . " I h e l d o pe n my a r m s , and Shan moved t o me, w a r m t h and s a d n e s s f l o w i n g t o g e t h e r w i t h me as I h e l d h i m. Hi s t u n i c was l i g h t , h i s s k i n s moot h s o f t n e s s o f t h e y o u n g . I h e l d h i m. h i s t e a r s f l o w i n q i n my e y e s .

" Ho , s we e t b e r r y b r o t h e r , wha t b r i n g s you so n o i s i l y ? " I c a l l e d , g l i d i n g t o t he s h o r e . " W i l l you j o i n me?" Fr om t h e c o o l d e p w a t e r s I was n o w i n t h e s h a l l ow s , w i t h mi n no ws p l a y i n g n i b b l e f e e t , d a r t i n q b a c k t o w a t e r g r a s s e s i f I moved t o o q u i c k l y . The wa r ms un w a t e r p l a y e d o v e r me, r e l a x i n g me i n t o t h e r i p p l e d b o t t o m . The w a t e r i s war m h e r e , and w i l l t a k e t h e e dg e o f f y o u r r u n n i n g . " 'Father, I w uhi l i k e t o , b ut I am w a n t e d b a c k , w i t h an a n s w e r ." " T h e n i s i t t h e Co u n s e l t h a t w a n t s an a n s w e r ? Come, come i n w h e r e we can t a l k a t p e a c e . I w i l l show you a s h o r t way b a c k t h a t o n l y a f ew h a v e e v e r k nown. Come, t h e w a t e r n e e ds y o u . " Ar e you s u r e I can s t i l l g e t b a c k by t h e t i m e t h e y e x p e c t me?" "Yes. Now, i n w i t h y o u ! " I w a t c h e d hi m s l i d e o f f h i s s h o r t t u n i c w e l l - w o r n w i t h c h i l d play. B e n e a t h , h i s s k i n was s t i l l t e n d e r - y o u n g , b ut ma n - h a i r a l r e a d y g r o w i n g , and h i s m u s c l e s moved and r i p p l e d w i t h new g r o w i n q and s t r e n g t h . Soon he w o u l d be c h o o s i n g , and t a k i n g on manhood Wl t h j t etJt t h e j o y o f t h e w a t e r was s t i l l t h a t o f a y oung b o y , p l u n g i n g b e l l y d e e p at a r u n . T h r e e f e e t o f w a t e r i s e v e r enough f o r a b o y , and w e l l e n o u g h f o r most men, who f e a r t o go b e y o n d s h o u I d e r d e p t h b e c a u s e t h e y c a n n o t f e e l e a r t h f u l l and s o l i d b e n e a t h t h e m, and c a n n o t t r u s t t h e w a t e r t o s u p p o r t t h e m. But t h i s l a d woul d l e a r n d r i f t f l o a t i n g , I was s u r e . A l l t h e h a i r s o f hi m w e r e w e t , t h i s Shan Swe e t B e r r y , and he s p l a s h e d l a u g h i n g a t me, s e t t l i n g by my s i d e . What i s so u r g e n t t h i s b o y , n e a r l y man, must r u n , d i s t u r b i n g t h e b i r d s he i s so a t One w i t h ? " S o , y oung b r o t h e r who g r o ws so f a s t o u t o f l i t t l e b o y , o u t w i t h i t , wha t does t h e C o u n s e l w i s h ? " "How do you know my me s s a g e i s f r o m t hem? And y o u ' r e r i g h t , t h e w a t e r i s f i n e t o d a y , good f o r s h a r i n g . " ' T h e r e a r e w a y s , t r a i n i n g m o s t l y , t h o u g h h e l d i n awe by so many. How do you know w h i c h b e r r i e s a r e t h e s w e e t e s t ? It's somethi ng l i k e t h a t . I t ' s l e a r n i n g , one way o r a n o t h e r , w h a t we must l o o k f o r t o know w h a t t h e a n s w e r s a r e . So, a g a i n , w h a t do t h e y w i s h t o k n o w ?" He d r i f t e d c l o s e t o me, t o u c h i n g me e a r n e s t l y on t h e c h e s t , s e n d i n g l i t t l e t r e m o r s t o my h e a r t . ' " T h e Counsel o f E l d e r s wi sh t o e n q u i r e o f t h e F o r e s t F a t h e r why he has n o t v i s i t e d t h e v i l l a g e s t o s i g n i f y t h i s y e a r ' s i n i t i a t e s , f o r s u r e l y he i s a l r e a d y a w a r e t h a t t h e sun t u r n s t o w a r d i t s h e i g h t , and t h e i n i t i a t i o n must be accomplished. That's all I was t o l d , e x c e p t t o m e m o r i z e wh a t you t e l l me, and t o h u r r y bac k w i t h i t t o t h e Co u n s e l c h a m b e r s , s t o p p i n g n o w h e r e , o r I w i l l s u r e l y be b e a t e n . Oo you t hi n k t h e y mean i t ?" "As s u r e l y as t h e y b e l i e v e t h e y c an c h a n g e t h e w o r k i n g s o f t h e f o r e s t t i m e s , t o b r i n g t hem i n t o r e g u l a r i t y . T he y no l o n g e r u n d e r s t a n d p e r f e c t l y the t i m i n g s , the s u b t l e t i e s o f the y e a r s . They f e a r t o l e t t h i n g s o t h e r t h a n men c o n t r o l t h e m. T he y mean w e l l , b u t t h e i r h e a r t s a r e g r e e d y f o r e a c h moment t h e y can c a l l theirs. But t h i s i s n o t t h e a n s w e r t h e y w i s h , n o r i s i t t h e one you s h a l l q i v e . S h a n , k e e p t h i s i n y o u r h e a r t : k e e p y o u r own c o u n s e l , o n l y b e n d i n g o u t w a r d l y i f you mu s t ; be t r u e t o y o u r g i f t s and t h e y w i l l s h i n e w i t h i n y o u . T h a t i s my g i f t t o y o u , S h a n , f o r t h e t i m e o f i n i t i a t i o n is c o m i n g , and I must be a l o n e t o p r e p a r e . T e l l t h e E l d e r s t h i s , i f t h e y must h a v e an a n s w e r u n t i m e l y , f o r I w i l l n o t r e f u s e t hem t h e i r p l a c e : ' As i t has b ee n and as i t s h a l l b e , t h e t i m e w i l l be a t hand when t h e F o r e s t F a t h e r a p p e a r s . 1" " B u t , t ha t is the r i t u a l ans we r ! " "And i s t h a t not t h e b e s t and s a f e s t a n s w e r f o r a l l ? The y c a n n o t f a u l t you f o r me mo r y , n o r me f o r s p e e c h , and t h e y t h e m s e l v e s s h o u l d know i t i s t h e o n l y p r o p e r a n s w e r , e s p e c i a l l y t o t he i m p a t i e n t . Now s m i l e , f o r m e . " So s a y i n g , i l i f t e d h i s c h i n , l o o k i n g i n t o s m i l i n g e y e s b r i g h t as c o p p e r p e t a I s . We w e r e s t a n d i n g now, on t h e f i r m b o t t o m , w a v e l e t s l a p p i n g a g a i n s t us as we s m i l e d s o f t l y t o e a c h o t h e r . War mt h and d e s i r e mi x e d i n t h e d a n c i n g s u n l i g h t . I could f eel his d e s i r e r i s i n g w i t h i n h i m, t o u c h i n g o u t t o m e , t h e n h a n d s i n my b e a r d and h a i r , b r i n g i n g us t o g e t h e r . I p ut g l a d ar ms a r o u n d h i m, h u g g i n g hi m t o me. 1 a c h e d w i t h l o n g i n g and j o y , f o r I now f e l t c e r t a i n t h a t Shan was o f t h e b r o t h e r h o o d , and w o u l d c h o o s e when Initiate. The moment o f j o y l e f t , and o n l y t h e a c h e r e m a i n e d . 68

Onl y t h a t , and t h e war m d e s i r e i n t h e s u n . I put my ha n ds t o h i s s h o u l d e r s , p r e s s i n g away s l i g h t l y . So many l o o k s t o one p a i r o f eyes! T e a r s w e r e i n my h e a r t as I t o u c h e d t h e h i n t o f f i r s t b e a r d on h i s c h e e k , as I b r u s h e d wa y wa r d h a i r f r o m h i s e y e s . " I c a n n o t , Sh a n. You a r e s t i l l b o y , u n - i n i t i a t e , t h o u g h you gr ow t o ma nhood. And I , a f t e r a l l , am f o r e s t f a t h e r . We a r e not f r e e , you and I , we c a n n o t t u r n r i t u a l a s i d e , t h o u g h we w i s h t he w o r l d woul d me l t f o r w a n t i n g . " He g r e w q u i e t and i n w a r d i n h i s t h o u g h t s , and I f e l t h i s a c he d r i f t i n g on t h e w i n d . He had b e n t h i s head d o w n w a r d , hands a i ml e s s in t he w a t e r . I knew h i s h u r t and h i s h o p e ; some o f mi n e and some o f h i s w e r e m i n q l i n g h e r e , and I must l i q h t e n t h e mood, or a l l t h e f o r e s t must c r y . "Shan?" G e n t l y now. "Yes?" Can one t r u l y be so f a r away? " S h a n , we must g e t you on y o u r wa y , o r t h e Co u n s e l w i l l s u r e l y wi sh to beat you. And I w o u l d n o t h a v e you mi s s y o u r s u p Â per f o r f e a r o f s i t t i n g down! " I c h u c k l e d t o l e t hi m see t he scene in m i n d ' s - e y e . I t o u s l e d h i s h a i r , p u l l e d hi m t o my s i d e as m i g h t a b r o t h e r , and s t r o d e t o s h o r e . "We must g e t you d r y , and t h e n I s h a l l show you t h e s h o r t way as I p r o m i s e d . Out o f t h e w a t e r w i t h y o u , n o w ! " " I t w o u l d be n i c e t o l i e i n t h e sun t i l l I d r y , and t a l k a b o u t t h e f o r e s t and t h e f i e l d s and t h e l a k e . Can you s e e t he s t a r s from h e r e a t n i g h t ? " " N o t as many as on t h e p l a i n s , b u t j u s t as t h i c k and b r i g h t . B u t , h o, you a r e s t a l l i n g ! Come h e r e and l e t me d r y you w i t h my tunic. I t i s b i g , and you a r e n ot so we t as a s l i p p e r y mi n no w! Ah, none o f t h a t s o r r o w f u l l o o k now. T h e r e s h a l l be t i m e f o r t a l k i n g and l i s t e n i n g a f t e r t h e t i m e o f i n i t i a t i o n has p a s s e d for another y e a r . " I g r a b b e d my t i n i c up f r i s k i l y , and r u b b e d hi m b r i s k l y w i t h t he s o f t f a b r i c , t u r n i n g h i m r o s y w i t h t h e r u b b i n g . Now I must be s o l e m n . I g a v e h i m a l a s t s m i l e and h a n d e d h i s t u n i c t o h i m. I w a t c h e d t h e l a k e and sky as he d r e s s e d , t h e n p ut my t u n i c on damp, f o r I , t o o , must be l e a v i n g my l a k e . I p i c k e d up my s t r a p s a c k and t u r n e d t o Sh a n. R e a c h i n g i n my s a c k , I t o o k o u t a s w e e t g r a i n c a k e , and gav e it

h i m.

" T h i s w i l l g i v e you e n e r g y on y o u r way b a c k , and w i l l r e mi n d you o f o u r d a y . T h i s a l s o , " as I t o o k o u t a b r a c e l e t wov e n o f t r e e - b a r k and f o r e s t v i n e , " s o t h a t t h e C o u n s e l o f E l d e r s w i l l know I h o l d you i n e s t e e m as my m e s s e n g e r . Seei ng t h i s , they w i l l know y o u r wo r d s a r e t r u e t h a t you b r i n g f r o m me. T e l l t hem i t i s my w i s h t h a t you r e t u r n t h u s w i t h my a n s w e r . Put i t o n , and l e t us h a v e no wo r d s o f p a r t i n g . You r e me mb e r my a n s w e r ? " " I t is t h i s : ' As i t has bee n and as i t s h a l l b e , t h e t i me w i l l be a t hand when t h e F o r e s t F a t h e r a p p e a r s . ' I w i l l w a i t , too, F a t h e r , f o r your c omi ng . " I b e g a n w a l k i n g , t o g e t a s t r i d e t h i s e m o t i o n , and t o g e t my y oung c h a r g e s w i f t l y on h i s wa y . Soon we w e r e a c r o s s t h e f i e l d s and a t t h e p a t h he must t a k e . I showed hi m a m o u n t a i n i n t h e d i s Â t a n c e t h a t w o u l d be h i s g u i d e . B e n d i n g o v e r h i m , I p l a c e d my l i p s on h i s f o r e h e a d , b l e s s i n g and f a r e w e l l . I s e t hi m on h i s wa y , t h i s boy s m a l l among t h e t r e e s , sun b r i g h t e n i n g a b o u t h i s t u n i c , as i t r e d d e n e d t o w a r d d u s k . Soon i t w o u l d be n i g h t , b u t n ot b e f o r e my me s s e n g e r r e a c h e d home and a wa r m m e a l . I f e l t s m a l l as t h e b o y , s t a n d i n g i n a t u n i c s t i l l damp i n p l a c e s , as Shan d i s a p p e a r e d f r o m my s i g h t . Be k i n d t o h i m , I p r a y e d , and t u r n e d t o go my own way a l o n e . So i t wa s , y e s t e r d a y . I h a v e much t o p r e p a r e , so many t h i n g s t o be done and r e a d i e d b e f o r e I w a l k t o t h e v i l l a g e s ; b e f o r e I can p ut on my new r o b e ; and t h e r e i s no t i m e f o r l o n g i n g s t o be passed. T h e r e i s o n l y t h e t i m e o f p r e p a r a t i o n , and I must p r e p a r e . * *I

not

I cried all night, r e a l l y k n o w i n g wh y ,

u n e x p 1 a i n e d 1y , q u i e t b o d y - r a c k i n g s o b s , j u s t k n o w i n g t h e p a i n and t h e t e a r s .

1’he autumnal equinox was a potent change in energy flow and a nexus of possibilities. We gathered in a magic circle to celebrate & to direct some energy flow back to our Mothers.

I would like to finish this communice with some material, that l have accumulated thru the years - some from my very own hand but most from other people. If any thing is of sufficient interest, please be free to in clude it in RFD. 1 only ask you do not say it is from me BECAUSE IT PROBABLY ISN'T. I don't think any of the authors would be dis turbed to see it in RFD either. ALL OF US SEND OUR SWEET BLESSINGS AND LOVE.

My beautiful sister fairies: The conference seems so far away now. It re surfaces now & then...it is very much a con tinuing reality. We in S. F. are continuing by talking together & with other brothers who weren't: there physically. Some of us are gathering together within magic circles to celebrate the change of the moon & the chang ing of the seasons, and to create a channel of heallng/baianclng energies & (Life/Love/ Llberty/Llte). A channel focusing on our mother earth, her children of sea, land, air fire, the forests. We hope to plant a seed of change in the mind & heart of our enimy brother/sister to give them an option to look at their self & their relationships on all levels, and to make changes in what they are doing. It's a big challenge, perhaps too big. 1 know the wise of europe didn't stop them, most of the prairie are gone. The native people of this land didn't stop the slaughter of the Buffalo, millions of plants & trees & human people as well as millions of animal people. All their spirits live and 1 believe some times they will help us. But 1 think it’s important to gather together on this plane to create channels of energy flowing between dimensions and focus on real pysikal problems as well as real psykic. problems.

Winds Rush, hushed voices murmur among caverns of thick branches. Winter spirits issue from smoky trees. Cold, unsettling dampness descends into the woods, with disappearing sunlight. Winds spiral and shred the dark canopy of scarlet/gold leaves. I Branches left bare in a strange chill Reach toward life lost, in a gesture that welcomes tlie sleep of winter. Mouldering ground rot of fallen leaves

and vines exudes dank death smells. Black/purple eggplants lie in a brown garden bed, ebony fruits of a late harvest. [ Withered irises yield musky pollens for somber ceremony feasting. | Brown mushrooms from the forest floor join the lavender harvest in wet ... warm

MOON

IN V O C A T I O N :

Our l.ady of the Moon, enchantment's queen, And of midnite, the potent sorceress, 0 Goddess from the darkest deep of time: lanna, Ysat, Hoi da, Satin, Cvbele, Ceres, K i! Your power we invoke to aid us here! Your Moon, a magic mirror, hangs in space, Reflecting mystic light upon the earth, And every month your three-fold image shines. Mistress of magic, ruler of the tides Both seen and unseen; spinner of the threads Of birth and death and fate: 0 ancient one. Nearest to us of heaven's lights, upon Whose shoulders nature is exalted, vast And shadowy, to farthest realms unknown, Your power we invoke to aid us here! 0 Goddess of tin1 silver wheel, that shines In magic rays thru deepest woodland glade. And over sacred and enchanted hills At still midnite when witches cast their spells. When spirits walk, and strange things are abroad: By the dark cauldron of your inspiration, Goddess three-fold, upon you thrice we call: Your power we invoke to aid us here!

A PRAYER I 0 ancient horned one i Provender and power are thine. : â&#x20AC;˘ Hear and answer Gracious Goddess, Grant us laughter,^wit and wine. ! Descend on us, 0 thou of blessings. Come among us, make us glad. Thou art chieftess of all creation, Why, oh why should we be sad? Be among us, 0 joyous greenwood Banish heavy-hearted hate. Accept our craft, 0 greatest Mom Let cheerful brightness be our fate.

Dark of night and rising moon, East, then South, then West, then North, To each we sing a witch's tune That calls the ancient powers forth.

C A U L D R O N OF C H A N G E FLOWER OF BONE ARC OF E T E R N I T Y HOLE IN THE STONE

c Yes, I'm a witch. I've stood before The Lord of Death and found him not unkind. I've practiced well the sacred hidden lore; The words of power and the spells that bind And loosen, culled from nature trove, The herbs that heal. But most of all I Have danced naked, free and proud Beneath the sky Unto the Goddess, she who shines above and within. Witch? Yes, I am a witch, for I am free From hope of heaven and fear of hell; No solemn vale of tears Is this to me Earth is my cup of joy, 1 love her well. Seek not to turn me from my destined fate Earth is enough for me And if I burn--I shall not leave her But to earth return To live again and witchâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; reincarnate For 'tis our promise and our firm belief That she who loves us brings us back again; As seeds, once buried, rise again in leaf, Stem, branch and blossom . . . In the summer's rain. Are we less than seeds? But should it be that one life only was our meted spanâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; And power comes but once to any hu-man I'd live it lusty, joyfully and free And be a witch.

TO TURN AROUND EVIL MAGIC Around and around And around to you All the evil that you do! A USEFUL HOUSEHOLD SPELL Black spirits and white, Red spirits and gray, Come ye, come ye, Come ye that may! Around and around, throughout and about, The good keep in, And the ill keep out! 72

Hi, Hey listen, I’ve been perusin' thru many old RFD's, picken' fruit, ya know, and planning for my future and i came across summer RFD 1976. Half of those querried were living in big cities ItTthat time. 1 would guess that many of those city faggots have since come to fulfill their desires to move to the country with the guidance of their brothers in RFD. Like others i have found myself in the big city for a time fulfilling karma and gathering resources to return to country living. l<> those who complain of too much material from city dwellers i would like to say that we all have had needs at one time or another to draw from urban environments what can be gleaned in or der to grow and move on. And we're not all as old as Allan, you know (Just kidding Allan!) As we gain perspective on this and other lives we come to know that the first thirty years or so we need to drift and search for what our true paths really are. And city life often be comes a step on that road. So i want to thank all you country bro thers who have contributed to the evolution of many souls who have had to serve time in "big cities". And i ask that country folks remember that none of us ever live forever In one place and that all of our visions can be important for individual and collective growth. Thanks for the support. Love you all, Dave Kline Gotham Penitentiary 68 E. 1st St., #4F New York, NY 10003

• Hello RFD: I wasn't sure 1 was going to renew my subscription to RFD but the last issue (Fall *79) was very good and I especially apprecia ted the "Gay Life in New England" section since I have lived in rural Vermont in the past and currently live in urban Massachusetts. I don't feel that my comments or suggestion should affect (effect?) RFD since I live in the big bad city and I don’t see the economic possibility of my moving back to the country — it is not really my magazine yet I buy^it and read it and therefore support it. I'm sort of in a dilemma— I’d like a voice— a small voice— in how RFD is edited, yet I don’t feel I have a right to since I'm a city dweller. What do you think? I'm going to resubscribe and wish you luck, joy, and money for a prosperous 1980. (God knows, we need jobs and money to get through the 80’s. There doesn’t seem to be much of either around anymore.) Happy Winter Solstice, Sincerely, Charles Bedard One Corliss Place Cambridge, Mass. 02139

Regarding the last issue: there were an nouncements of gatherings/meetings some as soon as 2 weeks after I received the magazine. I d like to suggest that they be gotten in earlier whenever possible. Perhaps there would be some way to get this message to those who are sub mitting the announcements. There was one ga thering (at Running Water) that I might have been able to get to if I'd known about it ear lier. This is the 1st issue that I noticed this.

Ralph White 428 N. 31st St. Philadelphia, PA

19104

Dear This is a response to Steve Ginsberg's let ter in it20. I support the LAS1S group and what has been printed in RFD. A lot of things that are happening in Araerika's cesspool city can have a direct effect on us rural faggots. I feel RFD should be open to faggots in the city, especially if they are "fantasizing" about living in the country. It's a very tough long struggle for those that don't live in an area like Kalifornia where it's a lot easier to get work-money, there are a lot more faggots in rural Kalifornia to connect with too. Go ahead-cancel your sub scription-1'11 send in the extra dollars to RFD for the loss, although I've barely enough to eat. People in the country are going to have to take the time to fight the facist monster that is destroying the land, water and air. 1 also see a time comming where we might be hunted down and gassed. You call it "political bullshit". To me political bullshit is something written by the white men who came to this country slaugh tering the rightfull natives of this continent or by those same people who write books about systems to govern masses of people. Fighting a death machine is not political bullshit. Burry your head in the sand-the nuclear wastes are seaping into your water, the smog is very near you I'm sure. Pretend it's all so far away. Go read Mother Earth NEWS!!! Kirn Brett ingen Star Rt. 1, Box 3257 Ely, MN 55731

© Dear Readers, Good news from HQs! We finally have enough money to pay the printer and still have a bank balance left...have collected on some large bookstore accounts. Even better news! RFD will probably be moving to the mountains of North Carolina (Running Water) in the spring, where a collective of faggots will take over the more-than-one-person job I've been trying to do (those of you who have not had letters answered, or have received a Xerox copy instead of a letter please accept my apologies!). This does not mean that we no longer need your help and interest in making RFD even bet ter: send a friend a gift subscription, send us a tax-deductible contribution, write arti cles, send graphics... We have recently added many prisoners to our mailing list (having been mentioned in Gaycon Press) and these need to be subsidized. And if you are interested in working on production of an issue, write to ua— either you can arrange to get a group of folks to gether, or perhaps there'll be a group in your area, For the near future, one group In Vir ginia lias expressed an interest, another in the Kentucky-Tennessee area, and Wolf Creek is again interested in doing another issue. Gaily, 74 Faygele ben Miriam, for RFD

RFD,

I have almost finished "RFD 21" and love it! I wish I had a small amount of writing talent to share with everyone, but, alas, do not. As a subscriber to "Mother Earth News" I am most unhappy that they turned their backs on us. I'd like to see some "Mother" type ar ticles about survival in the boonies (and in suburbia) written by fellow RFD'ers. I'd also suggest that every RFD'er get a card off to "Mother" around Christmas to let "Mother" know how huge her gay readership really is, even if we only see an occasional copy of M.E.N. Keep up the greak work, folks. We are reaching each other and RFD is an important part of our community. Love to all, Bill Breare Box 867 Hicksville, NY 11802

Hello

GreetingsYes, by all means, renew my subscription for the next year, especially since I see you seem to be getting back to the rural aspects. The city 1 can find if 1 drive a mere 50 miles. A word on "WITCHCRAFT AND THE GAY COUNTER CULTURE". The author knows much about history and the Craft but seems to know next to nothing about the Craft and gays. Present modern-day Witchcraft seems to only tolerate Gays. There is very little open acceptance, even though there is a growing movement within the Craft for acceptance. But in the over-all picture, Gays in Witchcraft are just as much discrimin ated against as in the "straight" world. In one coven I know about a Gay is "permitted" entry into the Craft, given the first lessons, but is only allowed to advance to a certain de gree. She/he is not permitted into the priest hood. That is only one example. I, myself, have not had any open discrimination against me, but I was the only Gay in my coven. During the Samhain seminar 1978 in Albu querque, NM I introduced the resolution that there be no discrimination against a person be cause of their sexual preference. It was passed and accepted by the Church of Wicca As sociation as a by-law. However, as each mem ber coven of C.O.W. Assoc, accepts or denies each new member according to their own by-laws, I don't really know how much good that did. Bu» even if one Gay is accepted into the Craft, without discrimination, then it did do some good. To be able to achieve balance within a circle is what is required. There are many different traditions of which I only know of a few and I speak of those only. Blessed Be! Ad inan P.0. Box 703 Leander, TX 78641

RFDt

We have read the last three issues and discuss them from cover to cover. The basic idea of RFD is great a journal for gay men liv ing in the country. Why not keep it that way. With more articles on true country living the how too's, the what for's. We will help all we can. First to what we don't like, articles on anti nuke or women. Articles not pertaining to gaymen's country living. Their are plenty of other magazines that write on those issues. How about some articles on best way to buy country land, building, gardening around the country, best vegetables for canning and keeping, root cellars, wood stoves, fire wood, chain saws, rabbits, chickens. Just anything on country living and survival. Country guys always have lots of ideas. Sure would love to see some country ideas. Prisoner's Page would be fine if it would be kept to prisoners who are country gay men and want to meet and return to country life. lust a thought but wouldn't it be nice if we all would judge ourselves instead of others and learn to love and be loved. We must be true and honest to ourselves and others, face life as life is, no dream world, know what we are doing. Above all learn to work together in harmony. Ne need to what the word love really means. We would like to contact a gay community where every one has their own home but at lease try to work together. Any communities? OR? is their any gay guy's who would like to pool what money we all have and buy a place for country survival and beat this inflation or comming depression. F. J. Barnes Happy Acres Box 52 Alderpoint, CA

95411

bBCHUOODS bW HOOD

My first memory of an attractive man was during my fifth year, when I saw my fourteen year old neighbor (the only other boy in my lit tle town) go walking past my house, shirtless. I loved his body for years, secretly, watching him and his every muscle and move. Rural areas make for unusual circumstances, and the very circumstance of being the only small boy in a small town had its own rewards and hazards. The rewards were attention, even camaraderie, from the older folks, sharing their ideas, opinions. The hazards were more numer ous. First and foremost, 1 was the only one available to pick on, and so I was the favorite to pick on constantly. One old man delighted in holding me down and pulling ray nipples every time he caught me shirtless. Another "kindly" old troll always hung around the only little grocery store in town (I would have sworn at age five that he lived there, waiting there just for me), and whenever I would walk in, my father be side me, he would stop me for his little game. The game consisted of his pulling out his pocket knife, reaching down into my cut-offs and grab bing me by the balls saying "I'm going to cut those off and get rid of them for you" and then he and my father would nearly roll in laughter. Of course I would laugh too, a sick little laugh, so as not to let them know how terrified I was of their game. The fear came from their game and an event of the same Summer. The only other child in my entire town of 98 people was a girl, one year older than myself. One day while playing some game or other with her, I undressed her, washed her clothes in a water hole, and to my horror discovered that the mean old troll had al ready gotten to her. So, in my five-year-old mind, I believed that she had been bad, the old man or someone else had castrated her, therefore she was a girl! That was the difference then, be tween boys and girls— girls were just boys that had been bad and had received their punishment.

Needless to say, I was a perfect child, gave no one any trouble, never stole, lied, or did things I wasn't supposed to. I didn't even think bad thoughts and that was to be a problem in itself, later. Coming from a rural area, I was privileged to experience a one-room school for my first three years of school (although I was the only kid in my class), along with outhouses, a big school bell, two mile hiking trips to other near by schools for all-day baseball games, etc. etc. (I graduated from high school in 1964, so this happened not that long ago, just a VERY backwoods area). This education system came equipped with a travelling music teacher, coming to our school two afternoons a month for a two-hour session of singing while he played the piano, always ending with my constant request for the "Chariot Race" and his playing it like it was the "I2th Street Rag". I loved that man and his music. Actually I adored him, to be truthful. With the fourth grade, the elections were over, bad feelings were still high and the school district had "consolidated"— been voted "in" by a neighboring town against our will, made to pay taxes and go to their larger school. Also with the fourth grade were boys, nearly as many in our room as there were kids in the entire school were I came from. Everyone did everything together, including go to the bathrooms together, and of course, measure each others' cocks. I'd never been afraid in a bathroom, but suddenly someone measuring my cock became a fear-inspiring activity. Why measure? Some secret I didn't know about, or just seeing if everyone had one and if it was normal? What if mine wasn't "nor mal"? No one was going to measure mine. But they did, with their eyes, every time I hung it out at the urinal. The fear grew. In a short time I could no longer bring myself to piss with someone else watching (measuring...remembrances of the troll and his knife). Eventually I was

not physically able, no matter how hard I tried or how badly I needed to piss, to do it with some one watching. i became quiet, anti-social, had imaginary friends, spent my time alone. My seventh and eighth grade years were great. The old travelling music teacher was now my all-day teacher, for both of those years. He was witty, intelligent, interesting. I livened up, became more social, although I tried every scheme possible to avoid playing games with the other boys, since they were still a threat. I really enjoyed those two years, due to the teacher. The Fall after leaving eighth grade for high school, I returned to my old school, my old room for a visit with "my old teacher", who I still admired. It was late afternoon, we were alone, and with two sentences about copulation, ovula tion and sex glands he unzipped my pants, reached into my shorts and pulled out my cock all in one quick move. Here was a man I idolized, trusted, beating me off— my first time at mastur bation as well as my first time with someone else At no point in time did 1 ever admit to my doing it for me. I was In total shock. He was self that 1 was gay. I felt it necessary to doing something "dirty" horrible to me, something keep proving to everyone, and myself, that 1 1 didn't understand, and him wanting to know all wasn't "queer". I dated, took out an "c>asy lay" the while if it was "feeling good". 1 was too at about nineteen, laid her, except she just laid scared to know. When I came it felt like I was there, like a dumb log. I never got it up for coming all over him. It made me angry that he her, didn't prove myself a man. had taken advantage of my trust. He had just I went off to war, Viet Nam war, became finished wiping me off and was cleaning up the lonely so far away from home, still trying to floor when my fatheV drove up right beside the prove myself a man, still in love with the window where we were standing...my father who pretty boy back home. I met a woman, married laughed at the old troll's castration-type games. to have a companion, one that "proved" I was a No way I would ever tell my father what happened man. She had an affair with a friend of mine, that day. No one would know for years and no one and at age twenty-five I consciously realized would get that close to me again for years. that I craved a man. The guilt, the horror of In high school the restrooms were even more that first thought. 1 was, 1 am, have always crowded, threatening. Gym class was worse. All been, "queer". My wife and I lived together those assorted cocks dangling, all so different, ten years before we divorced, and although the all so intriguing. I became self-conscious even last three years of those ten my wife knew I dressing, rather, undressing. What if I got an was gay or bisexual, we eventually parted on erection in the midst of all that, I would think. very bitter terms. My children are four and They'd know for sure I was liking what I saw, five now, deprived of a father because I ad would they know the terrible thing the music teacher made me do? I was so naive, such a typi mitted I was gay. The children, the house, the cars, the business, all gone now. I'm allowed cal only-child. only two-hour visits with my girls, due to her My Summers were filled with swimming and bitterness and the 750 miles between us. The fooling around doing Summer things. I'd get courts, the lawyers, family and friends, most guys naked at every opportunity, just to see all bn her side. their bodies. It became a game, one I became I'm gay; I'm proud to be, for I ’ve tried very good at, that of getting someone to will the alternatives, I've paid the prices. I've ingly take their clothes off. I wrestled, poked chosen, either in this lifetime or one before, around, but never any sex. Around age sixteen that this life I'll spend loving people re I became very interested in a thirteen year old gardless of race or sex. Love is timeless and new neighbor boy. We swam and fished together sexless and it's taken me 33 years of my life a lot, and one day while swimming in my father's to discover it. Growing up gay in the backwoods pond with my friend's older brother diving off is different than in any place in the world, but the other end of the boat, the thirteen year old I'm not sorry that 1 experienced any of those pulled his very hard cock up between my toes in things. the water. I got into the water and we played I grew up in these beautiful hills, left around, attempting to fuck each other, while them for city life, city people, came out keeping the very near-sighted brother diving at the other end of the boat. I was scared to death, there, then returned to the land where I'd al ways been out, just never knew it. I’m home felt guilty, but enjoyed it. On other occasions now, in the backwoods, searching out others he would try to talk me into giving him a blow who are trying to come out, making it easier job, and though I fantasized about it, I couldn’t maybe, for them than it was for me. bring myself to do it. The closest we came was Jim Long nearly two years later on a camping trip, played around a lot, talked some, and finished off with a beat-off race. I fantasized about him for a couple of years, yearned to complete what he had 77 started.

MICHAEL

Each night as I go to my bed The thoughts of you crowd into my head I cry out to your love in moments of passion Pure ecBtacy relived...alone. To be loved by you, to be touched with respect For being trusted and then able to expect That trust, that love, that friendship to grow Into a lifetime, as long as you care These moments in time with you I'll share.

My weeks of days Turn into months of years. Time heals all wounds? Then, what heals time?

Jim

L ong

OLD HORRORS WITH NEW FACES KNOCKING AT MY DOOR

Don't whisper words I won't forget later. Make love to me in the greys of fall afternoons , then cover me with your body to sleep. Let your warmth drown the screaming in the winds Croraa Waters

FINDING FLOWERS God came down and she was frownin' Said, 'You knowing what you're sowing?" Well, I said, "ma'am" (God"s a ma'am) "I can't rightly say I am; Have a few spare hours Like to grow some flowers. Tried to find some seed Hard to find indeed! " Well, said God, "why ain't you lookin Right there under where you're footin'? I 'spose it'd be a task For you to stop and ask." I looked down & there they were Flowers growing everywhirr!

Patrick Huie

CANADA T ll U m J *

L o ta s o r w s te r c h in q iM p in .

In The Shadow of the Tooth In the shadow of the Tooth An apprentice magioian is going dormant. The cold and snow Are slowing him down. All his lovers have gone south: They can't function in the enow. And he c a n â&#x20AC;&#x2122;t function with out his Vinter Period. Sometimes he's an Anglo jobless pennyless hippie faggot; Sometimes he's an Artist musician genius courting the muse; Sometimes he 's just Another Animal in the woods. Sometimes he's the Apprentice magician going dormant... His mind w o n â&#x20AC;&#x2122;t leave him alone:

(old proverb)

apples are apples plums are plums whats a kiss without a tongue

Who r8 in control? The Magician or the Power?

Sceve Rogers

Suddenly, it starts snowing ... Dan the Jan

Northeast Celebration Buckwheat pancakes and homegrown syrup Much good food. Many great meals Gentle people gathered together Like Hearts finding like Hearts Circles of trust Circles of sharing Circles of touching Circles of caring Songs of our love Praise be, Dear Brothers. David Pfautz

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Vegetarianism is an essential aspect of a feminist consc Meat-eating is violence to our bodies and our psyches. Patrj nda tions are built on violence and domination. "Women struj rkness,/ their mighty bodies changed./ An angry mutant had ■liman race./ His first act was to kill,/ his next act was to ll led his next act was to rape." (Fran Winant, "She Was Calli People who eat eat meat maintain a close link wit! Wt counterculture we live in,. Forced heterosexuality, motherhoj vitude (domestication) for women is very similar to th{ slaughter of animals. Both wimmin and animals are dominat^gl sense of power as well as economic gains. Wimmin pro«|ijm>,, , provide free maintenance (i.e., household chores, s o ^X rJ Ble, care giver, etc.), while animals provide food and .,<£tj4i consumption (some products include: detergent, phot perfumes, shampoos, and other body "care" items, A medicines, vitamin supplements, sports equipme Specieism, like c. is another product of the destructive ive. All these "isms' are brought about lh|^j| ^ h e r . In this case, specieism ■ ■ ■ $ § in imals. (During th« Vie es that Vietnamese people coulti ometimes think animals don't feel p9| fee lii specieism, we sometimes fa etna I % be cause they can reproduce, LIFE OF THE DAIRY ajMfnaturally, bre.< lad they are artificially insemlnajMp | ^ B h f o Q L - I b a a n< [They are fed DES, speed, and othe|‘rw*®ad g r o w # * .fhei pwn to cause cancer in wimmin . m [fed theii own excrement mixed witM :. Fa ( w newsprint, sawdudt, and poMrethv pla th, theii calves are taken away JjBMjg. T y and p they are kept anemic to be soljpgj^ it*colore, The mother cowjjjj^ -jfs jire t never removed. Af/elP m i Ik e a in. again. When she ger rep shipped to slau there's more r .. w She is pi walkway ass with an •She need _ screams of he 'e ing murdered alin (pain poison, iric ■yld) to n will stay wit ;> slaugh tc [proc has stopped Just bef f she i s knocked with a pipe to make | s; s h e ' s h o i s t e d up feet are attached to me (Doesn't this sound reminiscenl ’ay wimmin are depicted f&phy?) Then her is slashed and she bleeds to death. ^ ^ ^ V i m e s she's not unconsciou it on the head. After slaughter, s h e ^ ^Hnjected with sodium nitrate godiura nitrite (known to cause cancer) a^^^eservatives, and red dye to tain the red color. If she wasn't injected with dyes, the meat you buy i store would be green or gray. She is then kept in cold storage until flesh putrifies (becomes tender)— then sent to supermarkets to be sliced a neatly wrapped in toxic cellophane packages to be bought, fried, boiled, :aked or broiled before eaten.

n,h o, Till-. HEN. IU'iis, a s •! ' >s rows, are fed and injected hor mones and speed for unnaturally rapid growth. Hens are kept three to a 24 slanted wire rage— debeaked and deelawed so they won t kill each other. Ihe canes are slanted because in their captivity they instinctively break their eggs. They are kept in 24-hour artificial lighting because they only repro duce in the daytime. (What does this say about our own cycles when most of us live and work in the cities under fluorescent lights and are never in complete darkness?) Sometimes when hens are removed from their <'av.es their feet have to be ripped oTf because they’ve vrown around the wire. When old or cancerous,hens are sent to slaughter for consumption. The ways that cows are given electric shocks and hormones is similar to people being given shock treatment and injected with thorn/.ine in psychia tric institutions and prisons. The small confining chicken coops where the chicken lays her eggs can be compared to the small houses where wimmin are kept isolated to reproduce. The storybook image we have of cows grazing in a green field is not real in this age of cow factories, where cows are kept in small stalls inside buildings. We're all aware (or in transition) of the blatant and subtle forms of sexism all around us, and the violent forms this sexism takes. W e ’re be coming aware that wimmin fear rape all their lives, no matter where they live, what class age, or race they are. It's important that we become aware of the violence perpetuated on our non-lmman sisters as well. And aware that when we eat non-human animals, we are consuming the hormones, the speed, and the violence from the slaughter..."that we are the living graves of dead animals"— (Isadora Duncan). People are not carnivores. Our bodies are not designed for flesh-eat ing. Carnivores have intestines three times the length of their body to move the quickly-putrefying flesh through their systems. Our intestines -ire 12 times the length of our bodies. Meat can remain in our systems lor up to seven days. We do not have claws, fnags, or an acidic stomach as carnivores do. Our teeth arc not designed to tear flesh, like a cat s. Also, people need to cook their meat, flavor it with onions, salts, etc. Could you kill an animal and eat ir with the blood still pumping through its body? That is what a true carnivor does. As an example, cats are attracted to the smeH of blook--but not fruit. "Judging by the way in which the political implications of vegetarian ism are ignored, one would think that there are no connections between sexism, meat-eating, the raising and killing of animals for food, the conversion o< female animals into milk and egg factories, and the starvation of Ihird World countries." (Carol Adams, "The Inedible Complex ). We can t visualize a feminist future with war machines, A-bombs, or slaughter houses. Transition diet information can be obtained by sending ^ 1.Sf) to Vegefem, P.0. Box 33450, San Diego, CA 92105. n "If you are not part of tie solution, ywa are part of the problem.

THE NESTLE BOYCOTT

— reprinted

from

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D o n 't b uy any at th ta a p ro d uc t!

O b fl't b u y any * t tb e ia p ro d uc t!

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Nesiie Chocolate trestle Cookie Mines Puce s Chocolates rat. House Chocatate Crups Mescale Taster s Choice jf OeCai Cam s Coftees Sunrise Co»e* Pern Code* SuDsutute M e Mesrea 7

Ketker

James Ketler 4 Son. ltd . lancome Cosmetics lonax Skin Care Products Contique Lens Cleaner l oreal Cosmetics

CRUNCH NESTLE QUICK! N e s t l e i s a S w i s s - o w n e d c o r p o r a t i o n whose s a l e s o f i n f a n t f o r m u l a i n A s i a , A f r i c a , and L a t i n America c o n t r ib u te to the deaths of thousands of in fa n ts every year. Our o n ly way t o a l t e r t h e i r p o l i c i e s i s t h r o u g h c o n sumer b o y c o t t . R e t u r n unused j a r s o f c o f f e e , t e a , e t c . , to them, w r i t e p r o t e s t i n g g e n o c i d e .

OUIK Souptime Detn Pan. Spring Water Pme Mill Crystal Water los Heimanos Wines Bennper Bros Wines C»osse 4 Stack well Wm*»

IMPACT

impact

1701 UNIVERSITY AV SE V ' .NEAPOtlS. MN 5 M U

170) UNIVERSITY AV SE MINNEAPOLIS MN SS4M

I miss that contact now that I'm liv ing in the city— tho the Wimmin at the Kress store on Canal Street are getting to know me by sight. They just told me that the price of bedspread cotton is going up the first of the year. To me, that's information as valu able as the secret of the popcorn stitch!

THE ART AND PAIN OF CROCHETING Dennis Melba 'son I crochet everywhere. I crochet in the laundromat (also called washaterias). 1 crochet on all varieties of public trans portation. I crochet during boring political meetings. I can crochet and: watch television, listen to the radio/phonograph, have a conver sation, smoke dope, and/or fully participate in any social activity short of making love. I've never learned to knit for the simple rea son that I've yet to see anything knitted that excits me as much as crochet. But that's only one fairy's vision. Faygele, who knits every where, came up with the following observations during a long debate over whether or not I was going to write this article:

A good instructional book on knitting is done by Sunset— or check your library. It helps to be able to ask someone if the book isn't clear, but you can teach yourself. Knitting or crocheting is good to do at meetings and other "captive" time; it not only helps smokers cut down on puffing away, but you come away knowing you 've accomplished something material. knitting in public is a wonderful con sciousness-raising tool...and it often guar antees that I don't have anyone sitting next to me on long tripe (unless it's the occasion al older woman who senses that I'm a safer male to hang around than most that are found in bus stations). My next project is to spin some Samoyed hair and knit my friend a long-promised sweat er. A tew weeks ago, most timely, I was taught the rudiments of spinning on a wheel, and actually turned out some thick/thin y a m ! Then there'a the image of Madame DeFarge, knitting needles clicking as the French Revo lution "rolls on and heads roll..." Maybe someone could come up with a good article on natural dyes, or one on raising sheep .... There's an interesting aspect to doing any sorta Womyn-identified craft in the coun try. ’lour supplies are gonna havta come from the nearest town. In Arkansas once I lived in a place that had two filling stations and a post office. The nearest town was 15 miles irom our hippie farm (me: token faggot). That's where we did the laundry, repaired the trucks, bought the seed, and did necessary shopping. There was one fabric and one "varie ty" store. The latter had an "art needlework department. I got to know those Wimmim very well. They had never sold yarn before to a male. At first they were resentful, as tho I were encroaching on the only turf left to them by their men: their skill with fabric and thread. But in time, as I shared with them my various projects, their resentment dropped away and we communicated as artists working in a similar medium. They shared their pro jects with me, and it was from these Wimmim that I really learned how to crochet. 82

I clearly hear the criticism, voiced elsewhere in these pages, that RFD doesn't carry enuff how—to articles. Also elsewhere in these pages, the collective putting out this issue has attempted to answer that criticism by saying that we print almost everything submitted and always .any how-to article. Having been involved with RFD over some years, I know this to be an honest reply. Therefore, if one of us has a skill to share, it s up to us to share it thru the pages of RFD. With that responsibility queerly in mind, I am bowing to pressure from assem bled brothers to share with RFD some know ledge of crocheting. I don't quite know how to do this becoz the technique of learning to crochet is so readily available anywhere in America. Every dime(ha!)store has a yarn department that carries a small Coats and Clarks booklet called How to Knit and Cro chet. It used to cost 50c, but it's prob ably $1.25 now. That's where I learned to crochet in the late sixties when I left New York City and moved to the country. And I know of no better or cheaper sourcebook today. I'm aware that some people find it difficult to learn a skill from a book. Over the years I've helped others acquire the technique of crocheting becoz our paths were crossing. If we could all get together, we'd have a grand sewing circle! In the meantime, persevere. Start with medium thick yarn and a largish hook, say size H, I, or J. The largish hook and thickish yarn will en able you to easily recognize the stitches you're learning. Once you recognize the stitches, learn what they will do, and see what happens when you combine them— then you’re off and running. Myself, I need some written-down (at minimum; usually there's also a pix) pattern to get my imagination going. And that’s come for me after years of faithfully recreating patterns stumbled across in craft magazines at the grocery store. I once learned to crochet with a companion who, after his first simple project (a scarf, I think), has never followed a pattern since and who spins beauti ful majik. If the art and pain of crocheting speak to your soul, then persevere. The re sult can only be Fairy Majik. The "pain" of crocheting? Well, yes... in a way. Each of us has to deal, on some level, with the pain of loneliness, the pain of living. My way of dealing with that pain is to transmute it into something useful: a shawl, a cape, a hat, a bedspread, an afghan. Colors are symbolic for me, reminding me as they slip thru my fingers of the joy of soli tude and the beauty of life. Crocheting has even got me thru times of no dope. And, brother, you can't knock anything that'll do that for you!

Dear Brothers As the weather cools and days become short I begin to plan my California migration for the months of January and February. Life here in upstate N.Y. slows down as winter ap proaches and my work in landscaping and farm ing grinds to a halt. The calm is good and restful. I can settle in to the cold and snow until after New Year’s, then I seek out the warmth and comfort of my gay friends in San Francisco and find work with green and growing things for a couple of months when all is cold and in suspended animation here in the East. I have a few yards to work on already this year, but I could use some more work in the Bay Area. I can do pruning, cleanup work, replanting, and the reviving of old plantings. I have a degree in botany and a great love for plants. If you need any work done this winter and live in the Bay Area, I am available in January and February. Please write me: c/o Silvia Box 229 1230 Grant Ave. San Francisco, CA 94133 I will get in touch with you when I arrive. Thanks for any information on possible work I could do this winter. Sincerely, Scott Luscombe

Hey, Fellas! 1 enjoy RFI) and Lo learn how the younger generation are thinking and acting, but we older gays have our dreams, Ideals and ex periences too. Let’s get together and com municate . Rod Barker R t #1 Bo x 104 B Lyons, Oregon 97338

Religion has always been the fertile field in which the exploitative and manipu lative rascal could excel. Villians of every category have been conveniently "reborn." Such born-again wolves don the attire of saints in order to intimidate, exploit and manipulate unthinking masses. Is it moral to love for the sake of true love, or is it proper to love simply because one is programmed and spiritually obligated to procreate? Ardna Sivara is the ancient hindoo deity for Gays and Lesbians. This deity is depicted as half male and half female in bodily form. Ardna Sivara serves to Remind heterosexuals that homosexuality is an inescapable fact of life. Heterosexuals must be mindful of God's insistence on diversity. Ardna Sivara also reminds the heterosexual that he (or she) ought to show tolerance and even love and com passion for that which is dissimilar to the self! Perhaps you would be interested in help ing me to establish a Think Tank and Spiritual Retreat. If so, please contact: Darma Lingham P. 0. Box 98 Kerrobert, Saskatchewan Canada SOL IRO P H O T O : M ilo

I would like to share the following incident with those of your readers who may patronize Sears, Roebuck, Inc. Having been for several years a holder of a Sears' Credit Card, this past spring I ap plied to Sears for home improvement credit to finance the purchase of a new roof for my home. Because 1 jointly own the house with another man, Sears required that both of us sign the credit application. Several days after sub mitting the application, Sears informed me that they had denied our request due to "insufficient income." Since I had enough money in my own sav ings account to pay for several roofs, I ques tioned Sears' decision and was referred to sev eral levels of supervisory staff. A high-level supervisor finally acknowledged that credit had been denied becuase it was illegal ffr Sears to approve any co-signed applications. When I asked for a citation of the law in question, the Sears representative admitted there was none: he had really meant a "company policy" prevented the credit approval. Company representatives refused to discuss this policy, and I've yet to see a copy of it, even though I've asked for one several times. You'll notice the "catch-22" here: Sears was refusing to process my credit application without the signatures of both co-owners; how ever, credit was automatically being denied for all co-signed applications. When I pointed this out to Sears, I was eventually told that the pol icy automatically denies home improvement credit only to unmarried individuals. (Although married couples who jointly own property must submit credit applications signed by both partners, these financing requests apparently are not de fined as "co-signed"!) When I asked a Sears Re gional Administrator what I could do to obtain credit for the roofing job, he suggested that I should get a second mortgage on my home, elimina ting the other person's name from the deed! This same company representative frankly admitted that he would not have ventured such a suggestion to a married couple. Throughout the next six months as I tried to get Sears to change their minds about ray applica tion, company representatives made conflicting and inconsistent responses to my inquiries. To verify my suspicion that my application for credit was not being evaluated fairly, I applied for a home improvement loan at my local bank. My appli cation was submitted for an amount 2% times greater than the credit I had requested from Sears. The bank approved the loan in less than 24 hours. When I told Sears about this obviously favorable evaluation of my financial status, they still refused to reverse their original decision, maintaining their own claim of my "insufficient income" status.

It would seem that Sears does not approve of unmarried individuals who have chosen to purchase property together. It further appears that Sears has chosen to enforce this attitude by trying to hid (or at least disguise) this practice by denying applications for other rea sons. Consumers unhappy with this restrictive policy have no recourse but to shop elsewhere. We checked with the Federal Trade Commission; it's apparently perfectly legal for a company to discriminate against unmarried credit applicants "as long as it does so consistently," as marital status (unlike race, sex, etc.) is not among the statuses protected by law. Regular customers of Sears may want to con sider this incident carefully’in deciding whether or not to continue their patronage of this retail store in the future. Jim Struve

Y'ni

push t o o

hard

And now y o u say the tractor is stuck, Caught on stump. You push too hard.

-~-J V.

The stake rack's frame is broken. You hit a ditch when it was loaded full You push too hard. The dining room window has a big crack running through it. You hammered too close to the glass as you put it ! â&#x20AC;˘. You push too hard. The broom handle is spliced together. Nou broke it prying stuff from the bottom of the freezer. vou push too hard. It was time to quit, the sun was setting and we were tired You wanted to get the rest of the floor boards pulled up and we all lost our cool. You push Loo hard. I see a broken tine on the spading fork. I don't even have to ask. You push too hard. I need to have tools that last, work that is careful and well done, projects that don't waste time and energy. You don't see it that way and I don't want it your way. You push too hard. Once we worked together, played music together, shared this house, But now it's no good. You push too hard. Once I thought I could love everyone, find that bit of gold that's in each of us. I tried and now I feel real burned. You push too hard......... on me. Scott Luscombe

Winter Gathering in Atlanta February 8-10, 1980 Info: Lodestar 1422 Iverson Street Atlanta, Georgia 30307 or Terry Barfield 404-897-1491

i w f t m

"It's not just a matter of sex. For me it means a better way of loving people, it means hope for the future." The tide of conversation was rising way above Sam's head, so he did what be always did when confronted with intelligent talk; he changed the subject: "Are we all going to see Boy Meets Boy tomorrow? T hear it's just the best play in town." "I will be there, Sam and LeRoy dears, with my sainted mother." "Your Mom'.? Does she know your story and approve of your brazen lifestyle?" "No...no. Not exactly. I told her it was a good play, and she likes plays. I guess she's pretending that the plot actually has nothing to do with boys meeting boys." Sam laughed and said, "1 can just see it now: boys meets boy and Mom runs smackdab into fairy son, all on Sunset Boulevard.'

LeRoy flashed open a small papered fan to cover his friend's face. "Sam, honey, get faJay from that steamy hot dance floor! Your face is running. Now, look at Miss All-inplace- just-so over here, thht's right, Chris love, look at me when I drop your name. You see, Sam, Christopher here, she's got her make-up taped on!" "Bitch!" Chris’ voice, high and shrill, teased back in mock viciousness. "And just who is it that dyes the hair on her arms? Besides, 1 don't applicate la make-up before going dancing. ft always melts and makes me look like that cake you dumped In the bath tub last year. Then someone just has to call me Mascara Mug or Rougeface." "You've got to stop worrying about appearanee, anyway. It's all illusion. OOOooh! Who is that'!'." Sam crooned and LeRoy looked suddenly hungry as a tail muscular stud strode by. LeRoy's fan fluttered and fluttered keep ing pace with his heart-on. Chris rolled his eyes. "Who taught that otu- to strut? That 'man' doesn't fool me with the butch number and all those Jackie Laianno muscles. f mean, it burns me that he's striking a heterosexist pose, and he doesn't even look comfortable in it!" Sam never understood why Chris couldn't learn the rules and games of society and his own role in it all. "Listen, hon. That is a man, we are 'women.' I intend to find a man and settle down. Isn’t that what you want, too?" "No." Chris said simply. "1 love other queens." "Oh!" LeRoy pretended to be shocked. "So you're a lesbian!" A malicious glint danced on his left eye. Chris frowned in confusion. Why did everybody need to be tagged and catalogued? LeRoy obviously didn’t think much of lesbians, Sam obviously believed that every woman, every queen 'needs her man'; BULLSHIT. Chris wasn't about to play wifey-poo or prefab role player to anyone. "If lesbian means quee.ns loving queens, then ves I'm a lesbian.” Sam looked uncomfortable as if serious conversation was taboo. LeRoy snickered loudly: "Now wait a minute, you can't be serious! You hardly have the proper equip ment to qualify for Lesbianism, sweetie."

The crowd, 90% gay men, milled about in front of the theater. Chris arrived, crammed into skin-tight ditto jeans so constructing that little leg hairs wriggled through the fabric here and there. The black turtleneck sweater and fluffy lavender scarf tied loose ly around his neck made him "positively reek of Gaydom" as LeRoy put it. His mother was a real camp under her looming wig done up in a massive beehive hair-do bustling with red plastic daisies.

The appearance of a real, live understanding-mother-of-a-gay sent ripples of ex citement through the crowd. This wonderful woman was humanity and love in person. Many in the crowd eyed Chris enviously, or even began to seriously consider coming out to their own mothers. However, Chris had not yet informed her that she was an understand ing mother of a gay son, and Mom was confusion itself. "Why are they all men?" she whispered to Chris. "Where are their girlfriends?" "Yoohoo! Christina!" Five bright red fingernails were waving quite clearly in Chris’ direction from across the street. "Christina, darling!" It was Donaldo. His five bright red toenails dashed across the street right up to Chris. Mom stared and stared at his monstrous beehive hair-do, an exact replica of her own except that his red plastic daisies shimmered beneath a thick glaze of dippitydoo. She didn't want to understand what was happening and her mind accordingly did not register the connection my son-Boy Meets Boy-Christina-benailpolished man. Chris saw his mother's shock and impend ing explosion, and realized he had two ways out of this tight little corner: either humil iate Donaldo in order to protect his "straight son" cover, or zap Mom with the surprise news tKat he's gay.

"Surprise" news. He had told his parents when he was 16 that he liked boys but was afraid no one seemed to like boys who liked boys. Mom and Dad were so ashamed of their "freak" kid that they sacrificed Chris' sanity in exchange for a semblance of nuclear family normalcy. "You're confused, Chris. You don't like boys." His father assured him that there were "too many homosexuals in the world," and described in detail how he and his vice squad buddies hunted and arrested gays. When his mother particularly hated a man, he was "probably queer." They laughed extra hard at fag jokes and limp wrists to ease their shame of having a sissy for a son. Chris rea lized who his real loved ones were. No he would not hurt his true friends to protect a "straight" image that was strangling him. A quick throw of the head and: "Mom I'm gay and this is my dear friend Donaldo." Chris and Donaldo kissed each other square on the mouth, hugged and laughed. "Christina, that was wonderful! I've never witnessed a coming-out before. You really hopped off the coat hanger and popped out of the closet, didn't you!" An immense relief and joy radiated from Chris, in contrast to Mom, who mumbled greet ings but looked like a shell-shock victim un til the performance began. No more denials. No more pretenses. Just a whole lot of fanfare. by Steve J. Hamilton

MY BOY MY COCK

that youth he is always giddy each time he comes he acts as if it's his first a fickle stir he is his innocence to the touch even after countless years elastic skin tight sensitive my boy always ready to respond with pleasure always able to stir that heart a bit you may ask, "where is his youth?" he pulls his pants down and fingers it with his hand that's my boy, that's my boy, he sez. my boy my cock he is ready to come out and play spit in your face during the ball game fresh and frisky sometimes moody responsive to the touch thought perhaps he would get old or change in his style years later he is still my boy acts the same now as he did then he never did develop either a sense of time some early some late that's my fickle boy you never know for sure what he is going to do comes early comes late gits up too soon before the man sometimes a bother sometimes plays asleep well, that's my boy my cock 87

LEN RICHARDSON

IN THE ABSENCE OF OUR FATHERS in the absence of our fathers who moved away frightened of the gentle boys who played among the flowers and sang into the wind we've put aside our questions until we found each other in the absence of our fathers who never knew much tenderness who mostly rough and tumbled playing baseball with our brothers while we put aside our questions keeping safe behind the kitchen door

in the absence of our fathers knowing little of a man's love knowing much about his fear we waited, hesitated came out hungry, came out scared still we put aside our questions believing love would vanish if we asked: daddy where you been so long daddy who got you scared of your own soft self you couldn't open your eyes and slay the competition you couldn't open your eyes and take a weapon to war on some vague excuse you couldn't open your eyes and hope for re.spect in a country where blindness has been deemed necessary so a few of us can make it grand while the rest of us dream and suffer daddy you hardly had a chance in the absence of our fathers in the course of repetition in the closing of our eyes we've called each other tricks frightened of the gentle boys who played among the flowers and sang into the wind in the absence of our fathers in the path we named compassion in a blur and trembling to the quick the boys who played in flowers are holding one another are pressing close together and singing to the wind: feAr is separation loneliness and pain love is letting go in the presence of each other love is coming home to the arms of our brothers whose eyes are bright and open whose caring never ends

Franklin Abbott

GOING AWAY - for Rocky (S.F. 1979) The desperate neoness of the bus station at night overpowered me, Such a feeling of loneliness engulfed me as I walked back through the station. I pass the tired faces, a man on crutches, the boys of the night with their hollowed eyes, darkened by too many nights here... still feeling his chest against mine, the ragged corduroy jacket so soft, still remembering the old rucksack, the way his hair hung on his neck so pretty... the Hendersonville dreams in his eyes. There are moments when tears are a hundred pounds of aloneness on your chest and you are swept under the

K IT C H EN OTJEEN *

for the depths of wintertime-soak raw peanuts (or other nuts) overnite then put them thru a food grinder with such things as Jerusalem artichokes or carrots— - add chopped parsley &/or other greens-- seasoning suggest ions? mi so, tamari, kelp, sage,oregano, cayenne.. from Clarence Englebert

CURRIED SWEET POTATOES

CABBAGE FAMILY SOUP an adaptation of a traditional Norwegian recipe

an adaptation from Bengali cooking

Put water to boil, for steaming vege tables and making the sauce.

a) b) c) d)

a) heat ghee, or melt butter b) add spices: curry powder, or: fresh or dried chilies, mustard seed, ground cardamon, tumeric, cayenne, cinnamon, allspice, nut meg, ginger, ground cumin, clove, mace, black pepper c) fry spices

Prepare vegetables for steaming. Use any or all Brassica vegetables: cabbage, turnips, greens, kohlrabi, rutabaga, brussel sprouts, brocalli, cauliflower. Steam vegetables until almost done. Make sauce. For each cup of raw vege tables, make a cup of thin white sauce: 1 tsp oil, 1 tsp corn starch dissolved in water, 1 cup boiling water ('% cup milk powder optional). Continually stirring, heat sauce mixture until it boils and clears. Combine sauce, vegetables, and the wa ter used for steaming. Flavoring: add a pinch each of thyme, curry mixture, and sea salt. Add more to taste. Also add grated or crumbled cheese; stir until cheese melts. This soup is delicate in flavor. Let it cool, then reheat for a more robust taste.

a) add cooked, skinned, shopped tubers to fried spices b) stir and thoroughly heat the sweet potatoes

serve with thin vogurt

both from David L in e r

wash and trim sweet potatoes parboil skin and coarsely chop reserve

AH & frUlfcfr* WORKSHOPS IN ENERGY BALANCING, MEDITATION, AND HEALING thousands who have increased 1 their knowledge of greenhouse grow ing with our complete, inexpensive, home study course. FREE details. Gcowers Associated, P.O. Box 586R.J Calistoga, California 94515.

I seek no payment other than travel and living expenses and a couch or floor to share during my stay. Weekends are possibilities, as is the winter intercession during December and January. Please write or call if this idea seems attractive to you, and we can figure out the least ex pensive way to proceed.

"heteroaexism is a device of mortal mind to enslave us into thinking that creation originates from an egg and sperm." ... from "gay people In Christ ian science?" c/o rodwell 15 Christopher street nyc 10014

Dan Siminoski 1700 S. College Ave. Apartment 24 Tempe, Arizona 85281 (602) 967 - 6587

HOUSE OF THE DAWN HEALING CENTER 2823 North 48th St. suite ft8 Phoenix, Arizona 85008 959 - 5940

MARXIST SPIRITUALITY COLLECTIVE We are a collective of feminists, both women and men, working on developing a dialectical materialist theory of spirituality. We are presently compiling a book: we're soliciting ideas, dialogue, articles, criticisms, analysis, and experience on spirituality, healing, ESP, revolutionary politics and change, and their relationship. Murray Edelman Taj Tellelian 72 Perry #2A 349 Church New York, N.Y.10014 S.F. Calif. (212) 255 - 2636 94114 (415) 863 - 4665

Stop Boelear Power BOONIES '.!! a voice for rural gays "all the great strides that have been made by gays in cities overshadow the fact that little has been accomplished to lessen the pressures keeping rural gays and lesbians from living openly and honestly. In order for BOONIES to have any success in reaching isolated gays a network must form and expand."

Shirt: blue, 100% cotton Inks: red, black To order: Send $6 for each shirt (includes postage and handling). Specify small, med ium, large, or X-large. Allow 2-3 weeks for delivery. All temporarily out-of-stock T-shirts will be back ordered unless you state otherwise. We will notify you of this. Canadian residents add $1 per shirt. Write for our catalog. New Orleans Wiiranin's Graphics Collective 1725 Carondelet St. New Orleans, LA 70130

r.r. #1 Paradise, N.S. Canada - free for the writing (contributions appreciated) 90

BOOKS BRIEFLY NOTED

Brethren / Mennonite Council for Gay Concerns P. 0. Box 24060 Washington, D. C. 20024 will publish four issues of Dialogue every year as time permits and funds come in. so . . .

ATTENTION WEST COAST GAYS!!! Sonoma County Lesbian and Gay Alliance News, if you're not familiar with the

you should be . . . it's excellent, and only costs $5.00 for a year's subscription, write to: Northern California

aleph (poems) by: gabriel (nee gary) lampert box 4455 las cruces, NM

n H 3" =r » re H

30re reQ. tn

Gay Media Project, Inc. P. 0. Box 4801 Ganta Rosa, CA 9b402 FARMSTEADINC WORKSHOP-May 24-25, 1980******* Potential hack-to-the-lander's are invited for a weekend on the farm. We'll cover ways of finding land, raising animals, farm repairs, gardening, wild foods, drying/preserving. Manitwo Farm is a backwoods farm secluded on an Ozark lake, room for tent or harnloft camping. We'll charge a small fee for food, in advance. Send S.A.S.E. for details. Jim and Michael Manitwo Farm Pt. 1, Box 45 Blue Eye, Missouri, 65611 WHOLE BUTTON CATALOGUE — RFD BUTTONS: large (2V) ones with handcolored pansy design-available for $ 1.50 each from RFD BUTTON P.O. BOX 51012 NEW ORLEANS LA 70151.

smaller (1 1/2") buttons, "rfd" and sin gle pansy, purple on pink; 75$ for one, $1.30 for three, postage paid. Available from MILO RT. 1, BOX 98a GASSAWAY, TN 37095. -ANTI-NUKE AND ANARCHAFEMINIST BUTTONS seventeen designs from DONNELLY/COLT P.O. BOX 271 NEW VERNON NJ 07976. 50c each or 15c for 20 ot more; add 10% postage.

some recent snowflakes (and other things) (poems) by: dick higgins printed editions c/o bookslinger p.o. box 1625 st. paul, MN 55116

— MOTHER NATURE IS A LESBIAN and other de signs from WHITE MARE - PRESTON HOLLOW, NY 12469. 55c each, plus tax for NY residents. Write them for complete list.

$3.95

1************************************

a day and a night at the baths

* O ff

to to H-

>-• 3

by: michael rumaker $5.45 grey fox press c/o subterranean co. box 10233 eugene, OR 97440

************************************* 00 rt

O to

O »i

energy, jobs and the economy by: gail daneker and richard grossman alyson productions $3.45 75 kneeland street, // 309 boston, MA 02111

****************************************** swish , a biannual poetry journal subscriptions are $8 ( $5 for single issues) louie crew, editor p.o. box 754 stevens point, WI 54481 ***************************************

love is where you find it a novel by: paula Chri st i an

$5.95

by sanction of the victim (child abuse)

OVER 100 FEMINIST AND GAY BUTTONS— write for list: FERNE SALES AND MFG. CO. BOX 113 TCB, WEST ORANGE NJ 07052. 25$ each (some 50$) discounts for 100 or more.

88003

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$4.50

two publications from: timely books p.o. box 267 new milford, CT 06776

******************************************** my son eric: the story of a woman and her gay son by: mary v. borhek cloth $8.95 the pilgrim press 132 w. 31 st. n.y.c. NY 10001

CIRCLE GUIDE TO WICCA AND PAGAN RESOURCES Six sourcebooks in one: books, periodicals, arts, music, supplies, contacts. Compiled by Selena Fox. Order from CIRCLE Box 9013 Madison, WI 53715 All proceeds from the sale of this guide go to support the work of Circle, a non profit Wicca-Pagan resource center.

After Stonewal1 moved to Saskatoon last spring and we have found some real roots here in the far north. We have also become a mixed (Lesbian and Gay Male) publication, rather rare these days. Our fall issue launched a "Gay Male Fem inism vs. Gay Male Separatism" debate and car ried a feature on a "Lesbian Bill of Rights." Our other major feature is "Grassroots Organiz ing" in Saskatchewan. The unique experience and success of network building in Saskatchewan, touching people in the smallest communities as well as small cities, has produced results wor thy of sharing. We feel an intimate supportive realtlonship has been built with lesbians and gay men in Saskatchewan as well as in Atlantic Canada, Manitoba, Montana, North Dakota, Alber ta, scattered people in all Canadian regions and twenty states. In order to introduce some of your readers to After Stonewall we extend a special RFD rea ders only rate. Our prices will have to in crease shortly. Until March 1, 1980, you can buy a single copy for $1. cash (we pay postage) or a subscription of four issues for $4. All you need do is refer to RFD special. After Stonewall, P.O. Box 7763, Saskatoon, Sask, Canada S7K 4R5

Fifth Annual Foraging Workshops Spring 1980 March 29 6 30, April 26 & 27, «ay 3 F 4. come and spend a weekend in the hollows, hills and fields of Middle Tennessee— share the beauty and useful knowledge of trees, edible wild plants, & medicinal herbs, bring camping gear and food— children wel come. east:$18 per adult; $2 per child,

cash or trade (partial scholarships av ailable!. Please send a Zb deposit to reserve jour place. for more information, including map & directions, plant list, what to bring, and schedule; please write in advance to milo Fit 1, Box 98a, Gassawau , TN 87095 THE INTERNATIONAL GAY ASSOCIATION . .. was formed in Coventry, England in August 1978. Representing organizations in over twenty countries, it promotes the unity of Gay people throughout the world by dissemination of inform ation on gay oppression and liberation. In addition, I.G.A. coordinates politic al actions on an international level which support local and national in itiatives. Its Liaison Office to American Lesbian and Gay organizations was opened on November 26th, at the Gay Community Center, 1469 Church St. N.W. Washington, D.C. 20005 (202) 234 - 6268

CULTURE SHOCK. is harry long and Joseph uher, who after ten years of professional ex perimental and alternative theatre decided to combine their art and their politics to concentrate on ex ploring the gay experience theatrically, the group has proven it's effectiveness as fund - raisers, as well as it's theatrical competence and entertain ment value, for more info, write: culture shock 32 s. prince #6 lancaster, pa. 17603 (717) 394 - 4471

SAY TAPES C A T A L O G Pavenshead Communication Post Office Box 11472 San Francisco, CA 94101 c a g go t B r o t h e r s of the Moon

self-addressed stamped envelope See Steve O'Neil's letter on page 4, for more information about recorded Gay culture!!!! Y eh!!!!

Marcn Oi Washington Ito, Lesbian &G# Rights hey,

DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE MARCH ON WASHINGTON?

"Look at us America. You know us. You see us in your offices, you see us in your schools, in your churches, in your government, in your Congress." But we won't get mention ed in Time or Newsweek, And when your local paper covers this March, don't expect much. Pray for your local radio station. And if your local TV station does anythin/7, be happy. The March on Washington snuck up on me. In the several months before T had been drifting with the mariposas (butterflies) of central amerika there hadn't been a breeze so 1 was ill prepared for the strong wind the great fairy migration had left in its wake. Nashville was drained, as I sense were many other amerikan cities of their vital juices. The March was on. In the hills of Tennessee we waited by the radio— finally catching a quote from Troy Perry, the head of the Metropolitan Commun ity Church— and then the straight news— Pac ifica Radio's hookup with National Public Radio provided two hours of live rally cover age. If you missed it, don't feel alone. Lots of stations ignored it. The following day a dreary article put out by the Associa ted Press appeared in one local paper, fol lowed by a parenthesized blurb of a counter demonstration that would be held. Yuch!!! The New York and Los Angeles Times carried short stories hidden somewhere. The gay media has reported that we were 100,000 strong. The Washington Post said 25,000. Time and Newsweek chose to ignore/black out this whole event. Five specific political demands were made. — The repeal of all anti-Lesbian and anti-gay laws — The* passing of H.R. 2074, a federal bill introduced in Congress which would ex tend coverage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act to gay people — The issuing of a presidential execu tive order banning discrimination based on sexual orientation in the federal govern ment, the military, and federally-contracted private employment — The end of discrimination in custody cases involving Lesbian mothers or gay fa thers — The protection of Lesbian and gay youth from any laws which are used to dis criminate against, oppress, or harass them in their homes, schools, jobs, and social environment.

These were presented to White House aides. Big Deal! However, several senators and congresspeople made themselves available the day after the March. How available, I don't know, but if you would like to show your support for some legislation to be in troduced by Senator Paul Tsongas (D.-Mass.) prohibiting eniployment discrimination against Lesbians and Gay men, drop a line to your senator at the Senate Office Bldg., Wash ington, D.C. 20510. Pouring over the gay media coverage it appears that we were at the March in every incarnation. There were kids with placards reading "YOUNG, GAY AND PROUD"; quotes from Edward Carpenter, "LOVERS OF YOUR OWN SEX, ARISE!"; and ladies you would love to hug carrying signs like "MY SON'S GAY AND IT'S O.K." Many kisses to the "country faggot’ whose sign represented those of us who couldn't be there. A kaleidescople gathering. Feelings of Lesbian and gay separatism seemed to have vanished on October 14th and were replaced by feelings of community and family. That's exciting! It's in this coming together that we are strong— strong enuf to take over the capitol of amerika for a weekend. And strong enuf to be who we are and stop any and all ignorant discrimination. The mariposas might feel a shift in the wind from all this— and then again, they might not. After all, their press is not as "free" as ours. So we had better continue using our freedom, showing our unified strength— or else we might not even read about it when we lose it.

R obin Tyler

Peter

OrtovSkyi

M eg

Gtvltfien

Sky Rose

Alton' G in s b e r g j

"We are moving from gav pride to gay politics. No longer will we tolerate the violence of our enemies, nor the silence of our friends___ We are going to go from a Lesbian and gay movement to a political force in this country.... Listen, amerika. You are going to have to deal with us in the 80's."

Opaninj and -losini quotes from a svac<‘h fioen at t.hr. National Famin', on Washington f o r Lesbian and Gay Itiqhts, Oat. ?1, 107D, bp Artie ikioll, Action V.F. for N.O.W.

Milo, Dimid, Roro, Dennis, John-Fall, '78 My friend tells me, with tears in his eyes, How the wolves of Siberia are being systematically Exterminated by the humans/Russtans and How the lone surviver of a pack Turns on the gun-blasting helicopter In anguish and outrage Attacking 'til it's death. Sometimes 1 feel as though that's what I'm doing; My pack may not all be dead/destroyed but So many have been numbed by a lifetime of Repression; and I'm alone, turning on the life-blasting system In anguish and outrage 'til my end....

-- thanks

to Firefly

in the midst of the current mildness of my life— RFD, a new depressing /job, a constant change in the day-to-day of my collective and personal life— it's very hard to sort out all the feelings and perceptions, to give a "per sonal report” about what attending the March on Washington of over 100,000 Lesbians and Gay Men has meant to me. Clearly, it was an event of monumental and historical signifi cance that few people outside of those who were there can comprehend. The feeling— to look around you, for football-field lengths in everq direction and see nothing and everything but out, open, smiling, grinning, dancing GAY faces— to ex tend your very Self in all those directions — to no longer maintain the unconscious armors of our trained masks— to be out in so many ways— was for me (next to and along with the Faerie Gathering only six weeks earlier) the high point of my life. It's always a wonderful feeling when I'm around a lot of Wimmin, and they were definitely of equal presence with the men. The entire day contained for me a very strong presence of "This Is History"— right now, happening around me, on a global level, on a species level— this was an event marking a point in our progress and evolution toward -- T don't know what exactly! but I have some ideas. Ever since the Faerie Gathering, and in creasingly ever since, it has become very clear to me that "we" are reappearing on the surface of the planet — for what purpose 1 don't fully comprehend. Some of me says it may be that all we'll be able to do is to "witness" the changes— the death/rebirth, the transformation, the probably violent trans formation of this planetary manifestation of Being. Another part of me believes that we are reappearing to be the Wizards and Witches of that transformation! To un-learn/re-move the Hetero frogskins and take on/re-learn the ways of Old Magick. / A triend once said, "Creating New Poli tics is Re-Creating Old Magick!" The ways, beliefs, and world-views of our ancients en abled them to create monuments, cities, aquaducts, and mathematical calculations that contemporary scientists believe only "extra terrestrial" beings could have performed. What has happened is that a worldview based on the worship/deification of the rational, linear, "conscious" has gotten a strangle hold on this planet. All three of the major religions that dominate the world today (Christianity, Judaism, Islam) are of this sort (and are about to annihilate each other and us with them it seems).

And now this is so strange 'cause today I thought about suicide. It seemed too hard, too much a hassle. I guess it's not supposed to be easy! I look around me...try to deal with the realities I see and hear. Last year it was Guyana...this year we have eleven peo ple trampled to death by a mob in Cincinnati — our own Guyana— mass tes-teria. This year we also have one-third of the world's popu lation suffering from starvation, and at the same time that food production is at a record high. And the pope denounces birth control, a woman's right to define her own potential, and the love of 10-20% of the world. I don't know what it all means. 1 do hear that the anti-christ is to appear out of the sky (airplanes) around the world at once (television) and that he/it is supposed to be the "answer," the Messiah until the last moment when everybody Learns they've been mislead. I don't know what can be truer about the pope— besides solidifying the World Catholic church, East and West, into a 1984type megapower. (I expect him to become in volved in a "solution" to the Middle East very soon.) He preaches for the lost, searching souls the vilest (tho very carefully sugarcoated in mystic tradition and "brotherhood") forms of subservience to power and patriarchial values around. And along with the Bear of Russia, the Eagle of the U.S., the sword bearing Lion of Iran, and a host of other biblically prophesied characters, we may very well have the grand transformation before us. I think it's a very important FACT that a week before the March on D.C. the pope ap peared on the Washington Mall— his final mass to the throngs of desperate/transcended souls. "God Bless Amerika." He waved and was gone. Exactly a week to the day later thousands of found souls, we appeared as ONE...we appeared as MANY on the very same place! ATTENTION FAERIES: We've got our work cut out for us. The pope is the busiest faerie on earth. All of us want to be a faerie like that...sort of— the skirts, capes, hats, ritual funny staffs with a dead figure hanging from it. He definitely knew magic — incense, chants, songs, everywhere he goes people clap, wave, cheer, cry. And look at him: he's a FAERIE saying the awfullest things! This abbreviated, very personal vision was brought to you care of the 20th Century, which I hope we all survive.

awareness in gay people of the limpet’, more all-pervasive spiritual source that is at the essence of gaynetm, This, of course, serves the interests of the patriarchal system. The gay spirit springs from a 'place of balance and a passion for equality like the world has never known - ye t! '

When we were born they tried to cover our eyes

Then they tried to tell us wha' to see

We are discovering that did not work For we were born to be free

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There's a gay spirit singing in our hearts £ * V * leading us through these troubled times 6 xvjx P There s a gay spirit moving round this land £

Calling us to a time of open love

When we were born they tried to put us in a cage And tell our bodies what to feel We have chosen to feel all the truth That our bodies do reveal We are no strangers to all the pain that comes with fighting for our love We are the outlaws in the lovesick land Whose crime has only been to care. You run and tell that o l ' patriarch we're no longer blind to his ways You run and tell him we've stolen all the keys To the prison he has made Sometimes it gets too hard to feel all the joy In the face of all the pain we see But there's a healing place within our hearts It's coming alive in you and me 96

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48&49-Photos by Blase DiStefano, Edmund Garron, Allen Page, Grant Lloyd, Jim Clatfelter 50 - Bushman design 51 - Greek 1900-1700 BC; Tswana motif with Eskimo shamans 53 - Block Print by Johannes Lebek 54 - Graphic from Eros in Greece 57 - Exerpts from “ Lavender Express” , printed in “ Gabriel” 58 - Photo by Edmund Garron 59 - Photo by Blase DiStefano 61 - Photo by Blase DiStefano 62 - Photo by Rita Rose 63 - Photo by Blase DiStefano 64 - Photo by Allen Page 65 - Photos by Milo 66 - Shaman Story, copyright 1979 by Ron Sheriff 67 - Tungus Tribe Shaman(Siberia), from Witson, 1705 70 - Drawings by Zhenia Gay: Chiron taught Asclepius all the Arts of Healing; Endymion heard Pan’s reedy music 71 - Art Nouveau graphics 72 - Drawings by Forest Flat 73 - Drawings by Alladres 74 - Drawing by Dale Dearden; Southeastern Indian graphic 75 - Photo by Dave Kline 76 - Photo by Milo; Oaxacan design from Mitla, Mexico 77 - Photo by Milo; Snasazi pottery design 78 - Drawing by Alladres 79 - Drawings by Dan the Jan and Alladres 80 - Photo by Greg Caffey 83 - Photo by Milo 85 - Drawing by Dan the Jan; Photo by Dave Kiine 86 - Photo by Edmund Garron 87 - Drawing by Orora 88 - Drawing by Alladres 92 - Pictograph from Eastern Utah 93 - Photos by Blase DiStefano Photo by Kernnunos 96 - Drawing by Paul Sudds Inside Back Cover; Drawing by Aurora Corona BackCovers by Paul Sudds

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