White Chocolate

My new(ish) dog, Pip, learned about one of nature's oldest tricks today. That's right, it was her first snow! Always cavalier, she sauntered into the frozen back yard she had thought memorized just hours before, turned to look at me and then, in a sudden flash, took off bounding, hopping, digging, now digging out toys, licking, eating ice, jumping, jumping on me, inspecting snow noises, inspecting snow smells until, just as suddenly, she held up her half-frozen paws, first one then another, another and the last other and I called her to come into the warm apartment.

We are hosting a hot cocoa todo tonight. Sweet, wonderful hot chocolate.

We can hardly wait.

Thanks, Giving

Thank you for staying here tonight
And marking the places where you had been
I just found the hair you left me
In the bathroom garbage can

Thank you for the half-full cup of coffee
With a moth floating in it and
The bruise in the full-sized mirror
I like it there

Thank you for forgiving me for talking
It is an old habit I am looking forwards to kicking
In the ribs and telling to suck me off

Thank you for believing me, for climbing on top of my body
When I told you I wanted to be inside of you

Thank you for sensing that I am not
What biology keeps insisting I should be
And that I am only my body and nothing more

Thank you for tying me up and leaving me
For dead before kissing me and finding
The place between my brain and my sex
Where all the knotted muscles twist

Thank you for shyly pushing through
That osmotic barrier
That pretends to stand between us
When you almost cried I felt overcome
I could have floated away
If it wasn't for the pink in your dark cheeks

And so thank you for osmoting through my front door
Globulin and cholesterol, swim bladder and rats

Thank you, now come back.

In Someone Else's Words

I am content to have nothing to say. I will let others speak better than me in my stead.

Mexican Blue by Jolie Holland

You're like a saint's song to me
I'll try to sing it pure and easily
You're like a Mexican blue
So bright and clear and pale in the afternoon
I saw you riding on your bike
In a corduroy jacket in the night
Past the hydrangeas that were blooming in the alley
With a galloping dog by your side
When I was hungry you fed me
I don't mean to suggest that I'm like Jesus Christ
Your light overwhelmed me
When I lay beside you sleepless in the night
And when you dreamed my guardian spirits appeared
And the moon stretched out across your little bed
They said they'd started to get worried about me
They were happy we had finally met
We had finally met

A mysterious bird flies away
Seemed to be calling your name
And bounced off the top of a towering pine
And vanished in the drizzling rain
There's a mockingbird behind my house
Who is a magician of the highest degree
And I swear I heard him rip the world apart
And sew it back again with his fiery melody, melody

When you were mad at me I didn't care
And I just loved you all the same
And I waited for the wind to push the hurricane
Out to sea, and the sun could shine again
Oh I don't mean to give you advice
Its just like Delia said, "oh, Jesus Christ"
Just don't get so high you leave the ground
Everything is so much better when you're around
Just don't float so high you drift away
Stand tall, with your feet on the ground
I love your songs, I love your sound
Everything is so much better when you're around

When the moon is as clear as an opal
And the amethyst river sings a song
I'll remember all your dreams and the mysteries
You have borne in your crystalline soul
That you sing from your golden throat
That you shine from your sparkling eyes
That you feel from the goddess in your thighs

You're like a saint's song to me
I'll try to sing it pure and easily
You're like a Mexican blue
So bright and clear and pale in the afternoon
In the afternoon

Sawdust and Diamonds by Joanna Newsom

From the top of the flight
Of the wide, white stairs
Through the rest of my life
Do you wait for me there?

There's a bell in my ears
There's a wide white roar
Drop a bell down the stairs
Hear it fall forevermore

Drop a bell off of the dock
Blot it out in the sea
Drowning mute as a rock;
Sounding mutiny

There's a light in the wings
Hits this system of strings
From the side while they swing;
See the wires, the wires, the wires

And the articulation
In our elbows and knees
Makes us buckle as we couple in endless increase
As the audience admires

And the little white dove
Made with love, made with love:
Made with glue, and a glove, and some pliers

Swings a low sickle arc
From its perch in the dark
Settle down
Settle down my desire

And the moment I slept I was swept up in a terrible tremor
Though no longer bereft, how I shook and I couldn't remember

Then the furthermost shake drove a murdering stake in
And cleft me right down through my center
And I shouldn't say so, but I know that it was then, or never

Push me back into a tree
Bind my buttons with salt
Fill my long ears with bees
Praying: please, please, please,
Love, you ought not!
No you ought not!

Then the system of strings tugs on the tip of my wings
(cut from cardboard and old magazines)
Makes me warble and rise like a sparrow
And in the place where I stood, there is a circle of wood
A cord or two, which you chop and you stack in your barrow

It is terribly good to carry water and chop wood
Streaked with soot, heavy booted and wild-eyed;
As I crash through the rafters
And the ropes and pulleys trail after
And the holiest belfry burns sky-high

Then the slow lip of fire moves across the prairie with precision
While, somewhere, with your pliers and glue you make your first incision
And in a moment of almost-unbearable vision
Doubled over with the hunger of lions
'Hold me close', cooed the dove
Who was stuffed, now, with sawdust and diamonds

I wanted to say: why the long face?
Sparrow, perch and play songs of long face
Burro, buck and bray songs of long face!
Sing: I will swallow your sadness and eat your cold clay
Just to lift your long face

And though it may be madness, I will take to the grave
Your precious longface
And though our bones they may break, and our souls separate
- why the long face?
And though our bodies recoil from the grip of the soil
- why the long face?

In the trough of the waves
Which are pawing like dogs
Pitch we, pale-faced and grave,
As I write in my log

Then I hear a noise from the hull
Seven days out to sea
And it is the damnable bell!

And it tolls - well, I believe, that it tolls - for me!
It tolls for me!

Though my wrists and my waist seemed so easy to break
Still, my dear, I would have walked you to the very edge of the water
And they will recognise all the lines of your face
In the face of the daughter of the daughter of my daughter

Darling, we will be fine, but what was yours and mine
Appears to be a sandcastle that the gibbering wave takes
But if it's all just the same, then will you say my name:
Say my name in the morning, so I know when the wave breaks?

I wasn't born of a whistle or milked from a thistle at twilight
No, I was all horns and thorns, sprung out fully formed, knock-kneed and upright
So: enough of this terror
We deserve to know light
And grow evermore lighter and lighter
You would have seen me through
But I could not undo that desire

Oh-oh, oh-oh-oh desire
Oh-oh, oh-oh-oh desire
Oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh desire

From the top of the flight
Of the wide, white stairs
Through the rest of my life
Do you wait for me there

Play Date

It was one of those indecisive Midwestern evenings in Kansas City. The temperature had been debating dropping all week, but had yet to follow through in doing so. A stiff breeze had blown into town and the sandy, isolated patches of dirty crab grass pushing up through cracked cement in abandoned parking lots were overcome first this way then that by the wind and they let seed fly in the unintentional hope of reclaiming the land.

I was escorting a friend. I stopped the car next to a fence and parked. A fence can be a lot of different things to different people. So, I will tell you what kind of a fence this wasn't. This wasn't a "I can afford to have someone come and restrain wood every summer" fence. This wasn't a "I have a big beautiful dog that I take care to provide with a safe and appropriate environment" fence. This wasn't a "I run a respectable business that I want to protect at night" fence. This was the kind of fence that really doesn't do shit. The bottom is pulled up in places, an entire side has been removed. It dips down a full two or three feet. The gates won't close. It is the color of disintegration. It is the kind of fence that says, "I give up."

Her: We won't stay long. I mean, unless you want to.
Me: We can stay as long as you like.
Her: Let me call and make sure they are here.
Her: Hey. You inside? We just ate. Yeah, we are here. Yeah, we are coming in.

We braced ourselves against the wind, shoulders hunched, cigarette cupped in palm and strode across the street. We stepped up to a door. It was a heavy sort of door. Commercial grade. This wasn't the kind of place that looks like it should be open after dark. The block has a scarcity of buildings characteristic of industrial zones. The neighbors are mainly warehouses and buildings that have changed purposes so many times it is hard to know when or why they were built. Looking at them inspires awkwardness in anticipation of trying to navigate odd mis-appropriated spaces, of offices with ceilings so low you have to crouch, of conspicuously boarded up doorways and of old unopened closets. You can't help feeling bad for folks who live in apartments on this type of block of lonely buildings.

We exchanged glances before opening the door. This is the right place, okay. Yeah. Right place.

She went first.

Let me say this. There is a certain type of social dynamic that permeates underground places. New people are desperately sought after and vehemently distrusted. It is important, as a newbie, to start off on the right foot. We had fucked up with the clothes. We were wearing street clothes. I had on black pants and a worker-man jacket. She had on an old second-hand peacoat and some jeans.

The instant we walked through the door we were called out on it, "Were you invited?" Meaning, "What are the two of you doing in our space?"

"They're with us. They are invited." Called out a friend of my escortee. She was a girl with a great open-jaw, sideways smile. Her smile revealed a large amount of space inside her mouth and it felt like looking in a peep whole and seeing a whole lotta shit going down on the other side. It was as if smiling was her way of letting you in on the inside story.

The girl with the smile also had a date. A sweetheart. She was tired to the point of not being able to talk right or walk around. She had wet sort of eyes and puffing lips. But she wasn't too tired to raise the corners of her mouth into a friendly grin. I was struck with the impression that it was possible that in her dying moments she might choose to spend her last bit of energy pushing those corners up at someone.

The building we entered was an art gallery. The art was covered with bubble wrap and drapes to protect it. It was the people who were to be on display tonight. In the middle of the gallery floor was an odd table made from black leather and rivets. The gallery lights had been turned around to shine on the table.

There was a group of people sitting on two couches, drinking, eating and talking. It was like any other party, except that several of them were dressed head to toe in leather. A gal from the couch came over to our group. She had on a full length leather dress. Her head was shaved. She introduced herself and said, "I am an admissions counselor at XYZ University."

I thought to myself, should I be networking? I decided against it and introduced myself as Billy. Another member of our group, a guy, told her that this was his first leather party and he was unsure about the etiquette. She took him under her wing and lead him over to a spot close to the table where a woman was now taking off her shirt.

Nearby there was a table set up with pizza and soda. It was apparent from the amount of food that the organizers had expected a larger turnout. This gallery was owned by a local artist who had lost his legs. There were uninhabited wheelchairs strewn about. I wasn't sure if it was art or additional seating.

The woman who had been undressing dropped her pants. She scooted over to the table and spread her legs as much as she could with her jeans around her ankles. She bent forwards and put her hands on the table and waited.

A heavy-set butch woman with a leather vest and jeans took up a spot behind her. She unfurled a long leather whip. The gal who was bent over the table began to squirm. And then with hardly any effort at all the butch woman began rhythmically striking the nude woman's back with her whip.

Now, I say nude, but she had underwear on. They were men's briefs. They were grey men's briefs. They were the color and cut of briefs that you would expect to have handed to you at a prison or work camp. There was something unsettling about the big Germanic butch woman in a leather vest whipping this little Jewish woman in prison grey underwear that were, to heighten the effect, too big for her. There was a tranny boy in the crowd. He yelled out, "Oh, give it to her." This caused the butch woman to stop whipping and motion to him with one finger to come hither. The tranny boy sauntered up to the butch woman and fell to his knees. The butch woman pinched his back and picked him up. She twisted the skin on his back and resumed with the rhythmic, oddly non-violent whipping. The man in the wheelchair cut across my view. He loaded up his lap with pizza and wheeled back out of view without so much as a glance at the main event.

I looked to the couch. Miss Leather USA and Miss Leather Universe sat bored out of their minds holding cokes like eigth-graders at a house party. I presume they were enumerating the ways in which the KC leather scene could benefit from their combined expertise. But I was struck with how juvenile the whole thing was. Two grown women in leather chops and vests with chokers, whips and flogs who couldn't hold a conversation. I mean, we are adults right? What is the point of breaking every taboo if you don't have anything interesting to say about it afterwards? The night felt more like a play date than a play party. I decided that they should of just had a big ol' fucking gang bang. Then people would have come. No one likes this in between shit. And why, for chrissakes, why pizza and soda?

Anyhow, the woman at the table couldn't take the whipping for very long because it was "too cold" in the gallery. If she was my sub I would have told her to shut the fuck up, but that is just me. The butch woman never got much more into it than a flick of the wrist anyhow. I think one of the Miss Leathers dozed off. And my escortee's friends with their magical smiles exscused themselves to go home and sleep. Not seeing any way in which we could possibly add anything to the mix ew excused ourselves as well and we walked back out into the decidedly chillier night and drove away from that desolate stretch of land in search of hot coffee and grittier sex.

Hello, my name is . . . you

The revolution will be subsidized

This is the revolution. The revolution is now. The revolution is happening everywhere. The revolution has a brand. The brand is you. You are the brand. We are the revolution. Be an agent for change. Demand human rights. Demand equality. Expect dignity. Work. Be a work place revolutionary. Demand pay for your work. Be ethical. Be a carpenter revolutionary. Be a steelworker revolutionary. Practice revolutionary sex. Be a revolutionary parent. Be a child of the revolution. Revolutionize your parents. Talk. Talk and the revolution will be heard. Be and the revolution will be seen. Create and the revolution will be felt. Organize and the revolution will be televised. It will be broadcast to every Wonderbread household and orphan in Calcutta. Demand global human rights. Recognize that the revolution is right now and only right now. There is no dawn of epiphany. There is no rallying cry. There is only watercooler banter and sweet nothingnesses.

The timetable

Yesterday, an amazing day by all accounts, I drove to a major research hospital in the Midwest and had a meeting about how to realize the dream of having a comprehensive cancer center in the local metropolitan area. I left that meeting and went to the afternoon sessions of Creating Change, the Gay and Lesbian National Taskforce’s annual conference. I sat in on a workshop about sexual freedom as a fundamental human right. I looked around at the room it was filled with amazing people. During a break I stood at the edge of the conference main floor and watched a group of highschool students point and laugh and stare. I realized that for many of them it was a life-changing moment and that their awkwardness was created by a dangerous lack of honest communication about all things in their young lives. I left and went to a lecture about feminism and hip hop which sadly adhered to first and second-wave feminist ideals, “please see me as a woman, a strong black woman, not as a sexual being, “ blah. I went to a small concert, two people, then one person, Anni Rossi.

This is about glaciers. This is about glaciers and flattening. Flattening where you are standing and what you know. So if I am running errands and you are an island, I would like to say goodbye in anticipation.

I am you, you are me. We are not the same. Let’s work together to be singly happy.

The bottom line

Let’s end the discussion we have been having and start a new one. Let’s stop pretending this isn’t about money. It is. We live in a world of currency. Access to money is access to the world.

I work at a land-grant institution. We need money to empower our youth with knowledge and skills that will allow them to further empower themselves with jobs and money. The afore mentioned revolution must be subsidized whether it happens at the individual level, the local level or the regional/national/global level. Individuals need money. Groups need money. The world needs money.

Let’s start talking about how we balance an individuals right to self-determination as determined to a large part by money with the need to create institutions for the public good that are capable of effecting changes that we as individuals cannot effect because said institutions are capable of extraordinary wealth.