Another Glitter Page Day

I’ve come to the conclusion that Glitter Page Days are made. They don’t just happen. Yesterday was one of those days. I slept in, had a leisurely breakfast, drank way too much coffee, and got ready to head Downtown to see Oh My Godmother from Pandora Productions. The play was fabulous – - as expected, and the theatre was crowded enough to have some folks around for intermezzo entertainment.

After the show, I was rather starved and headed down to one of the brew pubs for beer and a burger (rare bison with bleu cheese). While the weather was warm for January, it was still chilly out. Nonetheless, there was a guy wearing a hoodie, short, and flip-flops. A friend with whom I was texting dubbed him FFG, and I’ll keep the moniker for him here. I’ve seen him in there before. He’s a regular, and was pretty well trashed at 1700 EST. The flat-screens had the Cardinals – Saints game on, and when any player did something to FFG’s liking, he’d shout out “You just gotta put the biscuit in the goddamned basket.” It was amusing — if sad. And I wonder when the last time his biscuit was in a basket. He’s straight, but I bet I could’ve fucked him — not that he’d have known of course.

And that brings me to sitting in a bar full of breeders watching football and realizing that I’m wearing guy-liner. I don’t wear it dark or heavy — just enough to make my eyes pop slightly. I got a little self-conscious. Then I realized. This is the Ville. No one really care — or will probably even pay attention. Note to Self: Don’t wear guy-liner if you’re going to see a fight that takes place in an Octogon.

Then I had the guy next to me — in town from Cincinnati — ask me about a strip club. Um, yeah. I don’t think he wants the gay one. So I got the barkeep to give him directions. That was my cue to settle up and head back to Alphabet City. It was a good time, and proof that I can always have a glitter page day.

Uniform Tattoo

go put on your uniform
and i will put on mine
black and blue soon smelted
to beat unmetered rhyme
leather silk and chocolate
espresso cream and then
roll them all into a ball
to pruriently call it sin
strip you down to dress you up
spin you round again
fill your shoes with diamonds
put a pearl strand on your neck
kiss and love my Little Cub
til he dies the Little Death

[As of Yet, Untitled]

 

pour the coffee from the press
heavy cream curbs bitterness
on the tray with ginger cakes
honied sweetness within baked
kiss me now and taste my tongue
for all your glory i have sung
dance and play a striking tune
and i shall love you by the moon
douse the candle light the pyre
though i am older than your sire
with your ankles at my ears
loving you is never queer
be the cub who makes me sing
i shall fit you with a ring
pour the coffee from the press
to wash away the saltiness

Second Saturday

Going down to take my seat in Whitney Hall this afternoon I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve seen Nine Sinatra Songs before, and I knew that if nothing else I’d love Twyla Tharp’s piece. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the other two Etesian (Helen Pickett) and Celts (Lila York). All three are truly a feast for the eyes. Etesian is subtle and a celebration of the human form and movement; at some points the dancers move without musical accompaniment. The costuming and set were minimal allowing one to focus solely on the human elements. In contrast, Nine Sinatra Songswas lavishly costumed with black tie on the men and beautifully flowing gowns on the women. I am always completely carried away by the forceful, almost Apache in nature, “That’s Life,” but before that I’m enchanted by “One for my Baby (and One More for the Road).” In all honesty I can no longer hear “My Way” without thinking of the Voltaire piece that utilizes some of Sinatra’s lyrics. The last number on the card, Celts  was both sensual and sensuous. It’s part step dance, part passion play, and the scene with the men dressed only in short red-kilts doing high kicks and fight stances (not quite like the one of the lads to the left though) was…uplifting to say the least.

As always happens when I go to these things, I had a good breakfast (whole-wheat chocolate pancakes with organic, local honey and turkey bacon) but no lunch. By the time the curtain rang down and the last applause died, I was famished, so I made my way a few blocks south to My Favorite Third Place. I had one wonderfully clean martini (mixed by Tref) to parch my thirst and a nice rare London broil to sate my hunger (I asked not to be served the carrots and peas). Somehow I didn’t get my steak knife, so I tried cutting the beef with the table knife. It worked like a dream. Gotta love a place with tender, rare steaks. The London Trifle finished off the meal, and I was on my way. I bought some dark chocolate and found the cards I’ll be using for Samhain — even if it is still a bit too early from Amasprite’s perspective.

I’ve picked up some meat for tomorrow’s lunch, watched an episode of Supernatural, and I’m ready for bed. The Little Cub tells me he’s off frightening children again. I guess he’s at the haunted house again. =

Cherry Ripe

Cherry ripe his lips did say
as i kissed the juice away
take me now and spend me fast
make our time of passion last
through the morning into night
Cherry ripe from blossom white
eat the fruit and spit the stone
lift me up and take me home
on the kitchen table rend
show me some new ways to bend
Cherry ripe his lips did say
as i kissed the juice away

Fuggi Regal Fantasima

Tony DeBlase is the creator of the Leather Pride Flag. It was presented on May 28, 1989 at International Mr. Leather in Chicago, Il. The meaning of the components are left to individual interpretation. While the flag is used extensively in the gay community, it is not a flag depicting gender preference. One thing to note is that in the World of Kink, homo and bi-sexuality are generally accepted.

I’m saying all of this because I think I need a change in my personal vocabulary. Maybe it’s time to come out again — like self-identifying as a Pagan Leather Bear was somehow shrouding me in mystery, and my penchant for OUUCH was something people didn’t quite understand. To be sure, I am seeking a permanent guy in my life, but I want a sub not a boyfriend. Is there a difference? To me there’s not. It’s a matter of nomenclature at best. But perhaps on the psychological level it does matter more than I’ve previously thought. It could be that I’ve been confusing myself by placing external, societal standards on boyfriend that keep me from finding the sub.

Essentially, nothing’s changed. I still want what I’ve always wanted. I’m just calling the Lily Prince by the right title now. And I’m certain that he’ll understand and fully appreciate the whip on my calf.

Pax.

Prince Errant

in green velvet and black satin
a trophy for my arm
my intellectual equal
whose knight my bishop takes
in rubies and in sapphires
i do bedeck my prince
and underneath the ermine
a layer of fine silk
in blue ink and white skin
an ornament for the bed
with but a kiss upon his lips
my prince becomes my stead

Love’s Labor

This is a little embarrassing to admit to. I have a hang-up about thespians. It’s not that I don’t like them as people. I am both prejudiced and not. The one’s I’ve known have generally be really great people – I think. There’s the rub, as Shakespeare might say, I always wonder if they’re being genuine or acting. An actor friend I work with responded to my query on the topic one day by looking me straight in the eye and asking “Have you ever been confused about where I stand?” Well, no. But on the other hand I’ve wondered on a few occasions if she is as hyped, depressed, angry, etc. as she appears. Fortunately the situation has not come up – yet, but it’s worth thinking about. Would I date an actor? Honestly, I’m frightened of the prospect. Mind you, I’ve said neither yes nor no.

In one of our philosophical conversations a friend blithely pointed out that a stockbroker can be a good actor but not in it as a profession or advocation, and I’d not have a clue. At least with a practicing actor, I surmised, I’d know up front. It’s something we could talk through. Then my friend mentioned that my preferred method of communicating is the written word – implying, I suppose, that like Hesiod’s Muses, I know how to tell beautiful lies that seem true. Hmm, it was a punch but above the belt.

And what if the Lily Prince just happens to be an actor? I need to find resolution and exorcize the demon before I make a grand mistake.

Song from a Tale

Take a victory lap around my heart
Bind my hands with silken threads
Shackle me with just one look
Enslave me with your touch
Be Prince to others fairest one
But be master of my Soul

Newfound Ecstacy

sprinkle me with faery dust
as i bind your to our bed
dance your song and
sing the dance
glad that we’re both men
tangle me in your web
as the candle wax i drop
a kiss upon your ankles
the two backed beast we make
brace the depths
and brace the shores
keeping it in mind
it is my hand what wields the whip
yet i’m the willing slave