RFD Issue 128 Winter 2006 by RFD Magazine Gay

The Cup, R obert J. T halm ann & C h ristop her Lucas

ÂŠ P eter G raham e

from Contemplations of the Heart © Peter Grahame meaning. They may reserve the word “ceremony” for events at which participants are deeply in touch with the purpose of their actions, as well as specific ways in which those actions may lead to specific results. Yes, repetition may have its own value, but if we're careless, it can easily become empty.

Elders 2, Hans de Wijin & Ian Green Welcome once again to the quarterly ritual that is RFD magazine. Why focus an issue on ritual? Because it’s important to many of our readers. For example, if an RFD subscriber doesn't receive an issue within a few weeks of the solstice or equinox, we may get an irate email or phone call wondering why. In this case, a fondly anticipated ritual has been disturbed.

Many RFD readers (including this one) dislike empty ritual. Plato quotes Socrates as saying “The unexamined life is not worth living for man,” and I'll update the quote to imagine that he included women too. Indeed, some would say that constant re-examination of our lives and our actions is a big part of what makes us human. So in choosing rituals, we are likely to seek far more than repetition we are likely to seek meaning. Although our rituals may have a basic format which has been used over time, we are likely to insist on adjustments, spontaneities, cre ative angles, to keep them from becoming empty. We are likely to crave updating our rituals every time we do them, to keep them fulfilling.

Of course, rituals take many forms. Mike can't imagine going to bed without flossing his teeth. Megan looks forward to a week ly Sunday movie with Caleb, followed by a pistachio ice cream sundae with sprinkles. Ron’s family goes to the same store every year on the second Saturday of December to choose a Christmas tree. Beth has voted all-Democratic in every election since 1973. These rituals are personal, social, family, or political. What all rituals seem to have in common is repetition. We rarely use the word to refer to something done just once. But the first definition of “ritual" in dictionary.com is “an established or pre scribed procedure for a religious or other rite.” You have to go all the way down to the eighth definition to find one that doesn’t refer to religion - “any practice or pattern of behavior regularly performed in a set manner.” Apparently, in relating to spirit, to higher power, to the larger picture, or if you will, to God, humans often need help from how it's been done in the past.

It is my fervent wish that this issue of our magazine provides inspiration not only to try a ritual which is new to you. but to try it in an adjusted, spontaneous, creative way, a way that emerges from who you’ve been, who you are, and who you are becoming. Dear reader, may all your rituals be as alive as you are in this very breath!

Some people make a distinction between ritual and ceremony. For “ritual”, they may put the emphasis on the repetition itself, and with frequent repetition the act can often lose its original

Mountaine (mountaine admail .com) For the RI D collective l

R ID Winter 2006 07 # 128

Rosaries festivals D e v o t i o n s Vol 33

No 2

#128

W in t e r 2 0 0 6 - 0 7 RFD is a reader written journal for gay people which focuses on country living and encourages alternatilve lifestyles. We foster community building and networking, explore the diverse expressions of our sexuality, care for the environment, radical faerie consciousness, naturecentered spirituality, and share the experiences of our lives. RFD is produced by volunteers. The business and general production are coordinated by a collective in and around Short Mountain Sanctuary, TN and on the work ing E.group site:rfdgroups@ yahoo.com . Features and entire issues can be prepared by different groups in var ious places. Our printer is in Nashville, TN. Write us: RFD, POB 68, Liberty, TN 37095 Visit us: www.rfdmag.org E mail us: mail@rfdmag.org Call us: 615.536.5176

fe a tu re ; Rikiol Art & Practice Rituals & Meditations by Richard Bolingbroke.......... p4 Solstice Charms, pen & ink by Jim R u .......................... p6 Divine Circles by Buffy Aakaash.................................... p7 Ecstasy by Leaf & photos by Craig M o rs e .................. p8 Ritual of Mourning for the Lower 9th w/ Jose Torres Tama. . . p 11 Winter Dream Ritual by Dean Spade & Don Midnight. . . . p 12 New Rituals, art by Sebastian Holzhuber.................. p 13 Contemplations of the Heart by Peter Grahame . . . . p]4 She's Got Stars in Her Eyes by Storm ..........................pl8 Ritual Graphic by Surjit M e h a t............................ .. . . . p l9 Poetry.................................................................................... p20 Faggot Shaman by Stephen Abbott (RFD # 1 2 )..........p22 Dance Photography of David A. Fullard.................... p23 The Cosmic Rosary by Arthur Evans............................... p27 Remembrance of Assunta Femia by A Evans & Soami........ p29 Rosaries of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence . . . . p31 Ritual Moments, photography by Kwai Lam ................p34 Reviews Shortbus and Scissor Sisters by Anu B o n o b o .............p36 Vincent Collazo's Sanity's Bane by M ountaine..........p37 Johnson and Williams' Two Spirits by B .......................p38 Trebor Hetiy's Sweet Son of Pan by Vytautas Pliura...........p38 M.E. Hofstadter's Shark's Tooth by Daniel Marlin . . . p40 Heathen Harvest by Malahki Thorn.............................. p41

RFD Winter 2006-07 # 128

John Burnside at his 90th B-Day Tea in SF, With lovely fey escorts, photos by Jack Davis Networking Advertisements pp33, 46-48 Between the Lines p i Letters pp3,46 Prison Pages by Myrlin pp 42 Announcements: pp 20,21,46

The records required by Title 18 U S D Section 2257 and associ ated regulations with respect to this magazine (and all graphic material associated therewith on which this label appears) are kept by the custodian ot the records at the loilowing location; RFD, 247 Sanctuary Lane. Liberty. TN 37095

Buffy Aakaash . . . . ..................... p7 Stephen Abbott . . . . ................... p22 Sister A m a n d a ............ ......................p31 B ...................................... ......................p3 8 Christopher Barnes . ....................p 21 Richard Bolingbroke . Anu B onobo................ ..............p36-37 Jok Church .................. Josiah Clawson . . . . Steven Cottingham . . ....................p44 Brad C o lb y ................... ................... p20 Sr. Clara CumPassionata.................. p3 Jack D a v is ................... . . . .P2,21,45 Arthur Evans................. ..............p27-30 F ag g it........................... ..................... p21 Assunta F e m ia ............ .................... P30 Sr. Homo Fellatio . . . .................... P32 David A. Fullard . . . . ........... p23-26 Luc G e o r g e s ............... ..................... p38 Peter G ra n a m e ........... .ifc, 1 1,2,14-17 Sebastian Holzhuber. .................... pi 3 Donny Ingraham . . . Kwai L a m ..................................... p34-35 L e a f ................................ ...................... p8 Daniel M a rlin .............. Surjit M e h a t............... .....................p!9 Dori M idnight............. ................... p12 Craig M o rs e ............... . . . . p 8,1 0,1 1 M ountaine.................... .............. p i , 37 M yrlin ........................... OZ F a e r ie s .................. Pendragon .................... ....................P44 Don Perrym an............. ...................P20 Vytautas Pliura . . . . ..................... p38 White Ravenhawk . . ..................... p43 Marshall Rheiner . . . .....................p29 Steven R ie l.................. .................... p21 Jim R u ........................... ....................... P<* R W L .............................. ....................p20 Jai Sheronda ............ ..................... P36 Sister S o a m i................ ..............p30.32 Dean Spade ................ ................... p!2 Storm ............................ ................... pi 8 Malahki T h o rn ............ ...................p41 David Thompson . . . ....................p21 Jose Torres Toma . . . . .................... pi 1 V i n e ............................. .............. p 3 1,41

A View from The Motherhouse Dear Readers of RFD, Warm winds are blowing here today in Iowa. A full on Indian sum mer blesses us with golden light in Sister Tribe. celebration of our fruitful harvest. It It is there, late at night nestled in is during this time of year when my the library when the path to my inner mind is filled with reflection of the work is given direction. My thoughts many blessings in my life. I am fresh from a 50th birthday cel become clear of distraction. The ebration with family and friends. veils between life and death, ances And such a special night it was. My tor and student appear. The stage birthday this year, my “Big 5 - 0 ,co for my work is but a day bed on in sided with The 20th Annual All which I lay prostrate. The room is Iowa AIDS Benefit. This benefit is the candle lit. Blood red candles drip hot foundation of my “sister work", wax from a candelabra into a pan here in Iowa. My role is casting and below. “A tin der box? “ hosting a 4 hour variety show. This “Surely I am nestled in sacred benefit is held in a Grand Ballroom fra g ility .” of a hotel in downtown Des Moines, ‘A m etaphor to life?” our fair capitol city. Des Moines is “Of my life?" about thirty five minutes from our farm home, “The MOPI Motherhouse I was just this past spring lying there asleep, a lover by my side, that on Turkey Ridge” Preparing for this “Extravaganza” Sr.Soami snuffed the last candle as has been emotionally daunting at the dawn arose. She gently cau times over the years. It is “Seat of tioned me the next morning, "Mind your pants...Show Biz work”, and I the candles Sister. . . mind the can love it. I love it when it is happening d le s ” . and I love it when the work is done. Above my head hang images of So many wonderful talented giving James Broughton and Joel Singer. I spirits and a few Divas mixed in for can hear Jam es’ poetic words. I can interest. This year’s benefit was a see their love for each other aglow great success. People were enter on their faces. tained,"Green Energy” was raised And C la u d e ...,”Our" St. Claude, and the hand of support was mighty cock and flowing hair extended. perched among the rocks with another so strong and beautiful, or the past 15 years I have gath souls so open and so free. UHmm... ered at Short Mountain Sanctuary. Come, be with me. Share with me yet The Mountain is my Mecca, its peo once again your passion ripe and ple are my Tribe. I go there in the spring time to sow unbridled. seeds of expectation and in the fall To my left, Sacred Coat horns hang to dig deep. Deep into all that is my over the doorway, guarding this inner work. The work that heals me, sanctuary. At my feet, hundreds of my sacred work, my Sister work. It is books call to me, luring me to jo u r there with my tribe that I find the ney along their path. From my right, a cool breeze fills the room as I focus for my work. I gather there with my dear Sr. snuggle deep in the down comforter Soami. I retreat at Three Sisters so tenderly laid upon my bed. In the Lodge nestled among the archives of distance the sounds of drummers a lifetim e’s work and the roots of dig deep as well. Deep into the earth, my Tribe. Into the Mother, Faggot Tribe, Into her sacred womb, Faerie Tribe, Channeling spirit, channeling the

Sister* Clara. Sarong & Soami

healing force. by wiiii coi# Listen....listen to her words...... "Slow down dear Sister....w alk your walk. . .your time on this plane is not infinite. Dance your Dance, Laugh out loud, Eat lush fruit, Sing and Sing and Sing. Do no harm... Sing and Dance and be healed." And so I danced. With my brothers and my sisters and their children and my lovers and the goats and the chickens in the rain and in the mud, in the sun and in the night, and I sang and danced and I ate and I laughed and I sang and I danced and I did no harm. . and I was healed. Healed from the fear of aging. And along this journey it now seems my task, to honor all that has come before, to cherish all that is here now and to honor all that is before me, before This light is gone. “Mind the candles Sister...m ind the c a n d le s ”. My guide to the mountain and to my tribe was through these pages. The pages of RFD led a recently rural faggot daddy with two small children and a loving partner to a homecom ing...and to a life beyond his wildest dreams. If you are reading these words, you too have been touched by RFD. For the magic to happen “You Cotta Work It." Share RFD with Someone you Love. I do. Bright Blessings, Sr. Clara Cum Passionata RMG Missionary Order Perpetual Indulgence The Motherhouse on Turkey Ridge Newton, Iowa attend Sr. C l a r a ' s Charity Auction e v e r y s p r i n g and f al l at S h o r t Mt n . S a n c t u a r y RFD Winter 2<X>6 07 # 128

R itu a ls

and

ed itatio n s

...com m ents on painting magic,

Ih e arrist creating Diary of Loss and GrieJ, which includes skulls, spines and bamboo that once held life on Short Mountain, Cannon County, Tennessee with leaves from San Francisco, California.

These paintings are visual keys that unfold mysteries. The language I use expresses meaning that is often hidden, and through the window of the imagination, using processes that allow me to connect with my inner reality, these paintings explore some of the paradoxical and magical aspects of life.

images that you see here. I used to know how a painting would look when it was finished, and the act of painting simply put it on the paper. Now, the creative act starts with an object, a thought, an image, an idea and as the work develops, new and vital aspects are revealed. The finished work is an expression of discovery and revelation that constantly surprises me.

My studio is a blend of a temple and a laboratory: a temple because it is a meditative space with a strong spiritual and devotional energy, and a laboratory because it is a place where I test out ideas and experiment with creating the

K ID Winter 2(XX> 07 # 128

Using objects that have personal meaning for me, such as stones collected from beaches around the world,

The artist creating Another Form of Dust including skulls and bones that once held life on Short Mountain, Cannon County, Tennessee; rocks from around the world, and flowers from San Francisco, California.

dead leaves found while out walking, colored glass bowls, thorns from the Honey Locust tree of Tennessee, and most recently, various skulls and bones, I play with creating a composition that is potent and charged.

our attachment to surface values, and exposes the unsettling inner core of honesty that is the world. Beauty is both the yin and the yang, both light and dark, both life and death, both stability and motion, both em pti ness and fullness, both black and white. Honesty acknowl edges that death is as beautiful as life, and we react with fear to one side of the coin because it represents the unknown and often the unknowable, but life will always remain unbalanced unless we embrace these mysteries and hold them close to our hearts

This process has become ritualistic for me, in that I imbue it with the power to delve into the unconscious. The key is that by honoring the intrinsic energy and symbolism in these objects, they work their own magic to create connec tions of mystery and insight. W hen this happens, when I get out of the way, then I enter a realm that displays and understands real beauty. This is why this series is called Rituals and Meditations.

These paintings are an effort to open myself to this vision of a universe both seen and unseen. Look deep into them and discover your own keys, your own insight, your own magic.

I now see that real beauty is a striking and disturbing balance of opposites. It is disturbing because it destroys

Watercolor paintings on RFD cover by R i c h a r d B o l i n g b r o k e

Front cover, clockwise from upper left: The Magical Procession Watercolor on Paper 40”x40", 2004. ft0426

The Magician Watercolor on Paper 29.5”x29.5’’, 2005, ft0563 The Guardians Watercolor on Paper 29.5”x29.5: 2004. ft0418

Drinking from the River of Silence Watercolor on Paper 29.5’'x29.5", 2005, f*0564 Rear cover: In Search Of Freedom Watercolor on Paper 40W , 2006, tt0601

KH ) Winter 2(X)6-07 « 128

KM) Winter 2006-07 # 128

Divine C ircles Seasonal

Meditations on Nature , Food & Healing

WINTER 2006:The Time of the Great Pumpkin by B u f f y A a k a a s h s we approach the end of this revolu tion, 1 am held captive by the simple subtleties of pumpkin soup. So, I'll begin there, and we'll see if it brings us to the other side and well into this pagan new year. Last Wednesday was the final Farmer's Market day for the year in our neighbor hood, even though the autumn harvest still heaps plenty of bounty on us - tasty morsels like apples and pears, wines and cheeses, tomatoes and peppers to can. and things to last us well into the winter like potatoes, garlic, chili ristras, squashes, onions, and yes, those lovely relations of squash - pumpkins! Midsummer, squash es and tomatoes came bolting out of the compost heap. One squash-like plant in particular 1 transplanted into the garden, where it proceeded to creep its tendrils through several other beds, like some '50s science fiction film, before it finally, in late summer, after blossoming over and over, revealed itself to be a white pump kin-like squash. These plants' fruits call to us at just the right moment. Observe the inimitable pumpkin patch - green green green all summer long, until suddenly it’s speckled with orange, and not just an ordi nary orange, but a reddish kind of “safety” orange! It says to us, “Notice me... I have something important to give you.” And mostly we think of these pumpkin beings as part of our cultural pastime known as Hallow'een, or Samhain, the pagan new year, a time when the veil between worlds is thinnest. We think of them as tools to expose our inner demons and scare away any new boogie men and they give us the time for people in com munity to come together and prepare for the devil of winter. But pumpkins are plentiful and of many varieties, some pur posefully evolved to provide sweetness and nourishment in the starkness of the

cold months. Two medium si/ed sugar pie more of these ingredients scare you away! pumpkins will last, uncut, well through Freely substitute ingredients, i.e. the soy the cold months, and will provide enough milk & yogurt, instead o f the coconut puree for two pumpkin pies and a pot of milk. No pumpkins? Get some canned pumpkin! Identify with the vine! Find pumpkin soup for four people. your way around the obstacles! Make this Nutrionallv, pumpkins prov ide a good soup!) source of potassium, which helps to trans I medium Sugar Pie Pumpkin mit nerv e and muscle impulses, and ele 4 cups water or stock vates our moods during cold dreary' I can Coconut Milk. months. One cup of pumpkin puree has (or I cup vanilla Soy Milk & I cup 310 percent of our daily need for Vitamin yogurt) A, which helps stave off infection by cre 4+ Tbs. olive oil ating white blood cells and promotes I large Onion, sliced healthy surface tissue in areas of the body I or 2 Tart Apples, sliced like the eyes, respiratory, and urinary' and / cups shredded Cabbage intestinal tracts, where infections can 6 cloves Garlic, minced more easily enter the body. Further, Juice o f one half Lemon antioxidants and beta-carotenoids in / Tbs. lemon rind, chopped l Hot Pepper, minced - cherry bomb, pumpkin help reduce the risk of cancer. jalapeno, scotch bonnet, etc. Ninety percent w;ater themselves, pump Asian spices - lemon grass, gararn kins help to regulate the sixty to eighty masala, ginger, mix & match, make vour percent w'ater balance in the human body. own... In Chinese medicine, water is the element Salt to taste... or whatever gets you there! of the winter season, and it is dominated by the emotion of fear. Fear as part of the Begin with the pumpkin... be w'ith it... human psyche can help to protect us, but it remember the pumpkin patch. Slice, seed can also present an obstacle to growth, and and clean the pumpkin. Save the seeds to lead unnecessarily off in wrong directions, plant or roast. Place the slices on a baking away from the healthy flow of life, the tray, maybe spread w'ith some olive oil, Way, the Tao. Like the water in our bodies, bake in an oven at 300 to 400 degrees, for fear in our minds needs to be kept in bal 1 to 2 hours, until the flesh is mushy. Separate the skin from the mush. Set ance. aside. Here’s a pumpkin soup 1 made the other Heat olive oil in heavy skillet. Add day. But don’t expect the usual tell-youonions and apples. Saute for 5 minutes, everything step-by-step kind of recipe. add garlic, hot pepper, and your array of Feel your way through this pumpkin soup, spices. Saute for another 5-10 minutes. taking a journey that evokes the serendip Place the mush into a blender. Add ity of a pumpkin vine, arriving at the great enough of the water or stock to make orange fruit amidst the green earth of the puree from the mush. Add a portion of pumpkin patch. your apple, onions, garlic & spices (1 used all the apples and half of the rest). Puree. Add to a pot with the rest of water or stock Bully’s Si rvndipiltf»s and the rest of the spice mixture. Bring to Pumpkin S(y»p Ryyjpy a simmer. Add the milk and stir. Add the Ingredients: (These are merely suggestions... Don’t let lemon rind and juice and stir. Add salt. Stir the absence or unavailability of one or some more until hot. 7

Ki t) Winter 2006-07 # I2S

b y

S L

p a rt o f his p re -K a t r in a N e w Orlea ns r it u a l ser ies p h o t o g r a p h y

[i y

C r a i g

M o r s e

w i th p os t -K a t ri n a images o f r itu a l and r e m e m b r a n c e

here is a deep place of Spirit inside of me that wants to he heard. It is a place of love, honor, integrity, and total presence. It is a place of being in total ecstasy w ith the miracle of this moment of LIFE!

LIFE!

Ecstasy, for me, don’t come in no pill, y'all! Ecstasy, for me, is this image, this story: It was November 2, 2(X)4.about the time of evening when the [rolls on the East coast were closing. My friend Peter and I were cooking dinner in his beautiful rooftop apart ment in the New Orleans French Quarter. We weren’t hold ing our breath about the election. I’d voted absentee a week ago, and Peter had gone to vote that day. I had prayed and prayed some more for a nation, a world, where we can live expressively, freely, fully, lovingly, with a joy and a laugh ter that shakes down old walls and infiltrates human bodies with a contagious ecstasy which dissolves all pain, suffer ing, hatred, and fear. In fact, I’d prayed this for YEARS, and a full month before the election. I’d joined with per haps 200 others, deep in the forests of the Tennessee hills, to pray openly and vocally for just that: love, honor, bal ance. and contagious laughter that heals and transforms.

Umoja Drums, Hands Around the Dome, August 26, 2006 © 2006 Craig Morse Umoja percussionists played and sang songs of hope and rememberance, ' to rededicate ourselves to the struggle for a ju st and equitable reconstruc tion o f New Orleans" -M tangulizi Sanyika

out of political mode and recognize that what we were witness ing was not an election march or a protest. What it was, though, was just what I had hoped for: a celebration of love, honor, integrity, balance, and joy...and the memory of the ancestors.

So, I prayed. I voted. I was a responsible American, as well as a free spirit. Now, I sat down to have dinner on election night with one of my many fine friends who does NOT own a televi sion.

Many of the people, draped in black, carried inflated skeletons in one hand. In fact, many of the peoples' faces were painted like skulls. One of the draped figures, who was totally hidden behind a veil of black, carried a large speaker, which infused the streets of New Orleans with sounds from a far-away place which only the dead could know. Clearly, the Day of the Dead lasted two days in this city!

Quiet. Peace. Presence. We'd done what we could, so we sat down to eat. give thanks, let go, and let God. After dinner, we decided to walk to a funky, groovy coffee shop for dessert and to get an update on the election results. The streets were quiet that Tuesday after the Halloween “riot”. I felt totally safe, even after dark on the streets of New Orleans, for the whole world was sitting indoors, glued to the television set...or so we thought.

This w'as a totally different kind of gathering than w'hat we had walked into on Piety Street the night before. The Piety Street rit ual. we had learned, was a revival of Haitian voodoo, brought back to New Orleans by a powerful woman who wanted to keep the magic alive. But what we were experiencing now could not be given a name. This was not a revival of a religion knowm to the world w'e live in: this was a revival of the deep truth that lives in every human's heart. This was a motley krew of young peo ple-street people, mostly. Among them. I even ran across one I had met before, named Trinity. I'd been to her home in a ware house in Oakland, California a couple of years before. A friend and I had given her a ride from Wolf Creek, Oregon to the Bay Area after the Samhain gathering. In fact, now that I think of it.

We heard drumming. Drumming! Were the election results in? Had people taken to the streets to celebrate love, honor, integri ty. balance, joy and healing in this nation? We hurried towards the drumbeat, following the sound down Rue St. Phillip towards the Mississippi River. We caught sight of a crowd of people just as it passed out of view going up Decatur Street. We ran down St. Phillip -sprinted —and caught up with the parade. The “parade" was a slew of people dressed in black. Were they mourning the end of an old regime? It took a lew minutes to slip K ID Winter 2<KXv()7 # 128

we had dropped her off on the Day of the Dead! Now. exactly two years later, here she was again, in my face.dressed like a rag doll with dreadlocks and carry ing a skeleton!

Dead, alive, and yet-to-be Dance ye arse off merrily! For the time is nigh, when we behold A world where our hearts Are showered in gold And our story of ages Is ready to be told.

The people w ith whom 1 walk in the streets of New Orleans are a tribe of people who are scattered across the globe. Some call us ‘'gypsies". Others call us "queers". Still others call us vagabonds, voyageurs. wanderers, and wonderers. But our peo ple cannot be kept apart, for we have work to do. Nor can we sit quietly for long in our homes w ithout televisions, for we must come together to weave our magic in this world! From the quiet of our soul, even in the illusory confines of our four-walled square houses, we can hear the drumbeat, and we leave our square houses to go be w ith our circle.

Away with lack! Away with self-imposed imprisonment! Away with fear and judgment! Let love vibrate, permeate, infiltrate! Let a resounding vibration of the heart shake away all fear and dissolve animosity! 1 thought of my Daddy as 1 danced there in the name of the dead for the second night in a row'. It was, after all. his birthday. 1 laughed out loud, recognizing that he would laugh, too. More than anything, my daddy wanted to take to the streets and raise hell. Lord knows he’d done it enough in his day. Now. 1 was embodying his spirit.

The black-veiled skeletons, rag dolls, gypsies, and vagabonds converged that night by the Mississippi River in the time of w an ing moon. We marched —no, DANCED —through the street grid, ignoring one-ways and stop signs. Once, a police car tried to block our path down Decatur Street, but even a dam cannot stop the flow of a river. No. our river of colors, veiled in black, simply flowed right around that cop car just as the Mississippi gently flows around its many islands. We were a river of rain bow light, flowing with strength, peace, love, honor, and integri ty, with unlimited passion and JOY that came from our blessed, sacred HEARTS! Yes!

People have always told me 1 look like my Daddy. I recognize that my life in this body is an opportunity to live out my dreams. My Daddy never got to live out his dream of living in the Australian outback or fishing in the Florida Keys. He wants me to live out my dream. He wants me to live it to the fullest, and his spirit is often pres ent with me. Our relationship continues to deep en, even years after he died. He lives in my laugh, and there in New Orleans on the 2nc* Day of the Dead, on my Daddy’s birthday, w'c LAUGHED our ASSES off!

Before long, we reached a pavilion in a park by the River. There, our circle was cast. Our people from all directions of the globe converged and began to spiral counterclockwise around a central altar which had been carried through the streets on a stretcher. The domed, open pavilion was bright ly-lit, and there in the light as bright as day, our peo ple danced, drummed, and sang with passion that was transforming the world as we knew it in that very moment.

The dance ain’t over, even when the circle stops spinning. The spiral of people unwound and the stream began to flow again—this time down the river. We found ourselves at a place where wide, wooden steps go right down to the Mississippi River, like the steps one finds leading to old Southern church cemeteries —wide enough to carry a coffin down them, one step at the time. 1 watched as the crowd parted and the altar was carried down, one step at a time, to the water.

“Oh my God, it’s a flouting altar?” 1 exclaimed. Never in my wildest dreams would I have envi sioned that this altar, which we’d paraded Who was going to be through the streets, was going to be set free to “in charge" of this nation? float down the Mississippi River! I was so excit At that moment, it seemed irrelevant whose fat ass B i g C h i e f J a m e s B r o w n C o p yrig h t© 2006 Craig Morse ed I couldn’t stand still, as the floating barge, was going to be sitting on a throne in Washington, D.C., for it loaded with photos, candles, and two large paper umbrellas, was was clear that the world is of our creation. We are the children set down in the water. of the Gods and Goddesses. We the children of this Earth are here to create this thing together! It takes each and every one of Then, it got even better. The young black man with long hair us to make this world what it is at this moment. It takes George who had led the parade took out a lighter and lit one of the Bush and John Kerry and Mother Theresa and fuckin’ Britney umbrellas! My God —a flaming altar, floating down the river to Spears and the God-Damned Dead-and-in-the-Ground Village the ocean! Oh my God\ People! 9

KH) Winter 2006-07 # 128

stop. Cheers from the crowd soon gave way to “Come back! Come back!" They were worried for me, calling to me like my Mama, just at the moment I felt free, just at the moment when I'd found that place I had searched for. for so long —the place of freedom, wonder, bliss, hope, and ecstasy.

Who was that child in the Bible who was put in a little boat and sent down the river to be saved from murder by the emperor? To me, this altar was like that. In my heart's delight. I could see it gliding amidst cypress trees, carry ing our dreams, our fears, and the memory of our dead to a place far back in the forests of the Delta There, perhaps the old. laughing, wrinkled joo-joo man of the swamps would find it and honor it. for it carried our dreams.

Remember Ecstasy? That's what this story was all about, ecsta sy. So many times in my life. I have gone to that place, and when I go there, it's so hard to come back. I wanted to swim with that fire, swim circles around the fire in the middle of the river. I wanted to go there, to the magic place in the swamps, where the joo-joo laughing man lives and thrives and honors all my dreams. But my people were calling to me from the river bank. My peo ple wanted me to come back. We had work to do on this Earth. Yes, our people know how to cross freely to the other side, but we must always come back. We must go there, listen, and take the wisdom of the ancient ones into our hearts to share with the people of this Earth.

Fire would burn away what we were ready to let go of. and water would save the rest. Still—on a practical note, we needed to get the thing to bum. and we needed to get it out on the River. Called out of the quiet of my home. I had become part of this ritual of which I d known nothing just hours before. Now. I felt respon sible to launch what we had created so that our ancestors could happily go home along with all of the other shit we didn’t need to cling to anymore. Finally, with the help of lighter fluid, the barge/altar was set fire. The crowd cheered, as someone gave the altar a good shove to launch it out onto the river.

Many on this Earth do not ever get to the other side until their bodies are in the ground. Many do not realize that heaven lives right here on this Earth, in us. Our people are messengers. We bring heaven down here.

Unfortunately, the Mississippi is a busy highway filled with barges, and one such monstrosity of a vessel was passing by just as we were launching our altar. Even though the boat was prob ably a half-mile away, in the middle of the river, it kicked up some big waves, which kept pushing our flaming altar back to shore.

And so I swam back to shore. As I crawled up out of the river like a fish that grew' legs, I looked back at the fire on the water. Now, here today, I still see that fire light on my w'et, naked body. I see the way that fire glints off my eyes, and I know that I live with passion. 1 am ALIVE, y 'all! ALIVE!!! Fire lives in me. I dance with fire in me, and I dance with contagious joy that transforms and heals! This joy perme ates, infiltrates, and vibrates with resounding songs of pure pleas ure. Ahhhhhh.,.1 love you, Mr. President.

I could bear the struggle no longer. Like a cat in the night, I sleekly hopped from rock to rock, down the levee, right to the edge of that damned river, where I let every last stitch of my clothing fall away. I left my shoes and clothes in a heap, and— naked in the night I slipped into the River before anyone even knew what was happening. It wasn't the first time I had swum there. I'd actually stripped to my underwear and swam there in broad daylight back in August. 1 knew this River. I was not afraid of her, nor was I afraid of fire, especially when 1 was totally immersed in the water.

Leaf can be reached by writing to P.O. Box 4388, Key West, Florida, 33041, or by e-mail at rawah_fox@yahoo.corn.

Pile great Ocean by which I live had made me into an excellent, strong swimmer. I pushed the altar with two hands and kicked swiftly. In seconds, I was at least 30 feet offshore, and I didn’t

Raising the Sp irits

No W ords RI D W inter 2<XX>-<)7 # 128

August 29 , 2 0 0 6 , the Commemoration of the Great Flood of New Orleans Olayeela, Suia, and a survivor dance and sing in the spirit of healing and celebration of the lives of those who died.

A Ritual o f Mourning for the

Craig Morse, photographer £ communuity activist

Culture

ower 9th

Subculture

n early 1998. I embarked on an extcnsi' e documen tary of the under ground and per formance cultures of the San Francisco Bay Area as well as Thursday. October 5. 2006 • On San Franciscos Market Street dumg C o p y rig h t < 2006 pho Craig M o rs e tographed The World Can! Warts march on the National Day ot Resistance numerous c ultural events and conceptually inspired weddings. In early 2006, 1 returned to live in New Orleans to engage in an on-going effort to create a visual catalogue of imagery that serves to inform the outside world about the wonderfully unique culture, heritage, and archi tecture of New Orleans, a character that sets it apart from every other city in the world. Similarly. 1 have also made it my personal mission to increase awareness around the challenges and struggles affecting New Orleans and its inhabitants fol lowing Hurricane Katrina and the Great . Flood. 'Honoring Those Still Missing"

Jose Torres Tama

On the sunny morning of Friday, September 15, 2006, I ventured into the devastated neighborhood of the l o w e r 9th, which is not far from my home in the Faubourg Marigny. This series of photographs are the documentation of a personal ritual of mourning I engaged in as a private act of grieving for my wounded village, and as a per formance tribute to the many souls who perished after the levees breached. This neighborhood remains mostly abandoned, and I went there inhabiting a hybrid Baron Samedi and Cede death persona to channel the pain and suffering that is still nestled in the landscape and crevices of this terrain. Craig Morse, the documentary photographer I have been collab orating with, accompanied me. He captured these dramatic images of the corporeal narratives that inspired these improvised rituals. I had no pre-conceived notion of what 1 was going to ritualize, hut I was open to the spirits who guided me. Niamh Shortt, who has been conducting English-language workshops with the Latino immigrant labor force, drove us to these sites in the Lower 9th. The image above is in front of an abandoned church and below is an abandoned cor ner lot where homes have been washed away. --- Jose Torres Tama

To view some of my recent work, 1 invite you to visit my online gallery at www.flickr.com/photos/culturesubculture/

Feel free to visit regularly, as this is updated on a weekly basis. Feel free to contact me at culturesubculture@yahoo.com if you would like to say hello or discuss your photographic needs and my rates.

Jose Torres Tama

J o s e tours the c o u ntry regularly as a performer, spe aker, an d e d u cator, an d s o m e of his work is in the pe rm an ent co ll ect io n at the Og de n M u se u m of So u th ern Art More about J o s e and his p r o je c t s can be s e e n at www. t or r es t ama. com

On March jrd, 2006, in the making of Spike Lee's "When The Levees Broke", he filmed this jazz funeral for Hurricane Katrina in the Lower 9th Ward. I1

KM ) Winter 2006 07 » 128

W i n t e r

D r e a m

R i t u a l

f o r clarifying dreams, messages from spirits, new inspiring visions oij D e a n S p a d e a n d D o n M i d n i g h t Mugwort, also known as cronew ort. is a queen o f an herb. She has been used for hundreds o f years for magic, easing pain, and healing the repro ductive, digestive, urinary, and respiratory tracts. In the old days, w itch es would make a paste o f mugwort and rub their entire bodies w ith it. Hying into states o f trance and vision on their broomsticks. Mugwort, being the hag that she is, grows wild and sturdy all over unfavorable urban plots, sidewalk cracks, and city haunts. One can also smoke and bum the leaves to heal the lungs and bring dreams. Mugwort allows us to enter other worlds and see that which is usually invisible. Mugwort doesn't always bring restful sleep, but she does invite intense and prolif ic dreaming, making healing and revolution rise like the morning sun.

reams are the door to the other world and a sweet and nightly por tal to information and inspiration when we get stuck or confound ed in the waking world. Dreams act as messengers, fetching symbols and sights we can use to make changes in our waking life. Dreams oiler us lessons on transcendence and possibility, and if we listen to the w his pers, we can integrate them into our daily lives and make our wildest dreams come true.

As revolutionaries, faeries, witches, fermentors, gender magicians, artists, farmers, dreamers and lovers, let’s manifest our dreams in wak ing life. It is best to prepare most o f this ritual before you bathe and drink your tea, as you will be almost dreaming by then.

Prepare a bath infusion o f mugwort by placing a handful o f mugwort in a big pot o f water and boiling and steeping for 10 minutes. Run your bath. Strain and pour in the mugwort infusion into a running bath. Add a few drops o f lavender oil and a moonstone or amethyst into your bath. (Optional, but highly recommended: rub yourself with honey before stepping into the delicious hot tub.)

The candle magic portion of this ritual can be as simple or as elaborate as you like, l ighting a candle is a wonderful way to light up your inten tion and bring more warmth to your visions. A basic candle ritual can be done by taking any type o f candle, which you’ve dedicated to its rit ual purpose (to bring inspiration through dreams, to remember your dreams, to communicate with a spirit while sleeping, to divine informa tion) and burning it until you go to sleep. To dedicate your candle, come to a quiet, calm place. Hold the candle in your hands and charge energy by visualizing energy coming in through your feet from the earth and through the crown o f your head from the sky. Visualize this energy flowing through you and into the candle. Say aloud your intention for the candle, such as “When 1 bum this candle, it helps me to connect to the spirit world while dreaming.” Place the candle in a safe candlcholdcr and light it before you begin preparing your tea and bath. Extinguish the candle with your fingers (not by blowing it out) before you sleep. The candle can be used for the same purpose again in the future.

Make a tea of: 1 part mugwort 1 part chamomile 1 part oatstraw 1/4 part milky oat tops 1/4 part hops 1/4 part lavender 1/4 part roses Steep for 5-8 minutes and bring your jug o f tea into your bath, bathe for as long as you like, letting your waking self melt away. As you step out o f the tub. let your vision be soft and climb immediate ly into bed.

You can add elements such as color and fragrance to this basic candle ritual to further focus its use. Some suggestions follow, though the best path is always created by your own intuition. Yellow is associated with gaining knowledge and insight, retaining memory, and understanding healing. Using a yellow candle, especially on a Wednesday, can enhance these aspects o f your intention. Purple is associated with enhancing psy chic ability and wisdom and white is associated with contacting spirit helpers.

1folding your question or intention in your mind, visualize a dreamboat o f some sort picking you up from the shore or dock o f your bed and gen tly carrying you off to dreamland. Allow your dreaming self to be called to. As you drift across the sea o f sleep, make the intention to remember your dreams by saying, “in the morning, when I wake, I will remember my dreams.”

Dream.

f ragrances ruled by the moon are especially appropriate for dream can

dle magic. These include Lavender, Clary Sage, Eucalyptus, Gardenia, Jasmine, Lily, Lotus, Sandalwood and Water Lily. To incorporate a fra grance in your ritual, apply a fragrant oil to your hands, and while charg ing your candle with energy, rub the oil on the outside o f the candle from the center outward to the ends. Visualizing your intention for the candle strongly while doing so is especially helpful.

As soon as you wake up, write down your dreams, writing everything in the present tense, like, “I am walking down the street. 1 see a pink horse wearing roller skates...” etc. Eat a hearty breakfast and share your dreams with other dreaming friends. Carry your dream in your body like a stone in your pocket, caressing it throughout the day.

You can also take a little pin or rose thorn and carve your question, intention, or personal symbols into the candle before you light it. Meditate on your question or intention for your dream incubation. You can do this with others or alone. Write your question or intention for your dreams on a small piece o f paper, fold it up. and place it inside the dried pod o f a poppy flower or if haven’t got a poppy pod, wrap some blue ribbon around the paper and tie it in a knot, blowing on the knot when you are done. Put it under your pillow, along with a little hankerchief full o f mugwort. Place your dream journal and a pen by your bed side. KM) Winter 2(KK>07 # 128

dori and dean are prepared to co-author essential texts that will transform reality, redistribute wealth and power globally, inspire individual and collective expressions of mirth, liberation, and deli ciousness, dis-spell scarcity and greed everywhere and weave new spells of beauty and justice, so mote it be. dorimidnight@yahoo.com dean@srlp.org

im ag es Â© S e b a stia n H o lzh u b e r

see m ore at h ttp ://w w w .s e b a s tia n h o lz h u b e r.n l/ 13

K F D Winter 2(KK>0 7 # I2X

Some Thoughts on Contem plations A

froolc

the

Heart

M a l ee S o pp i r i t

by author/artist, Peter Crahame he one thing men, Gay or Straight, say they appreci ate most about my book Contemplations of the Heart is that it presents ordinary guys as they are, "various ages, shapes, sizes, colors” just guys. Sensual, maybe a little erotic, but not over ly idealized or objectified sexual ly, no “youth cult” emphasis, and really in a more transcendental or transformational context. I think of these images as metaphors of the Spirit. They’re certainly nonaggressive, and much more “subject-to-subject,” as Gay freedom forerunner Harry Hay might have said. Ordinary guys in extraordi nary settings. Dream images. The workings of the “intuitive con sciousness” perhaps. But many of the men who view this book say they discover a reflection of themselves in it, and here and there find meaning in the text. I’m very grateful for this...

When I find the magic of my inner peace, I cannnot stay isolated in the upper room of my mind. Of course, the ideas expressed with these images are just my thoughts and opinions. Perhaps it’s me speaking, or the image speaking, or maybe it’s Spirit speaking. Or maybe it’s the read My Upper Room, Takasumi Sasaki Peter Grahame er’s own subconscious speaking. Naturally, you may read the text any way you like, or just ignore it. Besides, they’re really not “my thoughts,” anyway. I read and study and glean ideas from Buddhism, mystical Christianity, metaphysical thought and other spiritual philoso phies, but I’m hardly an expert; just a curious searcher, looking for meaning, and these ideas have more or less come together here. I don't pretend to live up to everything I’ve written. They're just ideas I believe to be true. Living them takes constant practice. KI D Winter 2006-07 # 128

Anyway, to the images. What are they? Why did I make them with these guys? Well, my idea is to express something about us that may not have been fully expressed before. Something about positive self-image and doing away with selfhatred and internalized homophobia. I want to help heal the Gay Male Spirit and to indicate to any man. Gay or Straight or in between, his sacred inner self, his integral connection to the on-going process of creation, and his responsibility to cherish the earth and all who are on it. This is also about refusing to objectify each other, sexually or otherwise, and developing honest and open subject-to-subject relationships. Then, too, it's an attempt to change the notion that only cer tain images of idealized youth or physical appearance are acceptable. We re all acceptable, just as we are, right now. What’s more. I'd like to further the idea that Gay men, especially, by their nature, do have a distinctive view of the world, of spirituality, and that we have certain abilities for healing, for ritual, and for transformation that can and should be offered to the larger culture from which we spring. My hope is that this book presents a group of visual and written med itations on these sincere ideals. When I do another book, it will be about Queer Spirit Archetypes, and the fluidity of gender. It will be a more collabo rative effort. But this current book is about males, most certainly with an emphasis on our multi-gendered aspects, and our ability to open up to the Sacred Feminine in us. I personally think ideas like these are very important for us to con sider if we’re to continue to truly evolve... I have the greatest, deepest respect for every guy who was willing to be naked in front of my camera. I know the images reflect me, but what’s more important is that the guys reflect them selves. We can only bring about change in the world by starting with our selves. Only when we self-reflect can we change within, find inner peace, and then identify with others with a genuine sense of compassion.

W ith in every man is a Pan, a Green M an, deeply, jo y f u lly , connected to the earth In any case, these men and I had a lot of fun making these images. I hope you’ll enjoy them for what they are, and maybe find something in them for your self, and for your own contemplations of your own heart. This leads to apprecia tion of the true gift, the true joy, of being alive. My most heartfelt intention is that these images help each of us wake up just a little more, because all of us wak ing up is exactly what it’s going to take for our fragile world in turmoil to come to a new time of peace, a new time when it is finally understood that Love is, in fact, the answer to everything.

Green Man’s Man, Rand B. Lee

KIT) Winter 2006-07 # I2X

Only when I aw aken and accept m yself can I begin to th in k of helping an o th e r to aw ak e n , too.

Awakening Endymion, Jon-Carl Lewis & Stephen Cook

The Particulars: The book is hard cover, 5-1/2” wide by 8 ” high, a very easy-to-hold size. With 96 pages, it includes more than 70 images, most of them in full color, some in black and white. It was self-published, and printed in Korea through Palace Press International. The author s price is $16.95 each plus NM state tax, or no tax if your out of state, and/or shipping and handling of $3.00 per book, less if you order several. You can preview selections from the book, or you can order the book from the author at www.ironic-horse.com or by calling his studio 9 am to 5 pm in Albuquerque at (505) 924-2161 K! D Winter 2006-07 # 128

About the Artist/Author Setf taught. Peter Grahame began his art making in 1982 by a eating masks for the theater and as wall sculptures. He also created mixed media works using his own photography with found objects, and he experimented with fabric art. Later, he found he really enjoyed making these transformational photographs with his naked friends, and this led to his more recent digital imaging. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Whatever I create, it's about spintual discovery." he says. He makes photos of nature and the technological world, as well. His work has been presented in numerous theatrical productions, and in many gallery exhibits in the Chicago area and in New Mexico. Peter has worked as an actor, director, advertising writer, designer and art teacher. He lives with his life partner. Henry Seale, in Albuquerque. They own and operate Ironic Horse Studio in their home. Henry plays and teaches the Renaissance recorder, so their gallery studio home is always filled with music, art... peace.

Instead of a Dark Night of the Soul, let us experience a Bright Night of the Spirit! If we keep a star handy, the night will reveal much. For out of the void all is created.

To Hold a Star, Joseph Gonzales

ÂŠ Peter Grahame

KI D Winter 2006-07 * 128

S h e ’s G o t S t a r s in H e r Gues b y

S T O R M

'm staring at her eyes. They will never blink. They will never cry. They will never grow old. They will never die.

smiling. 1 strip her o f her princess gow n. Finger the silky hair and w on der what it would look like green. I carry her to the kitchen.

There are stars in her eyes, l ive pointed, like pentaclcs. like Wonder Woman's underwear. Like the ornaments on a Christmas tree. Two bright, shiny, silver-w hite stars inside circles o f blue. Above and below her eyes, delicately curved eyelashes bring my gaze back to hers.

I put some water to boil on the stove. I place her arms, one at a time, into the water when it begins to spit and sputter. 1 leave them in the water until they soften. Then 1 bend them so they can hold things, so they can w rap themselves around a loved one. 1 run the arms under cold running water so they stay the way I shaped them.

She's smiling. Like always. Her teeth are a tiny slice o f the moon. They gleam like the mouths in the toothpaste commercials. A sparkle o f light that blinds the senses. I covet those teeth, that perpetual clean smile. I wonder if her smile equates happiness. Could it mean something else?

I paint her a new face, listening to what she whispers to me now that she is free from her manufactured self. I paint her expression with tiny paintbrushes and little jars o f acrylic paint, the kind used for model cars. I give her eyes like a cat, large and green, w ith yellow ellipses inside. I paint her eyeliner, deep and heavy like an Egyptian priestess. I add some sigils and runes to her body. Magickal tattoos o f creativity and protection. 1 think about adornment. What kind o f jewelry do 1 no longer wear that might flatter her? What will pay tribute to her new mode o f being? I paint her teeth white, but make her lips a dark purple with a silver sheen. 1 paint her fingernails black.

Her lips are pink, like frosting. Perfectly formed. Painted just so. Her cheeks glow as if airbrushed with cotton candy. She’s a petal fallen from a flower. She’s the scent o f packages newly opened. Her hair is com silk coated in conditioner. I am holding her by her legs. My hands are wrapped around the pink silk dress, ballooning with crinoline gauze. Her legs are bent just a bit. I heard them snap when I did it. I did it to see if she could sit in that beautiful two story house with the elevator. How come she’s too tall for it? How come they don’t make her house just a bit larger? She’s always a bit too big for her things. I feel bad for her. And her friend with the freckles. And her younger sister with the flat feet and flat chest. And her boyfriend whose arms don’t fit around her. None o f them quite fit in the world that’s supposedly made for them.

I use green India Ink to dye her hair, but it washes out easily, so 1 mix some Burt’s Bees hand salve with some acrylic paint and massage it into her hair. It bunches into little dreadlocks. I give her arched eyebrows that — combined with her dark smile— make her seem as if she’s hatch ing a secret plan or spell. O f revenge? O f creation? 1 don’t decide. 1 let the possibilities remain hers to manifest. She is no longer vacant. She is imbued with power. I sit her on the w'indowsill. I tell her she is beautiful. 1 wash my hands. I smile and wink at her as I leave the kitchen to let her dry.

Oops! One o f her shoes fell olT. I pick a bright pink plastic shoe from the carpet. Smooth and oval, like something Minnie Mouse would wear. I shove it back on her severely arched foot. I’ve seen ancient fertility dolls with the same pointed feet. These dolls were meant to be placed in the earth. They were talismans o f abundance. My pink friend has large breasts like those fertility idols. And she has small arms that can not hold anything. Her pink hairbrush has to be clipped onto her hand. And even then, she cannot brush her hair as she cannot reach her head. But still, she is an icon o f abundance. The clothes, shoes, cars, furniture, houses, pools, and even her friends, are all spokes on a w'heel around her. They revolve around her very existence.

I dig through my sewing scraps and piece together a patchwork dress by hand. I choose fabrics that match her cat eyes. I plunder my jewelry box and find old earrings that will fit her as bracelets. I find silver studs to replace her plastic earrings. 1 clip the end o f a sewing pin, bend it with pliers and pierce her nose w'ith it. I sew tiny pointed boots and place them on her feet. I dress her in her new clothes and tie gold thread around her waist. Finally, I sprinkle very fine gold glitter over her. She is still smiling. Her eyes will never blink. She will never have flat feet. Her breasts will always be disproportionate to her body. I have not changed these things. But now the stars in her eyes have opened a gate to a new universe. She is avatar, muse, and goddess. She is a voice inside my head. 1 am a voice inside hers. Together we navigate the realms between the mundane and the magickal.

1 grip my hand around her tighter. I move her smiling face back and forth with my other hand. I squeeze her empty head between my thumb and forefinger. It caves in under the pressure. She’s still smiling, even though half o f her head is collapsed. Her pointy nose pricks me. 1 let go o f her head and shake her by the waist. 1 watch her head jerk back and forth. Her hair tumbles around her taffeta shoulders. She’s still smiling. I drop her to the floor. She lands with a thud. Her shoes fly o ff I don’t retrieve them this time. 1 leave the room.

“Cod created man. then woman, then the child, and finally the doll. And the greatest of these was the doll.” — Oscar Wilde

I return with a bottle o f professional beauty salon acetone, some q-tips and a shot glass. I pour acetone into the shot glass. I dip the q-tip in it. I stab the q-tip it into one o f her starry eyes. 1 press down hard. The acetone dissolves the paint, leaving streaks o f colored tears. I have taken away her vision. I don’t stop until her eyes, eyebrows, cheeks, lips, and teeth, are all erased. Her head is factory new again. The ace tone has removed her lipstick, but her face is from a mold and she is still KID Winter 2006-07 n 128

STORM is a Writer & Doll Shaman living in San Francisco. S/he is pursuing a MFA in Writing & Consciousness at New College of California. S/he can be reached at: silverstorm 888@ yahoo.com .

RI D Winter 2006-07 # 128

Billy and Johnny (Just What You Do) by RWL 6/2006 Billy and Johnny They were the best of friends They grew up in the hills of Tennessee Every fall when the leaves turned red, some brown They'd play ball together in the fields, in the barn. That's Just what you did after all.

Poetru Getting to Heaven by Don Perryman St Josep h P en in su la , A p ril 18 -20 , 20 0 3 A B ook o f V erses u n d ern e a th th e Bough, A Jug o f W ine, a L o a f o f B read - a n d Thou B e sid e m e sin g in g in the W ild ern ess O h, W ild ern ess w ere Paradise e n o w I - O m ar Kayyam

If and when I gain those fabled gates, and if I do get in them, I think I'll recognize the lay of that land: It'll be a salt-white, shell-strewn beach nudging a lime-green sea under a forgiving sun where I'll lounge naked and rosy and easy again under a blue tarp with a dozen beautiful men like you, bantering lazily, tipping up the rum while an exquisite slim boy lets his shaft be nursed by loving lips that resist no longer, needing only his word of encouragement. Or should I arrive in the dark, weary under that laughable load I pack with me everywhere I go, I will find feasting and fellowship and laughter by a crackling fire under the small pines In a wilderness wood where a motherly milk-white moon guards us from on high. We'll trade warm human bearhugs and tease each other and make luxurious, lewd gestures and be bold and shy by turns again. And, oh yes, we'll make such great, generous, subterranean floods of love that the pink dawn swoons and weeps a few happy tears onto our tents in empathy as she did last Saturday morning. Then, whenever we wish, we'll wash ourselves again in that vast, icy miracle of ageless Innocence that laps so lovingly against our tiny almost-island.

Billy and Johnny They were very much the same They both grew up on their family farms And they helped with the chores And they drove the tractor when still young. That's just what you did after all.

L a s tin g 1 by Brad Colby Cast from the hand We fall at the same rate (Or so they tell me) But drop at different points into the Ocean Either side and through the cresting waves. So what language should we use What prayer recite When we meet again And share stories of our journeys? Silence is the best language And presence the most sacred prayer As we embrace each other Back at the Oceanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s edge.

C as t ings 11 Cast upon the water Cast in stone A hee struggles across the shoreline Lifted one moment, tumbling in the wind Then sinking the next, plodding in wet sand. Life is this moment Between light and heavy, rising and falling Death only a pause for the story teller to catch his breath Then resume the telling In silence From the heart of mystery ~ San Ciregorio, Monday, 26 June 2006

Billy and Johnny They didn't know what to do But were loyal, patriotic, and true So they went downtown to that office someone knew Where you signed up for a few years or more. That's just what you did after all. A war broke out Billy and Johnny were strong and they were tough It was sure what they would do They would do what they were told to do They would go to the front. That's just what you did after all. Billy and Johnny were planning To get leave for the holidays They'd visit the old ones It would be the best one yet The holiday that they'd get. That's just what you did after all. Then one day Billy and Johnny got a call Go down this alley Clear it wall to wall They picked up their guns and all They knew that they would not run. That's just what you did after all. So slowly Billy and Johnny Picked their way together there They were confident, they were scared They were careful, they were sure That they knew just what to do. That's just what you did after all. Then a shot rang out Silence at first was all that Johnny heard â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Billy? Billy! Oh God! Oh no! What am I gonna do? You can't...I can't....oh what am I gonna do?'

And if I don't get In those gates? Well, beloved friends, I'll simply think of you, no matter where I go, and have my heaven anyway.

KID Winter 2006 07 # 128

For Billy and Johnny College was not in the game No money, few jobs They hung out together; they tried to make a plan That summer after graduation from high school. That's just what you did after all.

And as the music died out And as the noise, voices, confusion ensued Johnny held Billy in his arms one last time As their life together slowly drained, drained away. Then Johnny kissed Billy once, then laid him to rest. That's just what you do after all.

Stm al IKmcthification Ritual by Faggit Four Poems with Titles beginning with B by Christopher Barnes, UK Before Monsoon (after S p rin g P o o ls b y R o b e rt

F ro s t )

A shoal with thunderclouds Among its spillway Is flanged with songbirds, Twigs, flamingo. Rays will suck it To raw psoriasis a click beetle will scamper across a mackerel sky.

Be r y l And T h e A r s o n i s t Carlsberg, Durex, spark-white stars.

B e c o mi n g B a r b a r a Flirting with elastic breasts A trifle has its cherry. On the inside... Fantasy dilutes the male. The critic's litmus test Is the acidity of hairspray. Fuels and airs are fixed Softening edges of disappointment Into the evaporation of hard tears. Large molecules form But how fast is a reaction When microscopic genitals yin to yang?

Beached Rough sun burns his chest, Crabbed air at fingertips. I'm your sand-buoy, marooned.

I Break the pipe Think of a highly inappropriate kink Kink on it Soak in the emotional aftermath Flush the stash Rinse Repeat

(from

MY INVISIBLE DRESS by Steven Riel

"beads: the inner awareness o f being gay Reads represent an imaginary string o f pearls worn by all homosexual men. *

Stay sober until ail sexuality disappears Imagine the mouth of a stranger Fall in los e with it Push the thought doxxn onto your skin Feel it wet your lower stomach Rinse Repeat

—Gay Talk: A (Sometimes Outrageous) Dictionary of Gay Slang No one beats me up thanks to my invisible dress. I can strut down any street, under the noses of sprawled construction workers chewing pastrami In the shade, & can smile fearlessly & (I hope) fetchlngly so long as I don't sashay.

III Take him into your embrace Look at where the neck meets the shoulder Conjure an alternate lover of your desire Caress one erotic curse on his bods Kiss him Rinse Repeat

Sometimes, right in front of them, a breeze lifts my ever present skirt <! la Marilyn Monroe, but no, no, no, I won't be pegged by any one look, any one straitjacket Identity. If I need a change of style, instantaneously my frock can be cinched or bubbled or split to the knee; it can be beaded with swirls of teardrop pearls (how I'd droop under the weight of It by four o'clock tea); It can be brocade, organdy, or trim, tailored tweed — a tweed driving suit, perhaps —with tawny gloves to match? (I don't go In much for slacks: they're not girlish enough for me.)

DEPRESSION GROWS LP by David Thompson Hey Mom look, no hands. No pain. So gain. No worries, No fear. Just some humps and bruises. No skin off my teeth. Bridges freeze before other road surfaces. That's supposed to scare me? Come on, you can do belter than that. Like that bridge abutment, or semi. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Coming out and throwing up. Hell, we all get depressed. Less bourbon. More aspirin. Open up. Say ah. No Biggie. Maybe I'll go back to school. Hey, it's just until the first of the year. It’s not like it's a death sentence anymore. A new chair would look nice in the corner. My Bad.

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My ensembles are so easy to come by. Let my thimble languish. Let my steam iron freeze. Let my savings bear interest: I'm too busy changing outfits to have them pricily dry-cleaned. Unlike Cruella, I've no call to tear along back roads In endless quest for material.

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i KI D Winter 2006-07 # 128

from the Archives of RFD, Issue # 12, spirituality theme, summer of 1977, alien & Stephen now dead(RIP)

FAGGOT

At an SDS conference in Kansas I met -Allen Ginsberg and asked him to give a poetry reading at the U. of N. He agreed. Ginsberg couldn't have shaken Lincoln, Ne braska more if he'd been an atom bomb instead of a Gay Poet. Police followed him everywhere as did crowds of students and the news media. Despite this harassment, Ginsberg was the first homosexual I'd ever met who was unafraid, the first man who seemed totally and joyously open, the first poet who spoke with a true spiritual zeal. Over 5,000 jarnned the Student Union for his reading. Many were hostile and carried eggs and rotten vegetables under their coats. An early Christian walking into a lion's den would have been safer. One thousand arms tensed, ready to attack at the first "fuck," the first reference to Gay love. Allen began with his beautiful "Sunflower Sutra." Then a miraculous thing happened. Hat red and violence melted into admiration and amazement. Ginsberg spoke as no one had before. It was as if some God spoke thru him as he nakedly dared to reveal his feelings. Allen spoke as religious leaders should but don't be cause they're afraid to rock the boat. He spoke as if life and language really mattered. Alone against 5,000, he spoke as a Poet, a Prophet, a See-er. At the end of the poem the ballroom shook in a thunderous, standing ovation. I'd wit nessed a miracle of poetry, a miracle of life. Toughs who'd never before given a damn about poetry sat in rapture for three hours as Allen read. Regardless of what they'd been taught to think of Allen Ginsberg the man, Allen Gins berg the poet gave them back the freedom, hon esty and Truth they'd lost in childhood. As we were leaving, a Fundamentalist ac costed .Allen shouting "What about Christ!" Although totally drained from his reading, Allen stopped. "What does Christ say about Heaven?" he asked tenderly. "He says the King dom of Heaven is within you, right? That's what I've tried to give you today--what's in me. Heaven's inside you too, don't you see? It's not just outside and up there; it's in side your body and heart right now. And when I say I love you what I'm saying is that I love God." All this happened nine years ago but it made a spiritual impression on me I will never forget. Substitute for the name of Christ the name of Buddha, Mohammed, the Moon Goddess, the Poetic Muse, whatever. The point is that in his poetry, Ginsberg awakened a whole com munity to the fact that all life is Holy, not because of anything we had done or could do, but simply because that's the way life is. I realized that at bottom, the job of spiritual ity and poetry was the same--to dare to explore one's deepest experience without reference to the guilts and prejudices of religion and so ciety. Consciously or unconsciously, all dicta tors realize this too which is why they fear and hate poets.

SHAM AN

POET

Stephen Abbott, 67 Albion St., S.F., CA

KM) Winter 2006-07 # 128

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Kenneth Steven Hilliard

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Studio Improvisation

Rf D Winter 2006-07 # 128

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Studio Improvisation: R ayTadlo ft Kenneth SDHIIIIard

Â© David A. Fullard

RI D Winter 2006-07 # 128

FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS, various spiritual traditions around the globe have used beads for meditation and prayer. In fact, the English word “bead" originally meant "prayer." from the use of beads to count prayers on a rosary , which is a string of beads used for meditative purposes. When using a rosary, the meditator fingers beads, recites hymns or prayers, and visualizes images, all at the same time. Hand, voice, and mind reinforce each other. This coordinated activity, if repeated over an extended peri od of time, can have a powerful effect. The meditator develops a sense of inner peace, feels more connected to other peo ple and the cosmos, and becomes more attuned to the magic and mystery of life. The Cosmic Rosary, which is presented here, builds on these ancient traditions but makes them relevant to modem perspec tives by focusing on natural phenomena. The key factor is the cosmic cycle—a process of reflection where we direct our attention upward and outward into the cosmos, in steps, and then back down again to ourselves. Along the way, we contemplate five natu ral wonders —Earth, Moon. Sun. Universe, and Mystery. The Cosmic Rosary consists of a hymn for each of these five wonders and also an affirmation of the unity of all. The hymns and the affirmation can be recited with almost any array of beads, including the traditional Catholic array. The hymns and the affirmation appear here in RFD only in English. 1 have done a Latin version for those who love the sonority of the Latin tongue and value its connection to ancient traditions. However, there is no substantive difference between the two versions. The Cosmic Rosary does not presuppose a belief in any God. Neither is it inconsis tent with such a belief. It merely expands our natural consciousness outward from ourselves, and then back again, without invoking any religious presuppositions, but without denying any, either. In addressing the five wonders (Earth, Moon, etc.), the Cosmic Rosary uses per sonal pronouns such as "you," "he," and "she," instead of the impersonal "it." Personal pronouns allow for greater warmth of expression. They can be inter preted as merely poetic and metaphorical or as something more substantive, depend ing on the perspective of the meditator.

Th e Cosm ic Rosart) du

A rth u r E v a n s O200

My own favorite practice is to use the Cosmic Rosary outdoors, while taking a daily walk in a relaxing environment, such as a neighborhood park. While strolling along, I silently recite the words in my mind, finger the beads in a side pocket, harmonize the pace of my walking with the rhythm of the words, and let my eyes pass over scenes that are evoked by the hymns —broad Earth, green trees, blue sky, golden sunlight, etc. The hymns and affirmation of the Cosmic Rosary can be used with various sets of beads. In my pamphlet you will find guidelines on how to recite them w ith the traditional Catholic set. Also included is a design for a set that is specific to the Cosmic Rosary. Either one works fine, as does almost any set. You can also design and make your own. With any kind of meditation, including this one, we should ask ourselves these questions: Is this practice making me more grounded in dealing with the practi cal realities of my daily life? Is it making me more open and compassionate in inter acting with other people? Am I keeping my sense of humor? If so, the practice is a healthy one. con tributing to the well-being of both the meditator and the world. If not, the value of the practice should be questioned. Only we ourselves can decide this question by observing our own behavior with a dis cerning eye. The Hymns & the Affirmation

In English with Commentary To Earth Mother Earth, Broad, patient, and fertile, We are all the fruits of your womb. Forgive us the wounds we have given you. Grant that we may live and die in a time When trees are yet many and green. At peace with you and one another.

******* Commentary: Earth is our Great Mother. She gives birth in abundance to varied forms of life that teem in even the most unexpected places, which she sustains w ith patience, age after age. All forms o f terrestrial life —microbes, plants. 27

and animals are related in \ irtuc o f coming forth from her She deserves our respect and reverence.

But we humans have deeply wounded her by violent assaults against both her and one another. In so doing, we have undermined our ability to live and live well. If we want to survive as a species, and have the beauty and healing power of nature remain in our lives and those of our children, we must make peace with her and ourselves. Living in peace with one another is the best way to show respect for our common mother. ******* To Moon Lady rising. Among the stars exalted. Queen of heaven and mother of peace. Your s ih e r transit in the heights above Opens our hearts in this world below. Kill us with your silent grace. *******

Commentary: Moon is the Queen of Heaven and the image of heavenly peace. In the midst of our earthly turmoils, we raise our eyes to the light she brings to the darkness of night, and are inspired. Floating with silent grace across the heavens, she awakens our capacity for spontaneous intuition, which protects us against rigidity of thought and opens the doors of wonder. *******

To Sun Father of light. Reigning brightest in the heavens. We give you thanks for your golden glory. Eye of the ages, W ith you there rise and set both days and years, The seasons, too. and life. May our minds respond to reason And tempered living As flowers turn to your light. *******

Commentary: Sun is the Lord of Day, filling the sky with his unmatched glory', which illu mines and warms us. The great cycles of the days, years, seasons, and lifetimes all revolve around him. He is the epicenter of time as we know it. His role in measuring the seasons is an image o f the role o f reason in tempering human life, as suggested in Latin by the connection between the words "seasons" (tempura) and "to temper" (temperare). Likewise, his luminous centrality reminds us of the importance of high standards in human life. ******* To Universe Boundless All, We marvel, not alone that you exist. But also that you ever change. And from yourself create new life From age to age in an endless flow. The marks of lasting reason that we discern Amid your stream of things that change Disclose to us the grand harmony of nature. Therefore, we raise our hands to the a/ure sky. Awed by your bounty and splendor. *******

RED Winter 2006-07 # 128

Commentary: The existence of Universe is the greatest wonder of ail. Also wondrous is the reality o f change in his every part and his capacity to continually create new life. There might have been no Universe, or a static Universe, or a dead Universe. Instead, Universe is. changes, and vivifies. Likewise wonderful is the fact that we encounter stable rational patterns amid his fleeting changes. They direct our minds to the enduring, overarching harmony that exists amid the conflicting forces of nature. In the words of Heraclitus of Ephesus: "The universe has a tensioned harmony, like the lyre and the bow." (f ragment 56: Palintonos harmonic kosmou hokosper lures kai toxou.) The grand harmonic splendor that we behold in Universe tunes our minds to resonate with all manifestations of the good and the beautiful. We respond to this gift of cosmic resonance with awe and thanksgiving.

******* To Mystery We, rising in our minds Above Karth and Moon and Sun, And all the worlds and forms of life. Now behold, in clear crystal light. Unknowing and in silence, You alone, Mystery sublime.

******* Commentary: At the upper boundary o f the sublime, passing from the knowable to the unknowable, we encounter Mystery. Here we face questions that no human mind has ever been able to answer. For example. Why is there something rather than nothing? Neither religious dogmas nor scientific theo ries can do justice to Mystery, for Mystery transcends all reality, thinking, and w'ords (including these words). Mystery reminds us of how tentative and approximate our knowledge is and of the need to remain open to insights that transcend existing assumptions. Mysteiy also inoculates us against all those who would demand adherence to pronouncements of their own that are not humanly knowable. As we approach Mystery, we grow silent and empty our minds o f all thoughts. We receive an illumination, revealing nothing beyond itself, only its own luminosity, like sunlight sparkling in an ocean spray. Though devoid of all forms, the spectacle is beau-tiful and magnificent. Illuminated by the experience o f Mystery' at the apex of knowledge, we return to the here and now. Acting on the wisdom gained from mak ing this journey, we strive to make both our selves and the world better. Thus is the cosmic cycle complete. ******* Affirmation of Unity I believe in one universe almighty. The source and end Of all that was and is and is lo be. World without end. and parent of us all. And one common humanity Of which we all partake. And one earth from which we came

Kl I> Winter 2006-07 # 128

And to which we all return. And the unifying good that we ourselves create Through r e a s o n .lo v e , and courage.

*******

C om m entary: People have long debated whether our universe is the only one. whether it is all powerful, whether it had a be-ginning, and whether it will have an end. Various views have been proposed on the basis of guesswork or fantasy. However, it is possible to arrive at some conclusions through clear thinking.

virtues essential for doing so are intelligence, love, and courage. When combined, these virtues make action smart, compassionate, and brave. Such action helps unite the world through goodness. Thus the physical unity that is grounded in the nature of the universe is mir rored in the social unity created through human goodness.

As to the first question: There's no reason why there can’t be an infinite number of universes. However, if different universes can be known to each other, they are in effect part of a larger whole, which is what we mean by one uni verse. In other words, to the extent that knowl edge is possible, we live in one and only one universe. As to the question of power, the whole of wholes (the universe) contains the powers of everything, which is to say it is almighty. As to whether the universe has a beginning or end, parts clearly come or go. But if everything apparently came or went, there would still have to be some cause that made these changes hap pen. This continually existing cause, which must be presupposed if creation and destruc tion of everything else is possible, is what we mean by the universe insofar as it is eternal. This conclusion does not run afoul of the cur rent scientific view that the universe originated in a big bang 13.7 billion years ago. The big bang may be but one explosion in an ongoing sequence o f explosions and contractions, due to an underlying cause or causes. In fact, with out some such presupposition, the big bang model is logically contradictory, for the rea sons just noted. Therefore, in answer to the questions posed above, we come to these conclusions: Insofar as the universe is knowable, it is one, all inclu sive, all powerful, without beginning, and without end. And insofar as the universe is not knowable, there's not much w'e can say about it. These facts have an important implication. Everything that exists or lives, has emerged from the one almighty eternal universe and will dissolve back into the same. Therefore, all things that exist throughout the universe are related to one another by virtue of having one cosmically encompassing parent. In addition to being part of one universe, we human beings also partake of one common humanity. Despite all our manifold differences, we can recognize ourselves in other human beings around the globe, regardless of culture. This common recognition is what motivates us to build bridges to each other on the occasions when we build them. We have also all emerged from one Earth, and to that Earth we will return. Beyond our connections that are grounded in nature, we reaffirm and build unity among our selves when we act with goodness. Three 28

Using Beads As noted earlier, the hymns and affirmation of the Cosmic Rosary can be used with almost any array of beads. There is a pamphlet form of the Cosmic Rosary available (see below) that has detailed guidelines on how' to the hymns and affirmation with the traditional Catholic design, as well as a design specific to the Cosmic Rosary. Regardless of the array of beads used, when we complete a recitation of the Cosmic Rosary, we would do well to reflect on this principle: Action without meditation is misguided. M editation without action is useless. Meditation + action = hope for a better world. Finally, a biographical note: The Cosmic Rosary gives a practical application to some fascinating discoveries 1 made while writing a book on the loss and return o f meaning in human life. It's entitled Moon Lady Rising and is scheduled for publication in 2007 by White Crane Press. If you would like to be notified when Moon Lady Rising is available, please send either your e-mail address or postal address to A E van s604@ aoI.com If you would like to receive the full pamphlet for the Cosmic Rosary, including expanded com men taries, Latin translations of the hymns, and guide lines for use with different arrays of beads, please send $3.50 (which includes postage and handling)

W hite Crane Press 404 Patrick Lane M odesto, CA 95350 Also, please visit our website:

http: //ww w .healthyspirituality.com

Rem em brances: Assunta Femia, SF's "Wild Nun," Has Died

by A rth u r Evan s

ssunta Femia. a gay male San Francisco poet, actor, and political activist who admired nuns, died on Saturday. N on ember 4. 2006. from liver cancer, secondary to hepatitis B. He would have been 59 in December.

Assunta was bom Francis Thomas Femia in December 1947, the son of an ItalianAmerican father and a West Virginia mother. After growing up in modest cir cumstances in West Virginia and Philadelphia, and later serving time in fed eral prison for an anti-war protest, he arrived in San Francisco in 1975. Francis Femia started walking about the city dressed as a nun. which was a novel sight at the time, and began using the female pronoun for self reference. Eventually, she changed her name to Assunta, which means “Taken Up,” a title referring to the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Assunta loved the nuns and the Catholic liturgy that she knew' from childhood. However, she rejected the church’s malefocused theology and scorned priests and the pope. She created her own special spir ituality based on a sense of service to the divine feminine, traditional Catholic ven eration of the Blessed Virgin, and fierce independence of spirit. In a 1977 poem, she described herself this way: “i am a w'ild nun/ untamed and unre fined/ i sharpen my claws on stones/ i belong to no convent/ i follow the excep tion/ not the rule.” She smoked pot and cigarettes, loved sex, and had a foul mouth. She also recited the Office of the Blessed Virgin every day, in Latin. Assunta’s eye-popping spirituality struck a responsive chord in San Francisco’s gay community in the 70s and 80s. She helped inspire the founding of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, a group that contin ues to this day. However, she was too independent-minded to spend much time with the Sisters, and she never adopted a mocking posture toward nuns.

Assunta had made w'aves before coming to San Francisco. In 1968, at age21, she was arrested, along with two other Catholic peace activists, for pouring black paint on draft files in Boston, to protest the War in Vietnam. As a consequence, she spent two years in federal prison in Kentucky, where she came out as gay. She said she preferred prison life in Kentucky to parochial high school in south Philadelphia. “Prison w'as a lot less brutal than high school. 1 never got beat up in prison.” Starting in the 80s, Assunta spent much time in southern Oregon, going back and forth between there and San Francisco. When in Oregon, she rented a small house in a wooded area outside the town of Wolf Creek, whose owner lived in San Francisco. A local homophobe firebombed the house, but luckily Assunta was absent at the time. 29

She became the butt of taunts and threats from redneck males in rural Oregon because of her feminine appearance. But her tormentors always backed off’, sensing on some level that she w'as not someone to mess with. They were right. Tucked away in her colorfully knitted Guatemalan handbag, next to her favorite rosary, she carried a big handgun. During Assunta’s tenancy, the Wolf Creek property was often visited by gay men seeking alternatives to urban life, and the land gradually took on the nature of a country refuge. RFD was published there in the mid to late 7()’s. before moving to the south east Eventually, a collective of Radical Faeries from San Francisco, including followers of the late Harry Hay, came into possession of the property and turned it into a faery sanctuary.

RID Winier 2006-07 # 12K

A bitter conflict soon developed between the swarm of new faery landlords and the longstanding tenant. Things got off to a rocky start when Harry' Hay rebuked Assunta for including Catholic elements in her spirituality. The turning point came when one o f the new faery occupants erected some stone phalluses on the land. Assunta regarded the phalluses as glorifi cations of male pow er in a place sacred to the divine feminine. She destroyed them all with a hammer, celebrating the feat with a triumphant poem, “i smashed the phalloi.” The poem included these lines: “you stand there with your dick/ in your hand/ and your mouth open in disbelief./ you just can’t imagine it./ she’s gone mad./ she’s smashing phalloi.” Assunta proved to be too radical for the radical faeries, and a parting of the ways followed. She abandoned the land she had made safe for the new dwellers and the home that she and some friends had built to replace the one that was firebombed. “It was easier w'ith one landlord than 200,” she later quipped. Assunta performed in plays and musicals in both Oregon amd San Francisco. In 1984, at the former Valencia Rose Cabaret in the Mission, she played the lead role of the god Dionysos in “The God of Ecstasy,” a rendition of Euripides’ play “Bakkhai.” When asked at a rehearsal by other members of the cast how she landed the lead role, she announced to all, “I slept with the director” (which was true). She was active in Bay Area Gay Liberation and also the Butterfly Brigade, a civilian foot patrol organized to combat anti-gay violence in the Castro. When the AIDS epidemic hit, she spent much time caring for the dying, both in Oregon and San Francisco, drawing on skills she had learned from a stint in nursing school. Although appearing to be in the peak of health, Assunta was unexpectedly diag nosed in the winter of 2005 w ith advanced liver cancer, after feeling a slight discom fort in her lower right abdomen. The can cer grew with frightening rapidity, despite a gruesome surgery performed at U.C.Medical Center in February 2006, in a last-ditch effort to save her life. Her initial disbelief and anger eventually gave way to acceptance. “I’m ready for the transition,” she said, before dying at a lov ing friend's home in Oregon. KIT) Winter 2006-07 # 128

from RFD #12, summer 1977 i am a wild nun untamed and unrefined I sharpen my claws on stones, i belong to no convent. I follow the exception. not the rule, i eat peyote and lust after men. i get drunk a whole lot and stoned even more, sometimes my veil is red and ray black stocking often have runs, i shout and cuss and run around, excess is my only consistency. i am a wild nun, course and rough, spitting out curses like tobacco, hearing one voice in the wind and another between the thighs of men. ciaire marie-femia

from Artemis, An Oracle

Sr Species of Crow, a.k.a., Assunta, at Creekland and 3 rd class relic, fabric touched to skull of goat she slaughtered there in 1981 . (Soami Archive) for the Siste rs of P erp etu al Ind ulge n ce

white dan white it's been driving me mad to tell you this: for the murder of one Italian middle class allegdly heterosexual liberal mayor and for the murder of one petit bourgeois jewish faggot and for staining the steps you trod on with the blood of these two if you plead insanity if you plead insanity i promise you this if you get off because of insanity i promise you this: you will go stark raving mad. --Fag Nun Assunta Femia [from / Promise You This: A Collection o f Poems for Harvey M ilk, 20 poems by 19 different authors privately printed early 1979 after Harvey's assassination (11.28.78) and before Dan White's manslaughter con viction (5.21.79) and his eventual suicide after his release from prison.] It was read over the airwaves of KPFA-fm on Fruit Punch's weekly gay radio show early May 1979 and one year later after Dr. Thomas Szaz's address to the annual meet ing of the APA in SF wherein he charged them in collaborating with the criminal justice system that allowed Dan White "to et away with murder." On both occasions r. Missionary Position, SPI delivered this poem on behalf of Sr. Assunta.

my dear sist e rs , do you re m em b er the voice t h a t soft voice of the m is tre ss of po st u la n ts g iv in g us o ur f ir s t i n s t r u c t io n s in r e lig io u s t r u t h s ? do you re m em b er her sing song voice tea c h in g us that c h il d r e n 's c h a n t ? two fo ur six eight the re Is no c a t h o l ic pri est who's strate. three fi v e seven nine pro t e s ta n t pre acher - f a s c is t mind. or la te r much la ter j u s t before solemn vows that a n c ie n t cracke d voice of re verend mothe r e x p la in in g to us r e lig io u s m y st e rie s do you re m em b er tha t t e n d e r cro ne vo ice re m in d in g us that before the C hr is ti an s came being a nun was so m e t h in g ho no ra ble urgin g us to ave ng e Ve st a that ten de r crone voice r e m in d in g us of our rig h t f u l place our p o si tion s of honor th a t ten de r crone voice urg in g us to a t t a c k fu ll fo rce the Jesu its the pro t e s ta n t ri g h t wing th a t t e n de r crone voice tha t vo ic e of co m pass io n o rd e rin g : no pri so ne rs , tha t w ild crone voice I giv e you Crete I give you Argo s our dear reve re nd m o the r of the kn ife of the axe in this ru ra l con ve nt in this c lo is tere d heart I hear th a t te n de r cro ne voice my dear si sters ass ume y o u r r ig h t f u l place of honor take no pri so ne rs . w ith deep love & pro fo un d a ffe c t io n , Sis t e r A ssu nta M a ri a Fem ia ("We received this ar the Co n ven t one day before our perform nee at the lesbian and g ay cu ltu ra l festiva l called M a in strea m Exiles, N ov, 8 1980. It becam e our clo sin g Bened iction . It was the week after o ur first sue cessfu l b en efit for the Cuban refugees at M C C and our protest o f the je s u it 's U S F 125th a n n iv e rsa ry pa rty w herein they d enied the existen ce o f th eir lesbian and g ay cam pus g ro u p s.—-Sr. Soam i, a foundress o f S P I)

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San ‘Diec\o. C'A ‘US'A September 12 , 2006 Dear Sisters. Last evening, 11 September 2006. some members of the Asylum gathered at the southeast comer of 6th Street and University Avenue to observe a candlelight vigil. During the one hour vigil, we contemplated twenty realities of terrorism and chanted to our version of A Rosary in Tim e o f Terrorist Peril. We chose to mark this evening as reflection on that fate ful day five years ago when humanity was attacked through a field in Pennsylvania, The Pentagon and the World Trade Center. We offered prayers to remember yesterday, one of the dark days in human history , and other times when terrorism has gripped the lives of humanity. Between meditations on each set of the Realities of Terrorism, we re-told the story of the events that transpired on 11 September 2001. Please take a moment today to reflect on the Realities o f Terrorism and how it affects our lives and those o f people around the world. Offer a prayer or a wish for the hope o f an end to terror. Five Shocking R ealities o f Terrorism 1.The Centennial Olympic Park Bombing. 27 July 1996. Atlanta, Georgia (2 deaths, 111 injuries) 2 . The USS Cole Attack. 12 October 2(XX).The Port of Aden in Yemen (17 deaths & 39 injuries) 3. The Indian Parliament Attack, 13 December 2001, New Delhi in India (12 deaths, 18 injuries) 4. The Passover Massacre, 27 March 2002, Netanya, Israel (30 deaths) 5. The Beslan Massacre. 1 September 2004. Beslan Russia (344 deaths (186 children], hundreds injured) 4.

Five Sorrow ful R ealities o f Transportation Terrorism

1. Air India Flight 182, 23 June 1985, The Atlantic Ocean south of Ireland, (329 deaths)

The Omagh Car Bombings, 15 August 1998, Omagh. County Tyrone in Northern Ireland (29 deaths, 220 injuries) The Bali Bombings. 12 October 2002. Kuta in Indonesia (202 deaths, 209 injuries)

Five Sorrow ful R ealities o f Terrorism against the United States o f A m erica

2. Pan-Am Flight 103, 21 December 1988. Lockerbie in Scotland (270 deaths)

1. World Trade Center Bombing. 26 February 1993, New York City

3. The Madrid Train Bombings. 11 March 2004, Madrid in Spain (191 deaths, over 1.700 injuries)

(6 deaths, I .(KM) injuries)

2. Oklahoma City Bombing, 19 April 1995, Oklahoma City,

4. The Mumbai Train Bombings. 11 July 2006, Bombay in India (207 deaths, 700 injuries) 5. The London Transportation System Bombings. 7 July 2005 (52

Oklahoma (168 deaths) 3. Khobar Towers Bombing, 25 June 1996. Dhahran in Saudi Arabia (20 deaths, 372 injuries) 4. The US Embassy Bombings, 7 August 1998, at Dar I s Salaam. Tanzania & Nairobi. East Africa (257 deaths, 4,(MK) injuries) 5. The 9/11 Attacks. 11 September 2001. New York City, Washington

deaths, 7(X) injuries)

Five Sorrow ful R ealities o f Terrorism on Land 1. The Massacre at the 1972 Summer Olympics. 4 September 1972, Munich. Germany (17 deaths) 2. The Brighton Hotel Bombing. 12 October 1984. Brighton, England (Five deaths)

D.C. and Pennsylvania (2,973 deaths, 24 missing)

Sister ‘A manda ‘Reckinwith. The Scarlet harlot Asylum of the Tortured ‘Heart The San T)ieejo Sisters of Perpetual ‘Indulgence

3. The Mumbai Bombings. 12 March 1993, Bombay, India (257 deaths, 1,400 injuries) 31

RI D Winter 200ft 07 # 128

Liberty, T'N September 13, 2006 'Dear Sister ‘Amanda arid all sisters worldwide, I’ll be honored to include these in future editions of our SPI/OPI rosary prayerbook. It is courageous and thoughtful prayer. I would prefer to refer to them as Realities rather than Mysteries with your kind permission. Do consider so calling them that on future public prayerful occasions. 1 believe it has more punch to call them Realities and it distinguishes them from "the Mysteries" of the catholic rosary. At another level. 1 would encourage you to consider the US sponsored acts of terrorism that have been ongoing throughout our Republic’s history, from the genocidal wars against the indigenous peoples throughout the Americas, thru the cata strophic killing of civilians in Nagasaki and Hiroshima, to the Viet Nam nightmare and now onto the debilitating debacle in Iraq that this current war IS both for the US and the world. Until the US Government repents and apologizes to the world for such mass tortures of civilian populations, how can it ever expect to be honored or respected? The current administration is but an extension and contemporary expression of the fascist terrors that have gripped and marked the 20th century and con tinue into this 21st... In short, I invite you to balance out your litanies of terrorism with:

SPI/SF 1980: Sisters Homo Fellatio, Loganberry Frost, Loretta(Senslble Shoes)Tlmothy, Theresa Stigmata

Sisters Viscous PowerHungry Bitch, Unity Harmony, Hysterectorla

Sisters Theresa Stigmata, Loretta Timothy, Mary Media, Rosanna Hosanna Fella Bella, Succuba, Searching for Men, Adhanarisvara (VPHB), Loganberry Frost by Srs. Missionary Position 8c Homo Fellatio

Five Sorrow ful R ealities o f Terrorism Sponsored by the United States o f A m erica.

1) The Mass Murder of Indigenous Peoples throughout the Americas, 17th Century to the Present. 2) The U.S. Nuclear Bombing of the Civilian Populations of Hiroshima & Nagasaki, 1945. 3) The U. S. Directed War in Viet Nam, 1956 to 1972. 4) The U.S. supported Israeli directed Massacre of Hundreds of Palestinians at Sabra & Shatila Refugee Camps, 1982 5) The U.S. War on Iraq, 2002 to the Present.

T h e R o sa ry o f th e O rd e r o f P e rp e tu a l In d u lg e n ce is a d e v o t io n t o Gaia, t h e D iv in e M o t h e r . It is an occasio n f o r c o n t e m p l a t i o n and m e d i t a t i o n d u r in g th e r e v e r e n t r e p e t i t i o n o f an Ave Prayer. The t r a d i t i o n a l c a t h o li c ro sa ry focuses on t h e s o r r o w f u l , j o y f u l and g l o r io u s m y s te r ie s in t h e life o f Jesus and his m o t h e r , M a r y , w h i l e r e c i ti n g 50 H a i l M a r y s and a f e w O ur Fathers.

The Sisters' Rosary a c k n o w le d g e s j o y f u l , s o r r o w f u l and g l o r io u s r e a litie s im p a c t in g o u r q u e e r lives and t h e w o r ld a r o u n d us.

(1st public delivery at Nashville demonsration in solidarity with 20,000 SOA protesters at Ft. Benning GA, 11.18.06: C l o s e th e S c h o o l

W e p r o c la im th e e v e n ts or persons re m e m b e re d th e n r e c ite f iv e A ve Prayers w i t h r h y t h m s t h a t h o n o r th e cadences o f t h e H a i l M a r y . A c k n o w l e d g in g t h e s h o r t a t t e n t i o n spans o f som e c o n g r e g a t io n s o r a l i m i t e d s t a g e / m ic r o p h o n e t im e , we m ay say as l i t t l e as on e Ave Prayer a f t e r each p r o c la m a t io n ; b u t as Sr. Chanel o f t e n says, " M o r e is B e t t e r . "

o f th e A s s a s s in s N o w ! )

Sadly such reflection and meditation go a long way in making less mysterious the w'ays of “terrorists" who are not US. in sororal sofidarity and with compassion, Sr. Soami

History of the Rosary of Perpetual Indulgence In March of

1980

on the first anniversary of Three Mile Island, The Sisters of

Perpetual Indulgence participated in a San Francisco Anti-N uclear Protest that marched from City Hall to the Panhandle of Golden Gate Park. It was the

Rye Prayer

Order's first procession under the newly calligraphed banner by Sr. Succuba.

‘Hail, 0 ‘D ivine ‘Mother, Source of Wisdom and D e fight. ‘Blessed are You among the Deities and Blessed are aff of V s Your Loving Companions, h o ly M aiden, Wise Womyn, Crone, ‘Protect V s from the B arth Defilers D ow in this h o u r of Our ‘heed. (hema/Amen)

£n route the Sisters did humorous pom pom routines alternating with a R o s a r y in

setting up the poles of our public

1981

during May. a month dedicated to the Mother, the Sisters recited a

weekly rosary on KPFA-fm for the Fruit Punch Show. Over the years sisters have recited rosaries at faerie gatherings, political demonstrations and other prayerful occasions.

for more info on the Rosaries of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, please contact sistersoami@yahoo.com or sister@ rightonsister.org. A hand-made Rosary and Prayer Book are available from 3 Sisters Retreat House, 247 Sanctuary Lane, Liberty, TN 37095 by written request & for a suggested donation of $ 10. (checks to: MOPI)

composed by Sr. ‘Missionary ‘Position

KM) Winter 2006 07 # 128

Tim e o f N u c le a r P e r il,

m inistery:outrageous camp humor and thoughtful spiritual purpose.

Ritual Moments A n Oxymoron ol by Kwai Lam vvAwv.FaervPhoto.com As one who participates in many, many rituals and ceremonies, and is also a photographer, I find the notion of photographing rituals somewhat of a contradiction. The essence of ritual, as opposed to performance, is partici pation. Ritual is about process and jointly creating one or more stoiy(ies); it is not a static tableau, but a conversation. The very presence of a camera, capturing images and fiee/ing moments, tends to be disruptive (or encouraging of performance)!

Photographing ritual is a contin uous dance between participant, voyeur, artist and observer. Ironically these days find me wearing the mantle o f ‘professional wedding photographer’ with increasing frequency. Weddings and prom pictures are the only time that most folks pay for pictures. In weddings the photograher becomes part of the ritual; their very presence a validation of the rit ual's importance. In one breath some complain about the cost; in another they expect you to show

relaxed, happy people in what often turns out to be one of the most stressful situations one could possi bly encounter. (Here decades of practice as a playful and flitrateous faery puts me in good stead.) Ritual for me comes down to four words:

transformation

emotion witnessing community

Beltane W olf Creek below; Santa Cruz above. Weaving our dreams together.

RF D Winter 2006-07 * 128

—

FTpper left clockwise: Burning the Goddess, Short. M t; First FaeMas, (Germany; Peaches/I Funnier 50th Birthday; Santa Cruz Samhain Coinnninity Vision channelling, Sainta Cruz.

tra n sfo rm a tio n , m e d ita tio n & w itn essin g, co m m u n ity h on orin g, vision in g

____ 35

RF D Winter 2006-07 tt 128

R 6 V I6 W S :

Movie,

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Shamelessly Stumping for Short bus by Anu Bonobo How would a celluloid artist like John Cameron Mitchell plan a follow-up to the over-the-top rock musical Hedwig and The Angry Inch? To begin, by tak ing his time. Building this film in an improvisational and intensive manner, Mitchell gives back to his community by casting the community and creating the script in workshop fashion. The cast spent more than two years testing the wild waves of such a progressive waters and learning how to touch, taste, and teach each other. Given that this dynamic and daring director shares writing duties with the actors, it’s no surprise he ends up onscreen in one of the many pansexual orgy scenes. In a radio interview, Mitchell admitted that he gave oral sex to a woman for the first time in his life on the set of this film. While the steamy, salacious—and at times s illy sex is central to Shortbus, the prolifically prurient parts are so seamlessly woven into this psychological comedy that viewers should be warned of wanting anything purely pornographic. Shameless and self-assured, Shortbus shocks—not with the sex—but through profound intimacy, soulful perversity, and disarming honesty. Showering viewers with geysers of cin ematic semen, the movie makes us contemplate what a glob of masculine goo can do to the canvas of a Pollack painting. A sex therapist and couples’ counselor by day, the female protago nist cannot actually achieve orgasm, and the pursuit of climax helps form one of the countless plotlines. In the excruciating yet jovial interactions between the therapist and her male lover, viewers might hear painfully humorous echoes of Woody Allen’s devastating critiques of heterosexual relations from the Manhattan and Annie Hall days. In other insurrections of indecency, we get to learn what three horny men can do with the Ki n Winter 2006-07 # 128

C O N C 6 R J , BOOKS

national anthem during a three-way suckoff. With this organic and orgas mic outing, Mitchell honors another queer visionary, Gus Van Sant, as the character James chronicles the begin ning of his hustling days—trying to turn tricks outside a middle American screening of My Own Private Idaho. With utopian vision and a context of collaboration, the Shortbus salon cap tures the fascinating flavor of fringe communalism. By culling a cast willing to function as an experimental coop erative, Mitchell mirrors the utopian process of radical New York nudists from another time-frame. In its exper imental excess, the cast conjures memories of The Living Theater—anti war pleasure pacifists whose Paradise Now marked the late 60s sacking of stuffy, sedate entertainment. Composing the script for that popular play involved, among other experi mental strategies, the casting of the IChing. As one character remarks regarding the bodies engaged in bawdy baccha nal, “Voyeurism is participation.” With this line, the Shortbus collective invites its shyer viewers from red states and beyond to join the funky

fray. While such a gesture invites the kind of “don’t dream it, be it" sub culture camping of Rocky Horror nerds, there’s something more sug gestive and subversive, radical and real than anything found in Rent, Rocky Horror, Hair, or other similarly sentimental and sympathetically superficial versions of American sub culture. Years after Mapplethorpe and Monica, sex scandals still stalk us from the TV screen. While the Mark Foley situation reminds us what happens when repressed desires express themselves inappropriately, former president Bill Clinton discusses the best of the sex ually open Bonobo chimpanzees in a New Yorker interview. Laws legislating the bedroom still make headlines, and deviants still drift away from the dra conian norm to redefine family. Shortbus sneaks its way into our the aters and hearts against this backdrop. Of all its astonishing qualities, this flick fights the culture war without fighting. Instead, it flies sorties of consensual sucking, confronting the enemy of fear with ferocious lust and humorous love, with temptation and cunning, with tenderness and cunnilingus.

Paul Dawson (Pinto) on his way to Shortbus - via Short Mountain and Jai’s camera. 36

Sisters' magical matron Matronic. Warming up to the Nashville crowd by discussing fried chicken, religion, and First Lady Laura Bush’s wardrobe, Matronic said she knew we southerners were "close to heaven." As evidence, she mentioned our 42-foot-m ar ble goddess that graces the recre ated Parthenon in Centennial Park.

Scissor Sisters at City Hall, Nashville, TN Oct. 17, 2006 by Anu Bonobo Taking a simmering and salacious, afterhours gay club vibe to a prime-time altrock audience requires work. As in, “Work it, girl." Rather than depend on low-level, prere corded mix tapes to cast the between-set mood, the Scissor Sisters travel with a DJ. After the opening act Small Sins left the stage by 8:45 pm, Sammy Jo spun to lively up the crowd. As clubby as his cuts and beats could get, the Nashville cuties need ed a refresher course in live shows as par ticipatory activities and not mere specta cles. While the pre-show tension built, other than a few pockets of fabulously frenzied moves, far too many fans stood still for the bumping build-up. But by around 9:30 pm, the Sisters stormed the stage. Then, even the to o -cool-for-the-rest-of-us folk were flying hands, flailing arms, freaking hips, and feeling booties to a rousing “Take Your Mama," the perfect opening song. In contrast to some mixed early verdicts from the rock press, the new songs from “T a -D a h ” fused perfectly with the older tunes from the debut disc in a 15-song set list that freely alternated between both records. Particular show stealers from the new material included “Sh e’s My Man,” “Kiss You Off," and “Everybody Wants the Same Thing,” the latter being the perfect anthem to unite the truly eclectic and elec trified crowd. If people think that the Sisters’ funkified fusion of sex and dance would only play well in blue states or places like the Bay Area, they should have taken note of the Frankie Coes to Dollywood spin that frontwoman Ana Matronic put on the whole evening. She was downright down-home in a spicy yet maternal sort of way, paying her respects to many Music City divas and more. The old time religion of the goddess Athena, the feisty spirit of dancing revolu tionary Goldman, and living legend Dolly Parton were all collectively conjured by the

As logic would have it, such pagan invocations and matriarchal inti mations provide the perfect intro duction to a song like "Tits on the Radio." Later, she commended those dancing and calmly critiqued those stuffy stiffs who might make the dancers uncomfortable. Channeling Emma Goldman, she quipped (and I'm doing my best to accurately par aphrase here), “When the revolution comes, you better have your dancing shoes on.” From that charge, lead singer Jake Shears took over and dedicated “Music Is a Victim” to his dozen or so Radical Faerie friends who had driven an hour to attend the show—they’d come from the gay Mecca Short Mountain (a rural, gay commune that’s been one of T en n essee’s hidden treasures for more than two decades).

This odd marriage has a legendary subcul ture subtext; it melds hardcore urban glit ter with rural hobo glam; it’s also a mar riage between the Scissor Sisterhood of fans and the gay nuns from the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, who were represent ing in full habit. Finally, then, it’s a mar riage of sin and salvation. And "Music is Victim" is the perfect song for this. Shears sings, “Hell if Jesus had the power then so do l/To rise up from the dead and take up to the sk y /l’m buskin’ for the money so I get by/lf music is the victim then so am I." By the chilling techno-riffs that ushered in “Comfortably Numb" to the fierce and frankly on-the-floor nasty conclusion of “Filthy Gorgeous,” the Sisters proved they could take two albums that are essentially clubby soundtracks and translate these songs into a captivating and intoxicating live set. With Shears, Matronic, and the rest of the band as our personal “classy honey, kissy, huggy, lovey, dovey, ghetto princess,” we fans were happy to share the sweaty dance floor for one last round of groping and hoping. Anu Bonobo/sunfrog is the editor o f the Fifth Estate and can be reached at: anu@anuran.net He blogs at: http://anuran.net/ 37

SANITY'S BANK by Vincent Collazo (a.k.a. Joy boy) reviewed by Mountaine Vincent Collazo has given us a real gem in his self-published novel Sanity's Hone. The book reads as the memoir of a young writer, telling the story of his life from infancy to young adulthood. It's emotion ally rich, thought-provoking, and a reall\ fun over-the-top wacky read. The author often adds his delightful pres ence to faerie events in New York, and at Short Mountain and Faerie Camp Destiny. For those who know him. the tone of the writing feels familiar - it's a lot like his personal style. On his website (http;//lulu.com ■■joyboypress. where the book can be ordered). Joyboy invites us to “tread the landscape of m> mind, to visit places both sacred and profane, and to meditate upon the deeper significances of our lives on this beauteous and bountiful planet. Wow! That's a lot to accomplish in 243 pages! Judge for yourself whether my achievement matches my ambition." I'd say it has... The main character is Victor Cruise, and in addition to the name being similar to Vincent Collazo, there’s lots more shared by Victor and Vincent, including the unique cultural flavor of a New Yorker of Puerto Rican descent. So a reader might w'onder how much this is an autobiogra phy. Although parts of the story are prob ably true reminiscences, Joyboy has exag gerated and warped reality in countless w'ays to deliver a romp through the back rooms of a pretty weird mind. At the age of 4, Victor falls in with an “older woman” of 6. Janice Collins, who has the remarkable ability to see the Diamond People, two disembodied beings, apparently born in Janice’s dreams. Their fondest wish is to see Janice and Victor bonded through mar riage. Clearly. Janice has a strong will, and the nuptial ceremony takes place, with the Diamond People as co-ministers, using wedding rings stolen from their parents. Victor’s description: “ 1 hadn’t intended to take our ‘bonding’ R ID Winter 2006 07 # 128

enough to keep the reader enthralled. Get this book to keep you company on a few of those long winter nights. Who knows? The Diamond People may visit you too, to thank you for supporting a faerie writer.

Two Spirits. A Story o f Life with the Navajo

by Walter L. Williams & Toby Johnson

Lethe Press, 331 pages, 2006

Review by B

Joy Boy portrait from Luc Georges' upcoming book: NYC Radical Faeries.Contemporary Portraits

seriously but, when Janice placed her father’s oversized ring on my finger, I was moved. I saw Janice’s face anew' and once more was captivated by her red hair and freckles. I fancied that I could make out the glow ing forms of the Diamond People in her eyes and felt the warmth of their benevolence wash over me. We did a pseudo-waltz to music that I had to imag ine, but Janice said it was the most beauti ful she’d ever heard.” The wackiness of Victor’s marriage to Janice has a darker side, as we learn of the abuse she suffers from both her mother and father. Victor’s adventures take him through leaving home, setting up an apart ment. making new friends (including close connections to a large tribe of cockroach es), a gay coming-out that’s both sexy and hilarious, and finally an apprenticeship with Lucius Azencole. his and Janice’s favorite writer. Joyboy gets to play with at least 5 styles of writing Victor’s first person narrative, his stream-of-eonsciousness style in the teenage work "Phantasmagoria", Azencole’s own work, Victor’s efforts to simulate Azencole’s work, and finally, Janice’s long letter written from the Fairleigh Mental Institution (known to Janice and Victor as “Unfairly Mental”). The use of Lnglish is differentiated clear ly enough to help the reader feel the differ ences among these various parts of the book. Through it all, despite many ele ments of pure fantasy, the story feels real

“Two Spirits, A story of Life With the Navajo", is an eminently accessible novel. It is written with joy and sensitivity and successfully evokes the post-Civil War era. In addition, it offers a lucid and simple (at times almost too simple) view of Dine (the word the Navajo peoples have for themselves) spirituality and the unique role of the Two Spirit people in Dine culture. In the first three chapters we are introduced to the hero, Will Lee (a distant relative of Robert E.) who arrives at Ft. Sumner NM to take up duties as an apprentice to the Indian Agent. Following chapters alternate between his earlier life in Virginia and his experiences at the Fort. Will, we learn, has had some questions about his sexuality; had a brief romantic/ sexual experience with his best friend, Michael; and is discovered just after the act by his Bible-thumping father with the expected dire consequences. Michael escapes to Norfolk to follow his dream of becoming a sailor; and Will, through the intervention of a local lawyer is given a copy of Walt Whitman’s recently published "Leaves of Crass”; given a letter of introduction to the lawyer’s friend in the Department of the Interior and encouraged to escape to Washington, D.C. where he is assigned to the post at Ft. Sumner. Through this devise of alter nating episodes between his earlier life and life at the fort, a picture of a sen sitive and caring, though confused young man emerges. He meets, and is very attracted to Hasbaa, a Dine Two Spirit spiritual leader of his/her peo ple. Will is appalled at the destitute conditions to which the Dine are sub jected by General Carlson, the Fort Commander, and gradually discovers the extent of the General’s perfidy.

Love blooms between Will and Hasbaa and as he learns about the Dine life and spirituality the reader gains a clear picture of the profound reverence for life and the joyous and innocent sexuality evidenced by the people. The device works well and the adventure provided by the pursuit and ultimate downfall of Cen. Carlson and the return of the Dine to their home land makes for a satisfying tale. If you are interested in Native American culture and spirituality I highly recommend “ Two Spirits". It will be a treasured addition to your library.

Sweet Son of Pan by Trebor Healey Suspect T houghts Press (2006) 136 pages Review er: Vytautas Pliura Suspect Thoughts Press wins the triple crown o f poetry with the feisty cloven-hoofed crea ture who outraces the competition in the form o f the god of Eros in Healey’s newest collec tion Sweet Son of Pan. His book is a master piece, a love letter to the reader from cupid’s bow. Every page is filled with different jour neys, poems of unbridled joy, poems that sing out the ‘‘body electric” ala Whitman, poems that get in touch with our mortality, poems that get in touch with our immortality, poems that make us reach down and search our souls, poems that occasionally explore the melan choly that is brought about by sudden intimacy and the loneliness that can follow. Although Healey's poems are often raunchy and written with his sperm, he still retains the quality o f a kid in a sandbox and the men who people his world are filled with a youthful abandon. Take for instance the poem We S ta r te d o u t J a n ito r s where two men working side by side become fuckbuddies with amaz ing lust and gusto. H e t u r n e d a n d f o r c e d h i s t o n g u e in m y m o u t h hard We tore at each o th e r's clo th es We b o th h a d big u g ly d ic k s th a t we tr e a te d lik e f o o d

I once heard Healey read his poems at A Different Light Bookstore in West Hollywood and in a question and answer period afterw ards he said he felt extraordinarily lucky to be gay. Of course not only gays have doubts in accept ing themselves, but his point that gays have a lot of white water to navigate through self acceptance from often suicidal teenagers to self-affirmed self-lovers, is well made. At the bookstore that night he said these words. T he th in g s th a t m a k e y o u a n o u tc a s t, th e th in g s th a t m a k e y o u n o t f i t in . th a t m a k e y o u d iffe r e n t, a r e

K IT ) Winter 2(XXv()7 # 128

the things that make you special: therefore you should see these things as gifts.

T R £ B 0

H E A l

l> Y

SWEET*.

In the poem / S in g th e D ic k C r o o k e d he takes an uncomfortable and delicate situation and expands it with honest to goodness sensuality and glee.

SON o f PANt

c h e rrv b lossom s fa llin g m ale naked N ipples

MVi* Gt Of m s DHLARC

In mv standup comedy routine I sa\ “You can do the darndcst things to a G1 Joe doll w ho's in a coma ” In Healev's poem A S tr a p p in g l a d he is on the same wavelength as me w hen he pens-

sin g th e d ic k c r o o k e d

a n d th e b e n t d ic k s in g s b a c k to m e w ith th e h a r m o n y o f a b o l d l y p l u c k e d g u i t a r -

Once when I was young and homy. 1 called an Escort ad in the Advocate. He said he w as a LA fireman who loved to get head. He said it was $75 for an hour. When I got there he w as drop dead gorgeous in his uniform. He wasted no time in dropping his pants and I was aston ished to see a "boom-erang" shaped cock (to borrow an image from the poem) that was as thick as a chocolate eclair. I was terrified that he would feel my teeth. I gingerly c r o o k e d my throat and made progress until 1 was all the way down. The head of his dick hurt my mouth. He moaned gently with no hint of my teeth and suddenly he quaked with an orgasm. I swallowed hard and bolted up. Both o f us were out of breath. Quiet for a long moment. I asked if I could pay him. He said “This aint gonna cost you nuthin’ Bro. and if you want, keep my number and call me to come back for free. No one ever did me like you did me.*’ 1 could kick myself for not keeping his num ber. At the time I guess I thought he was too much of an obstacle course but now 1 realize he was my crooked-dick angel. I’d forgotten all about this fireman until reading / S in g th e C r o o k e d D ic k and w hat a “steaming hot” rever ie it was. Oh

c o u ld sin g th e d ick c r o o k e d f o r e v e r

fo ll o w th a t cu rve like c e n tr ifu g a l f o r c e a n d orbit the a b d o m e n s o f the b o w -d ic k e d boys un til th e e n d o f m y c r o o k e d d ays singing m y c ro o k e d so n g

W hen I was a boy I d isse c te d a G l J oe The p la stic p a rts-lcg s, arm s, head, to r so -

Were

I JftR

£v ; -VP W h en we ja c k o f f to g e th e r In his tru c k

H e ' d in s e r t it in to h o r n y o ld m e n w ith m o n e y H e k n e w a ll th e r ig h t b u tt o n s to p u s h He was a o n e -o r g a n e d b a n d it a n d h e l a u g h e d w h e n he s a w the o r a n g e s

A n d w illin gly

Just as boys are given Cil Joes and cowboys and Indians to prepare them for war fare, so Healey equates his Gl Joe doll with death. He writesH ow m erciless if he love m e

w ere k in d a n d c a m e to

H ow stra n g e a n d sad H is b a lls , in m y h a n d s lik e d ic e E g yp tia n s m a d e th e f ir s t ou t o f bon es

P lea su re w o u ld d isso lve me

A n d so l th in k o f de a th

H e 'd be m y death

A s his s e m e n

He is death.

G ru n ts o u t o f him “D u d e , I'm n u ttin g ."

H e sm ile s p o lite ly w h en l sta re

He ends not with the Valley of the Shadow of Death, but with the Lilies o f the Valley:

C h e rish in g m y c o m in g death L ike a p e rfec t lover

I w a n t to c a ll o u t to h im :

s m i l e a t h i m , s h a k i n g m y h e a d ; 1 t h i n k h e ’s

I sm ile back

b eautiful W hen?

In the poem N ip p le s Healey writes about his favorite part of the body, favorite because of their unassuming Eros.

th e m o st b o y ish H e is u n s e l f - c o n s c i o u s o f t h e m In a w a y h e c o u ld n e v e r be a b o u t h is p e n is o r h is a ss

Then Healey’s poem takes a turn into what I call a Picasso-cubist approach because he fractures the nipples and they become E yeb a lls

c a n k is s a n d lick

Wish I could write a book on this book; but because this is a review and not a book. 1 must restrain my unbridled enthusiasm. But what are reviewers for if not to spread the good news. Healey certainly has a body of work that warrants a book size critique. I must say before ending that it was an honor reading this book, and an honor penning these humble paragraphs, humble because of the finesse and verve that went into the writing of this collection.

a n d m a k e s t a n d u p w i t h t h e i r b a c k s in t h e a i r

a n d th e a p p le s

lik e sp id e r s

l i n e u p in r o w s i n t h e o l d m a n ' s e y e s

And then back to another fresh image H is n ip p le s a re like m v f i r s t to y

In the poem S a n G a b r ie l V a lle y , a valley known for its macho, straight, cool dudes, Healey delves into a valley that may very well be the Valley of the Shadow o f Death because of the closet and the carbon dioxide that could fill the closet, and he admits that he flirts with death.

H o w sw o lle n m u s t be h is cock I f a ll h is m u s c le s c o u ld s h o o t. I ' d d r o w n

“ D u d e , it's j u s t th a t te a I d r a n k . ”

H is n ip p le s a re th e m o s t n a k e d p a r t o f h im

He had a bank card f o r a cock

G o d . th ose biceps

l kiss h im a n d he ta s te s like o r a n g e b lo s so m s .

Sin gin g m y c ro o k e d b e n t d ick love son g

While w e’re on the subject of paid escorts. Healey has a poem titled H u s tle r and the guy is full of mirth and treats his body like a slot machine.

a ll h e ld to g e th e r by ta u t strin gs

Th e m o b ile o v er th e crib w hen I was a ba b y on m y back a n d stu p id

If you invest in one hook for your library this season, 1 recommend this one. There are 65 poems in this work. So reading the rest of this birok will be like mining for diamonds and there will be love in your heart and the sound of cloven-hoofs on your roof top.

He ends the poem with the nipples magically transforming into flowers and back into flesh

RI D Winter 2006 0 7 # I2X

Shark’s Tooth by Marc Klihu Hofstadter. Regent Press, Oakland, CA 115 p. 2006 reviewed by Daniel M arlin

Living themes converge in Shark’s Tooth, pivoting at the title poem’s invocation of the inevitable: S h a rk 's Tooth

Poised behind me was a life of books, the embrace of several tender women. Ahead of me loomed--! knew not what. I didn't know it then, but bone and sinew drove me on, body's truth that roared, not asking me if I agreed or not. Life hovered at that intersection, trembled, looked deep inside, then opened to the teeming world and, when the light turned red, plunged.

They’re probably debating one-size-fits-all wrenches, assessing the COLA on their Social Security . . .

Relaxed and celebrator, desire comes full circle in Love o f the Penis, a poem of dis tinct and affirmative silliness:

The

accompanies me everywhere . It glistens in sea spume Flowers can't soften its edges . Every attempt to negotiate a truce with it fails. One day it will bite through to the bone.

What’s more ridiculous than love of the penis, that one-eyed mushroom that sprouts from a dank thicket and rises higher and higher, like some witless lord in his castle whose pride exceeds that of his king?

If the shark's tooth is a reminder of the presence of death, it is also a touchstone of many embraces. A long-term survivor, familiar with the fragility of a body in which the AIDS virus has worked its nas tiness, Hofstadter turns to the gifts of life. He finds them in tea houses and city buses, ancient markets and baseball stadi ums, and in the shape of a young man's eyes.

The embraces Hofstadter values are not only sexual. The energy of self-discovery leads him to many communions. Gypsy Girl, Dad, Captain Jack ’s Wharf, and a series of poem to James Schuyler, among others, are pilgrimages to the spirits of the dead, from whom he emerged, with whom he struggled, and from whom he learned:

In A Brief Study o f Beverages, his embrace extends to the fine nectar of whimsy: What indeed makes for "drinkness”? The philosophers haven't weighed in sufficiently on the subject. Cognac tasted by experts that is swirled around the mouth, then spit out? Orange-flavored M etam ucin Robitussln?

While performing its surprise and music, poetry can help us make sense of our lives. Who are we? How do we live? In S hark ’s Tooth the answers are less static than revealed in moments which trapped the heart or breathed light into its confusion. Henry Miller said that ther writer has a chance to live twice. Hofstadter examines experience in this second, interpretive light, without self-pity, but with wry ten derness. Summer Program revisits the unbearable tension that silenced desire: In Ithaca. New York, I dreamed one night about a Puerto Rican boy in our summer program of twenty-two high school juniors. I was masturbating him. Waking, I groaned.

Desire, though, gradually emerges, shed ding its fear of itself and its ragged selfhatred: Castro an d M arket in m e m o ry o f Thom G u n n

I hesitated at the traffic light the intersection filled with a flood of men, leathered, tee-shirted, shaved-headed. sure, in heat. RFD Winter 2006-07 # 128

In a sepia photo in an antique album a young girl leans confidently against a fence. Her hair falls in gypsy curls, her eyes are bright with daring . . . My mother! My mother, who cleaned the house dull-eyed, replied to people's interest with a rueful smile, and sat in dark rooms reading Dad’s books. My kind, sad mother . . . —G y p s y G irl

Your great bald head and big belly made you God to me, as did your aim to know everything. Your Chesterfield-fogged study was stacked with Aristotle, Nietzsche, Wordsworth, Bibles, George Gamow, microbiology textbooks . . . But there comes a time for gods to die. Since thought was enshrined in your temple, I thrust my blade there . . . —D ad

There are other kinds of communion explored here, sometimes in crowds of strangers, sometimes unspoken. A Jew with Buddhist leanings and an admirer of ancient Chinese poetry, Hofstadter feels rooted in the flux of the Ruby King Chinese Bakery, one of Chinese civiliza tion's far-flung outposts, in Oakland, California. It offers him a plastic chair, where he ponders, imagines, and checks his imagining: They gulp tea and down sweets at pink Formica tables. Clad in worn plaid shirts and faded baseball caps, they may have been street repairmen, cab drivers, shop owners . . . I imagine they're discussing why Li Po drowned in the Yellow River, or how the Tao, "being great . . . flows and having gone far . .. returns.” 40

If. at Ruby King, he appears unnoticed as he scrutinizes those around him, on the 49 Van Ness Bus. a tense voyage along a buss San Francisco street, the poet is less anonymous: 49

Van N e ss b u s fe e ls heavy a s a fre igh te r

with its drunk slurring “How ya doin', m an?,” its old woman in torn cotton dress carrying a plastic bag crammed with empty soda cans, its youth, headphones throbbing rap, who stares angrily at me, two teenage girls with pancake makeup, long blue nails, and hard, emerald eyes.

Despite the undercurrent of menace, he feels a profound connection to his fellow passengers, as he wonders of the bus: How can it roll smoothly on? Shouldn't the driver set the motor idling an announce, “This coach is carrying too much sorrow to proceed?”

Woven through the portraits, explorations, and unpredictable delights in this text is an unmistakable sense of gratitude. Hofstadter does not take his survival or his affections for granted. It is they which inform the calm look back in My Otherwise (after a poem by Jane Kenyon): I was born to two loving, depressed people. It might have been otherwise . . . I wanted to be a teacher, but wound up a poet. It might have been otherwise. I have HIV, but have survived many years. It might have been otherwise. Everything that’s happened to me has its yin and its yang, which is to say I’ve lived in this world. It might have been otherwise.

It takes love to face our lives. Love pro vides the songs we need along the way. There are many kinds of song in S h ark ’s Tooth. In their absurd passages a special strength and rhythm is found, treating dis aster with irreverence, providing the bal ance required for that most delicate jour ney, along the heart’s road, which vanish es in storms and reappears. Put on the noseband and inhale the rye; The bug’s got you and you know why. One pull on the rope, you’re going to die . . . Con moto, now: enter the pylon Of the great temple, get a smile on, Cover your legs with the silkiest nylon. There's no blight where the haddock goes, The civet, the tapir, and the duck’s webbed toes. There is where the immortal flows.

H 6 A I H E >s!

H A R V E S T

BY M X L X H K 1 TH 0 R.N f o r th e full H e a th e n H a r v e s t e x p e re in c e p lea se v is it: h t t p :/ / w w w .h e a t h e n h a r v e s t .c o m

(not CD cover art)

Hexperos project. ex-Gothica member). Corrado Videtta ( voice & guitarist of Italian band Argine) Luigi Rubino (piano & pianist of Ashram). Francesco Villani (piano). Francesco Perreca (clar inet). With the aid of the eight musicians above Riccardo Prencipe brings to life a passionate world of myth and culture inspired by different regions and eras of Europe. Respiri features fifteen exclusive songs all of which deserve mention as there is not a weak song on the entire album. Listening to Respiri recalled for me my younger years when I first discovered Dead Can Dance. 1 recall being mesmerized throughout the album as song after song washed over me bliss fully. Respiri delivered for me a similar experience and re-awoke in me a dormant passion for luscious instrumentation and female vocals. Like Dead Can Dance Respiri has established a very unique balance between traditional, classical, and modern music that is capable of thoroughly immersing the listner without dis traction . The compositions are complex and romantic changing style with frequency and keeping the listner engaged and curious as the album unfolds. Comparisons to Dead Can Dance may be partially misleading as I feel that Respiri embraces an even wider breadth of influence and inspiration which is partially reflected in the strong neofolk currents that run through many songs. The detectable neofolk impressions help root Respiri both in the neo classical and neofolk genres and it also helps the music become more accessible to a w'ider audience. Corde Oblique - Respiri begins with a rousing and pas sionate ethnic folk / neoclassical composition titled ilntro (Captatio Benevolaentaie). The song begins with a brief spoken word introduction delivered by a female voice in Italian. The spoken word ends handing the song off to acoustic guitar and chimes. The acoustic guitar plays a strong Mediterranean melody of complex chords while the chime adds accents across the music. After several rounds the guitar strums an emphatic chord then rests for a brief pause introducing the violin The violin sings a short serenade backed by guitar before drums come crashing in bringing an invigorating eruption into the music that spreads to the guitar and violin. The music exudes enthusiasm and festivity as the violin plays rapidly around the pulsing rhythm of the drums. Having lured you in the music demands that you move, dance, and celebrate. After the music plateaus the finale appears leaving the listener with a taste of what is to come. Amidst the many eloquent and highly successful songs to be enjoyed on Respiri are a few that really do an amazing job of uniting the lush instrumentation and compositional highlights of neoclassical music with the medieval inspired aesthetic of

photo: vine

Artist: Corde Oblique Title: Respiri Label: ARK records Genre: Neofolk / Neoclassical Occasionally an album comes to light that eclipses its peers in terms of artistic vision and performance. When such an album emerges 1 feel compelled to share it with other musical connoisseurs who might be able to appreciate the skill of the par ticipating musicians and the overall aesthetic of the release. Corde Oblique - Respiri is such a release. Corde Oblique is a newly debuted musical project hailing from Italy and headed by Riccardo Prencipe who is known by many for his role as guitarist for the ethereal neoclassical music project Lupercalia. Fans of neoclassical music may recall Lupercalia’s warmly regarded release Florilegium published by the Portuguese music label Equilibrium. Riccardo formed Corde Oblique as means to explore his own personally written compositions while working w ith a wider array of established and accomplished vocalists. The resulting musical collective formed by Riccardo features some of the most brilliant talent to be harvested from the neoclassical musical genre. Artists working alongside Riccardo on Corde Oblique include Caterina Pontrandolfo (chant, soprano, spoken voice). Alfredo Notarloberti (violin & violinist of Argine. Ashram, Lupercalia), Catarina Raposo (voice & lead singer of Portuguese band Dwelling), Alessandra Santovito (voice & vocalist of the 41

K I D Winter 2006-07 # 128

neofolk music. Ascesi is the seventh song on Rcspiri and it is illustrative of the unique compositional talent of Corde Oblique. Ascesi begins with medieval folk inspired guitar and chimes accompanied by a female voice reciting spoken word. The mood is calm as it creates a traditional atmosphere. The female vocal ist abandons the song after a couple of verses leaving the music to the guitar for a passage. Just as the listener prepares for medieval singing the guitar meanders to a halt with the emer gence of a harpsichord. The harpsichord only manages a couple of notes before the music erupts in a flood of ethnic percussion, guitar and clarinet. A female voice descends as if heralding a deity singing with grace and power. The music is drenched in ethnic impressions combining a crossroads of culture that evokes ancient times and ornate temples. The music is exotically sacral with fierce tribal percussion and hypnotic guitar and strings backed by snake seducing clarinet music that takes the spirit hostage. After a fevered climax of instrumentation and voice the composition begins to unwind as the flames subside and the gui tar plays alongside the violin and clarinet invoking subtle emo tion. But just as you begin to anticipate the end of the song the violin begins to awaken once again building in intensity as the guitar also increases tempo keeping with the violins passionate lead. Finally the music releases you having seduced you in with gentle deceiving guitar and swept you away to exotic locales in ancient times only to deliver you back softly. Track twelve titled Dentro is an example of Corde Oblique’s mastery of classical composition and song writing. Denim begins with solo guitar which plays a short introduction before violin emerges to lead the song. The violin's presence is strong as it plays music that sounds indignant and powerful in comparison to the neutral tone of the guitar. Once the violin has properly established itself a classically trained female vocalist sings operatically over the guitar and violin echoing the emotion al message of the violin. Alter a brief dance between the violin and the vocalist, strong drums enter the song driving the violin and vocalist to express a harder edge that transforms the mood of the music. The vocals are delivered in short terse bursts while the violin plays with furor and necessity. The music and vocals are expertly matched as they reflect the grandeur and beauty of one another. After this tumultuous emotional musical outburst the music retreats into a gentle but still fiercely passionate respite before building towards a second musical climax that leads the song through the end. Corde Oblique once again illustrate the magnitude of their combined artistic skill delivering a song befit ting a grand music hall. Corde Oblique is the essence of modern neoclassical music. The obvious skill of the participating musicians has been elegantly harnessed resulting in a powerful debut that is certain to enchant and captivate eager listeners. Not since Dead Can Dance have I been so impressed with such an album. Fans of neoclassical music are encouraged to explore the ethnically rich music of Corde Oblique and neofolk fans that like lush instru mentation and female vocals are also encouraged to sample this release. Corde Oblique w ill appeal to anyone who enjoys beauti ful classical instrumentation, folk guitar, and gifted vocalists. K I D W inter 2(XX>-07 ft 128

PRISON PAGES by M yrlin It’s a great truth: the prison industrial complex is still alive and well. States continue to build and open prisons in record num bers, staffing them with people often w ith fewer skills, education and abilities than those they are hired to house, protect educate and return to society. And in some cases states build prisons that they are not able to open due to lack of funds, as in Portland, Oregon, where a $59 million dollar facility stands empty and unused. At the same time our courts are churning out more and more people to fill the already overflowing institutions forcing many states to farm their inmates out to prisons in other states at huge expense to the local taxpayers. The end result is an ever increasing number of lonely, isolat ed, desperate people needing companionship and encourage ment. Almost from the outset of its publication, RFD has sought to fill the needs of gay male inmates by providing the Brothers Behind Bars Column in the magazine. Since taking over the edi torship of Brothers Behind Bars, 1 have watched the number of institutions and inmates climb to 900 institutional addresses and 4500 inmates. It is my hope in writing this column to generate interest among our readership in prison issues and encouraging folk to become involved in making a difference for some of our incarcerated Brothers Behind Bars. I continue to be touched by the many comments from those we serve positively commenting on what we are doing. Unfortunately the magazine is no longer able to publish the entire list as it is over 15 pages in some cases. So, order your copy by writing RFD Press at PO Box 68, Liberty, TN 37095. Due to increasing costs of postage and production we are asking a $3.00 to $10.00 donation for the list. In this column 1 try to present a mix of prison issues and an opportunity for some of our inmate correspondents to find an outlet for their thoughts and feelings. In presenting information on prison issues I seek to provide a picture of things faced by those you may at some point be writing. In order to do this with out sacrificing lots of space, 1 am going to provide a few web addresses that I have found that speak to some of these. 1. We have all heard rumors and reports of sex crimes within the prison system. Indeed I have had correspondents men tion how they have been victimized in this way. I ran across a Study entitled “Sex Crimes in Prisons Underreported.” The gov ernment study addresses the problem as it relates to inmate to inmate violence and staff to inmate violence. I would encourage you to check this out at: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wpd v n/content/artielc/2006/07/30/AR2006073000491.html 2. Iam sure you have read the stories of the abuse at Abu Ghraib in Iraq, and have heard the line that such things do not ever happen in this country. Well. 1 have heard that such things are not that far fetched in our own prisons. Indeed, I have read an article relating to the use of Attack Dogs in American Prisons. I commend the article to you: http://www.truthout .org/docs 2006/101006F.shtml 3. “If you think prison inmates only make license plates, you're behind the times.” So begins an article that appears in the Black Voice News on Monday 07 August 2006. The article enti tled: "Inside Jobs - Convict Rehab or Corporate Slavery?” gives a fairly good picture of why it is important for the courts to keep our prisons brimming with highly skilled, non violent people on

hand to do this “valuable” work. After all it provides cheap labor other hand something inside me feels like God loves me for who helping the bottom line of any corporation 1 commend the arti I am because He Created me. Psalm 139. vs. Id A N says: For cle to you: http; w ** .truthout.org issues 06 U914P6LB.shtml you formed my inward parts: You covered me in my mother's And if you want to read an article related to the fanning of womb. I will praise You for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: inmates to other states for incarceration. I recommend: Marvelous are your works, and that my 'soul' knows very well.’ http: www .truthout.org issues 06 1lOlObLA.shtml. More o f this topic goes into v. 15 & lb. OK. enough of the articles, now let me quote from some of the Also, to support this is Jeremiah. Chapter I v. 5: God says: correspondence 1 have received from our Brothers Behind Bars "Before f formed thee in the belly. I knew thee: and before thou relating to their situations in prison. Some relate to their person cometh forth out of the womb. I sanctified thee. (and I ordained al lives and development and others to their relationship w ith the thee a prophet unto the nations.") Now. although He was speak courts or institutions. ing to Jeremiah, the first part o f the verse confirms that God 1. John Ross Ewing. Hightower #1193564. 902 FM 686, formed us and “knew” us before we were born. When y o u muse Dayton. TX 77535. brings to our attention: Prison upon these verses and others, one must reason that certainly God Discrimination. He invites our readers to be in communication being the Creator Didn’t deliberately create us to condemn us. with him if anyone is interested in further information. He writes For his word says He made us in His likeness, in His image. We to mention two issues. The first relates to his having been all know, those o f us who are gay. bi. etc., didti’t choose to be that "denied several books because they contain ‘men engaging in way or this way. Personally, I can’t even remember not feeling homosexual activity.’ One was 'The Word of Normal Boys’, a an attraction to both male and female." Lambda award winner, and 'Brokeback Mountain'.” He then 4. And in a letter from Jonathan E. Conley, mentions that similar restrictions are not applied to explicit het ADC# 166955/B:2-D42, PO Box 40(XL Florence. AZ 85232, I erosexual stories. was reminded of other hardships faced by many inmates The second issue is stated as follows: “To make matters worse Finances and personal loss. He was writing to say that he they deny me the ability to have contact visitation with my sig would not be able to re-subscribe to RFD because he had just nificant other because we are a same-sex couple. We have sent his entire funds home to assist with his Grandmother’s proven residence, property, loans and bank accounts are in both funeral expenses. Next in addition to sending all the folks at our names and he has taken my last name as proof of our rela SMS Happy Samhain greetings, he shared with me a poem he tionship. Yet none of these things matter and we are still being had written in memory of his first boyfriend, Billy Brandenburg. denied contact visitation. . .” [Editors note: his use of contact Jonathan writes that he wrote it. “cause he killed himself cause visitation most likely refers to face to face meeting rather than liis family shunned him for being gay. We were gonna get mar through a glass via telephone) ried once I turned IS yrs old back in Jan. ’9S, and was S months He continues: “We are all aware that to be gay and imprisoned shy of doing that. I will always remember him cause he was my is in itself a difficult task to deal with. But to have the state treat first lover." I am pleased to share his poem with you, our read you even worse for being who you are is not acceptable.” ers. Finding Love 2. Generally, we do not publish information from female In memory o f my firs t love inmates since most of our readership is male but I received a let William J . Brandenburg ter requesting assistance with an injustice in sentencing issue 1977-1998 from Susan Daquila #N87138 (5B-7-10)at Lincoln Correctional by White Ravenhawk Center, PO Box 549, Lincoln. IL 62056 and have decided to Oh my Lo r d L u g h , 1 c a n ' t b e l i e v e i t. He r e at l as t 1 f i n a l l y s t a n d . make mention of it as this sort of thing happens more than we All dressed up in my tuxedo would like to admit. She states that over 20 yrs ago. her lesbian h o l d i n g my l o v e r ' s h a n d . lifestyle along with perjured testimonies, coaxed state witnesses Look at him! and more she was convicted in her case. She mentions that she I s e e how l u c k y I ' v e b e e n to f i nd t he o n e o f my d r e a m s . In his eyes I see the deep blue sea. bright white stars, has gathered evidence that proves all of this and is in need of a nd a b e a u t i f u l s u n r i s e at dawn. assistance in fighting for her freedom. H e ’s t he o n e w h o p u l l e d my h e a r t ' s s t r i n g s , . 1 am not suggesting that anyone should feel obligated to who sent me tumbling head over heels. He ' s t he o n e w h o t h r o u g h hi s a f f e c t i o n a t e l o v e become involved but rather to show one more aspect of life in g a v e me s t r e n g t h to d r o p my l o n g s t a n d i n g s h i e l d s . incarceration. A friend of mine, Harry Bout, is facing similar As we w e r e walking in the d e s e r t , problems getting his case back into court. Even though the moonlight bright shadows d a n c e , h o l d i n g h a n d s a nd w h i s p e r i n g s e c r e t s . Dutch Government has gotten involved and he has lots of public The Gods’ wondrous gift, this sweet romance. ity in his homeland in major news outlets, nothing is heard of his 1 wish to tell him I do love him situation over here. So, I empathize with Susan in her situation. a nd wi l l n e v e r l e a v e hi s s i d e . 3. Next, Jamil A. Summerford, FX-8769, IKK) Pike Mil d e a t h do us p a r t . He k n o w s he ha s t o h o l d f o r e v e r Street, Huntingdon PA 16654-1112, wrote to us and shared some tn y b u r s t i n g h e a r t of his struggles with sexuality and spirituality. 1 found his s o filled with pride. wrestlings, similar but also quite different from my own and O v e r t he mi l e s w e ' v e j o u r n e y e d r e a c h i n g a nd g r o w i n g f a c e to f a c e . asked him if 1 might share them with you. He writes: We b o t h m u s t re m e m b e r it wa s t r u e Io v e "In my life, among all my struggles and hardships I 've battled h r o u g h ! us to t h i s w o n d t o n s p l a c e . with the conflicting and confusing issue o f Homosexuality. Even Now i t ' s t i me t o t e l l e a c h o t h e r we’ll be t r u e to one another. as a young child I can still remember always feeling an attrac Th is da nc e is on I v t h e b e g i n n i n g . tion for both women and men - males and females. Being from So h o l d me l o v e ‘ c a u s e h e r e c o m e t he w h i r l w i n d s an urban city, I was always ‘in the closet.” 1 am what you call in t h e i r s t r e n g t h a nd s t r i f e o f l i f e . ‘Gangsta-homo.” My problem is, I'm a Christian and firmly O h . my L o r d L u g h , c a n y o u b e l i e v e i t? M y one t r ue w is h comes true. believe in God. And I know what the bible says, from cover to H e r e at l ast we f i n a l l y s t a n d . cover. I ’ve tried and tried to disregard that "part of m e.” But. . Al l d r e s s e d up in o u r t u x e d o s . it feels like I ’m being a hypocrite to the faith. But then on the holding o u r lives in e a c h others hands. 43

Ki n Winter 2(XK> 07 # I2X

A poem by Steven Cottingham, #23171-180, US Penitentiary. PC) Box 7000. Florence CO 81226-7000

As 1 close, allow me to introduce you to several folk you will meet in the December issue of Brothers Behind Bars. The first is a sketch submitted in lieu of a picture.

Lnlilkd He coveted my wife So I took hi<i life. Now choking down cognac I'm gunning my C adillac as 1 scream down that steep ravine.

D o w n .... D ow n... to infernal dam nation Our eternal destination Doomed hearts of fire in Our depth o f desire I drive down dw elling on deeds Dead and done.

Josiah Clawson

A poem by Donny Ingraham, DC # 452956 Dorm D2I06, South Bay Correctional Facility, PC) Box 7171. South Bay, FL 33493 His passion parched lips stained with lust as he stares life in the eyes of many lovers Lies Abandonm ent trust long forgotten m em ories are his savior

images in a mind that once v%as pure

A poem by Pendragon, J. Logan Die/ #342162 Michael Unit, PC) Box 4500, Tenn. Col. TX 74886

Brett Klein

Dorian Giannetti

James Harvey

Alex Lequa

The “C hristian N ation?" They claim this is a “ C hristian N ation” because such folk have a M ajority hut if one ju st looks at only C hristians it's clear a “C hristian Nation" this can't he I m ean, our Nation does have order at least to a reasonable extent and the C hristians' doctrines are fractured like some puzzle o f denom inations rent VNe have the E vangelical lobbyist in our Capitol who scream hom osexuality is wrong but E piscopalians everyw here w ho’ll perform Gay M arriages all day long T here’s the Church o f Christ believers who preach a strictly puritan dress but a C hristian N aturist Church in Nevada who go casually naked - - is this a mess The C hristian C oalition up in W ashington has forced through a law on monogam y I wonder how the com m unity in Arizona feel who today practice C hristian polygam y. There are M ethodists, C atholics and Baptists and. o f course, the fire and brim stone fatalist Jeh o v a h ’s W itness, and L utherans and let's not forget the U niversalists I lose track o f all the denom inations the “C hristians" in Am erica claim to hold hut before they try to run one Nation should they not unify their own Fold “ M orals" are often subjective because they depend on one's belief whether it's a God or G oddess w orshipped or an A theist who holds death is but release I think non-C hristians should hand together no matter what faith or taste they be and restore Dem ocracy to our Nation through a truly secular unity Because if we stay silent and all broken each group pursuing it ’s own mores w e'll soon find oppression of theocracy under a latter day King G eorge.

KM) Winter 2(X)C-07 # 128

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KI D Winter 2006-07 # 128

K its a p C lo is te r .

Faerie Finder Update:

K e e p u p th e d e d i c a t e d w o r k .

Golden Eagle a M m . Sr. A b d u l o f th e V eil o f M a ttr e s s T ic k in g B r e m e r to n , WA

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