Sinister: Getting Gay with Chan.

[Valerie Solanas]

yo yo yo party people, line up for sum phat west coast technocracy, kickin it down the neon fantastic, boogie down to your rubber souls, shake the pacifiers we in da HY-OUUSEE

Okay so yeah, i have had a bad week and this is the first sinister i've read for a whilte, so bear with me.

i had a really surreal fucking dream about cat power.  as i'm awaiting seeing the show next week here in tempe.  ihave to go see about getting a ticket, but basically, come hell or high water, i have to go.  i would describe the dream in more detail, but it was waaaayy too long.  alanis morrisette opened for her, and she was terrible.  we missed yo la tengo.  when chan came out with her entourage of creepy indie people and a pair of backup dancers, she stood on this little riser in teh middle of teh stage, and fretted and muttered directions to the stagehands to move the audience away from her.  everyone in the crowd had fuzzy cat ears, or like red and gold hair, and the boys all had orangey iridescent lipstick and eyeliner and everyone had stuffed animals.  they kept talking and yelling stuff during her set, and she got pissed and stormed off, she stood behind the curtain almost right next to wher eiw as sitting, crying "i want my teddy bear!!"  it was heart wrenching.  she finally came back out, and was dressed in white, and a brilliant light shone on her, she was alone on the stage, and her voice was so luminous, she was so caught up in her own world, with her dark hair, and huge dark eyes, i was hypnotized, and kept blathering about how beautiful she was.  later in the evening some stage hands hustled out a few people on the pretense of some contest for prizes, but actually they were hooked up with green cables and clamps on their heads, shocked, and arrested for being rude and upsetting chan during her show.  everyone was loudly berated for behaving immaturely and making her nervous and talking while she was singing.   

that's my cat power dream , the extremely truncated version.

i have to agree with christa.   i am siding with the vicious animals all the way baby.  i laugh like hell.   stupid people.  they go up to a huge wild animal and when it attacks them, they are SHOCKED and OUTRAGED!!!   so they they shoot the tiger, or whatever, for their own moronic stupidity of keeping a fierce wildcat caged in their dog pen, and letting their 2 year old play tug=the-ears with it.  or whatever.   fuck them all!!  those kind a morons deserve to be taken out of the gene pool.    

btw christa i need to write to you!! but i've had such a badddd week.  i will write soon. i have stuff for you.  miss you.  buxomdyke*)

i guess i have the poetry parrot then.  can we use our own poetry?  oh who cares.  i can do whatever i want.  i'm going to use my own poem.  sorry, seamus heaney!! you'll just have to move over.
I send teh parrot hurtling in the direction of christa "floozy" c., in an effort to make up for my lack of communication.  chirp chirp!!

a poem

the masculine contemplates the deep

I am a thoroughly modern masculine
vision, bird-hipped and peg-legged
my chest just broad enough,
my fingers just the length
of a shy cock.
Bold-browed, the bridge of my nose sheltering 
eagle eyes, an Adam's apple hard and true.
My shoulders strong with the demands
of ten or more fathers, as many generations as pain can curse.  I don't remember
having any sisters, I don’t know if my hair is long or shaven.
I have trouble deciding
my place in this world.

I know a girl who told me,
all I could give her
she gives herself.  
She says I am fair;
but not enough.
She says,
we tried.  When she held me like a baby
I was scared to ask for more.
I know all my pretty words will lie 
quietly in her eyes, passing through her hands,
listened to but lost in the end.
I know the way my body remembers her breathing
will only grow tragic.

Sometimes I dream of lizards 
creeping in my sheets
or great black horses that burst 
their chains.  They snort tornadoes
of steam and raise flames
 from their steely hooves. 
Some other times, I dream of her voice
and I come
all over.
I feel ashamed
of being the bullet,
of making and shaping love like clay.
It's how we are designed, 
to find a bullseye, somewhere,
to home in on the gash like piranhas,
to be the arrow and never the wound.  
They don't understand
this is not what I wish to be, 
that I want only to set us all free--
but I want,
that is crime enough.

Some of us are whale's legs
begging another chance, 
bragging for the land;
some of us are harpoons.
But to see poetry in the ecstasy
of our prey
is to renounce the hunt--
like my grandfather who, catching a deer's lightning eye,
threw down his gun for life.
It would be easier to believe
I could win the plaque-mounted head,
wear its  teeth on my stem,
cage the young ones to fatten on the blood of their sisters,
and laugh.
But I must concentrate on the desire
that binds me, alone, exclusive of slender limbs 
and lips on roses;
the reason that will keep me sane,
the machinations of states and philosophers'
prescriptions for clarity.

This is the difference between
a shower and a bath, the river and the ocean:
A river
carves snakes in mountains, but all rivers
become the sea.
When the sea swallows mountains on a whim,
everyone drifts;
rivers are only memories buried in the chasms
where mermaids one day will dive
for our shining bones.

Something can keep me 
 from the forbidden deep;
but for now 
I am distracted
a moment more,
by mermaids swimming
in circles around my tower.




http://members.tripod.com/rebelstrange

http://members.tripod.com/rebelstrange/buxoms.html
***The Buxoms: Svengali-free since 1998!!*** 
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