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LSD Tabloid
Schmoozemagazine of Love's Supreme Desire XXX * New-ish Moon, July, 1997
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Tel-A-Fool events & info line /Fax: 415-333-9549
E-mail: bloobird@sirius.com
This is LSD Tabloid, the monthly callboard and events newsletter of the
Radical Faerie and Friends' creative/ healing spirit collective, Love' Supreme
Desire. Next tabloid deadline is August 1.
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"I spent oh, so many nights just feeling sorry for myself; I used to cry,
but now I hold my head up high. I will survive. I will survive. As long as
I know how to love I know I'll stay alive."---the Honorable Esteemed Miss
Gloria Gaynor, Mistress of the Universe, all Sentient Beings and all Dimensions,
Past, Present and Future
Hey everybody, what a great summer I'm having. After a long period of heavy
shit and depression and crap with my father and a sense of not feeling internally
integrated on some level (that is, feeling uncomfortable with who I AM and
what my life is about in contrast with the real or imagined expectations of
others), at long last I feel happy and very much at peace. It is becoming
increasingly clear to me that the root cause of most of my depression, low
self-esteem and distrust of other human beings was my sense of rejection and
alienation from my hard-ass Right-wing biological father (who also has very
bad taste in home furnishings). If this were a made-for-TV-movie, perhaps
at the end of all the melodrama my father and I would suddenly become close
and slobbery like on the Andy Griffith show, but for now we have gone our
separate ways and darling, it feels fabulous. I have never felt more free
and more at peace with who I am, what my goals are, what my gifts are, and
consequently I have never been more at peace with the world in general.
It's the oldest cliche in the book but honey, every cloud has a silver lining
(in fact, I firmly believe this to be true). Yes, I found out I am HIV-positive
in November. Yes, my father wussed-out and actually DID finally reject me
(though I rejected him at the selfsame moment) because of his strong set of
Christian "family values" (HAH!). But life is good and just tons of fun and
I appreciate everything more and I wouldn't change a thing. Attitude is everything,
amigo, and I will survive! From this point on, I truly feel free to be and
do exactly whom I choose and there ain't no patriarchal individual or institution
who can slap me down because the material world is just energy and our minds/hearts/spirits
create the material world anew each day and I choose to live in a universe
of love and laughter where each individual can be the wonderful person that
they are meant to be, free of fear. It's a free country, darlings, we might
as well take advantage of it. It's almost the year 2000. We've got cool little
robots wandering around Mars looking at stuff, every day we discover more
amazing things in outer and inner space and slowly but surely, tired old
controlling dogmas are being put to sleep. Life is good! Do your thing and
hurt no one. Love yourself and then you can truly love other people. If these
sound like cliches from the sixties, well fuck it, they were RIGHT when they
talked about peace and love. They were RIGHT! Sure makes living life a helluva
lot more fun, anyway, that's for DAMN sure.
I used to say these things and then not really feel it (even though I meant
it) because I felt so oppressed by the weight of the world. But wasn't I CREATING
the weight of the world by my perceptions of the world? After all, my perceptions
of the world were colored by my own unhealthy, distrustful and fearful baggage
which was rooted in a painful past. It was really hard for me (and it sometimes
still is) to believe that people like or appreciate me, that I have things
to offer the world, indeed that I belonged here at all. But then magickally,
my life has been transformed with the entrance of this little virus that
is so maligned and feared even though it is mostly spread through intimate
loving contact between fellow human beings. Now, I feel that the important
thing is to be true to oneself, to follow that voice inside, to follow your
intuition, to open up and let your little light shine (like in that fabulous
gospel song). Because the more open you are, the more your love and warmth
shows through and it doesn't matter if you're black, white, gay, straight,
rich, poor, male, female, fat, femme, butch, bi, "ill" or "healthy," love
is universal and love conquers all.
Of course there are people who won't like you or who may even hate you.
But take a look at them. How happy are THEY, really? Would you aspire to
be like them, even though they may assume you aspire to be like them or that
you must surely be unhappy since you are not like them? Do you really want/need
these individuals in your life anyway? Are you attached to the idea that everybody
should like you? Because everybody won't like you. So what. There are tons
of people out there who will love you emphatically. To quote the fabulous
B-52's from the album "the B-52's" as they sing in "There's a moon in the
sky [called the moon]:" "If you're in outer space, don't feel out of place.
'Cuz there are thousands of others like you. Others like you. Others Like
you!"
Are you attached to the idea that a perfect universe would be free of pain,
injustice and suffering? Highly improbable, though wouldn't it be grand? The
universe IS perfect just as it is, even the chaos and the plagues and the
assholes have an important part to play in a long-term perspective of the
way things function, since chaos and death are as integral to life and order
as Donny is to Marie. By the way, did I forget to tell you that this is only
my opinion and I am not a cult leader (though I do like to drink Kool-Aid)
or an expert at anything other than my own life experience and I most surely
am not preaching here, just blabbering on like the weirdo low-class dishwasher
pervert artfag freak that I am? Well, I'm just opening up here and not holding
back and speaking my truth about how I learned to love this crazy, kooky,
you-never-know-what'll-happen-universe we call home until we pass on over
to the next adventure. You are as free as you want to be. Results may vary.
Haia's benefit, New Mexico rocks, I love a parade, dinosaurs and diners,
and 21st century bowling
The big benefit about a month ago for my esteemed beat poet friend Miss
Haia Ted Berk at the new Cannabis Cultivator's Club in San Francisco was
indeed a blast. Many thanks are due to Dennis Peron and all of the lovely
workers and members of this magickal club as well as Jerry the Faerie and
Joey Cain who did lots of behind the-scenes stage managing. About $1000 were
raised to help Haia pay for medical bills and other such temporal things
that plague his days (though you wouldn't know it from the smile on his face).
Performers included (forgive me if I neglect to mention somebody, I'm just
going off the top of my head and I didn't take notes) the Temple Whores, the
whistling artistry of Jason Serinus (who was the voice of Woodstock on the
Charlie Brown cartoons), the musician Sage with a new number, poet Sparrow
13 Laughingwand (author of Hell Soup, manic D press), the musician Unknown
Nature (or just Nature), Haia himself reading his beat poetry accompanied
by the upcoming wonderful guitarist and really nice guy (even as we speak)
Garrin Benfield, and myself Bloobird AKA Blooberry AKA Blue AKA Slag reading
a coupla poems. The event was MC'd by the artist Tree and Sri AKA Derek formerly
known as Crackbaby wearing lovely genderfuck attire with much glitter in evidence
and a smart little black wig. Timothy Buttercup was Miss DJ in the house,
and we also were treated to a performance by ScooterPie and Deadly Nightmare
of the East Bay contingent.
What can I say about the evening? I'm no critic and so I don't do that sort
of thing, happy as I am when anyone manages to screw up enough courage to
get up in front of a bunch of people and do something. What I will say is
that we were all there because we love Haia and we are his family and everyone
had a great time. It was a very sweet and innocent expression of love and
it reminded me of a Bar Mitzvah or a wedding reception, lots of joyful silliness,
dear friends/family, a little tipsiness, some cheesiness, lots of just plain
niceness.
Haia has informed me of this story from USA Today with the headline: "Gang
of teenage stars named for Haia on his 62nd birthday, June 23rd." actually,
that wasn't the headline of the story at all but here's the story, which was
in USA Today: "Astronomers have captured a gang of teenage stars that appears
to be in the act of forming new planets. The group of five stars, known as
the TW Hya Association (get it, "Hya?") is only about 20 million years old
and is the closest young star formation to Earth at 130-200 light years away."
Congratulations, Haia! You don't look anywhere NEAR that old. I guess that
miracle pearl cream you got on TV really does work!
Boy, was the Summer Solstice gathering at Zuni Mountain sanctuary in New
Mexico a blast. We had a rave in the desert and a Solstice parade through
blooming desert flowers under the smiling sky. This was the best gathering
I have ever attended and through the whole thing I kept thinking to myself
"the radical faeries really are a beautiful tribe and I am so happy and proud
to be one of them." We do things that would scandalize others but only because
they choose to be scandalized; all nakedness and frolic done in pure joyful
innocence at the joy of being alive, like little children before they are
programmed to feel shame, guilt, and fear. We create magick and beauty and
laughter; at Zuni there was constant laughter loud enough to drown out the
insects and more beauty, silliness, drag and slag than you could shake a stick
at. We were in high silly genderfuck drag one minute, then smearing mud/straw
waterproofing pate on faerie-built adobe structures the next. It's so much
fun being part of a group of men (and women) whose male/female energy is
both balanced and fluid.
We had a sweat lodge there that was personally very transformative; surely
this explains my recent feelings of lightness and wholeness. When I went to
the gathering I knew that I had heavy stuff I needed to integrate into my
life: the HIV seroconversion and what it meant for me and how I would proceed
to live my life, and the bullshit with my father. I thought briefly of him
in the sweat lodge and I felt something in the center of my chest (I believe
it was my heart chakra) melt, I mean it really felt like all of those hard
cold painful feelings, those little boy scared, lost in the woods feelings
just melted away into healing integration. Before, I was unable to say "I
forgive my father." Now I can honestly say that, and I can move on with my
life.
I had placed a few items on the blessing mound in front of the sweat lodge
before I went inside: a small photo album given to my by my hubby Dan before
I left on the Global Peace Walk in 1995, full of pictures of us and our cats
and words of love written by Dan, the two rings given to me by Dan upon which
is inscribed "love conquers all," a pen, symbolizing my writing/drawing, and
a small rattle-box given to me by Haia on Mount Tamalpais when I went up
there a long time ago with him to do mushrooms and visit the little people.
I also placed a quartz crystal which was given to me by Haia and which I had
carried for some time. After the sweat, I suddenly decided to give the crystal
to Hawk, the sweat leader, as a sign of respect and thanks and was blown
away when he said that he would take that crystal and begin a faerie medicine
bundle which he would bring back to the land with him each time he was involved
in a sweat there. I was really surprised and honored by this!
After the sweat, which was quite hot and very challenging for me, I came
out into the cool air of New Mexico dusk and crashed down onto the red dust
near the lodge and lay there naked, exhausted but also comforted, so supported
by the Earth and by the community there and by Hawk and the fire keeper, his
companion Amy. They were "straight" people (I'm making an assumption here),
and additionally as Native Americans could have treated us with ambivalence
or irritation since we were mostly all "white," but they repeatedly said how
honored they were to be there and how fantastic the experience was for them.
I didn't realize it had been Hawk's first time as sweat leader and the first
time for a sweat on the land. Hawk earlier explained that he was of mixed-race,
both European and Native American and he felt this was a gift that allowed
him to bridge the worlds. This made me appreciate the special opportunities
available to gays as bridges between the worlds of "male" and "female." I
really felt that there was a remembrance of the place of special consideration
that was once paid to homosexuals as "Two-Spirits," visionaries in the Native
American pre-colonial traditions (read "The Zuni Man-Woman" by Will Roscoe,
Univ. of New Mexico Press). I felt so happy to see this pre-colonial tradition
being honored after all these years of separation, and in a deep way, proud
to be gay or Two-Spirit.
After I lay there in the dust for a while, they prepared for the second
shift of faeries who wanted to do a sweat and it turned out that they didn't
have a fire keeper, someone to hand the red hot stones into the lodge between
rounds. I volunteered offhandedly, and then suddenly realized what an incredible
honor this was. Being part of this powerful Native American spiritual tradition
(even through casual synchronicity) was simply the highest honor I have ever
received in my life. Not because I have some trendy desire to consume Native
American traditions but because I have experienced sweat lodges before and
know the ritual to be real and the transformative spiritual power to be real.
To be part of performing this ritual, even in this small way, was a very emotional
experience for me. More than any sensation I've felt on any stage, more than
the college degree I got, more than any amount of money anyone could pay
me, this experience showed me that my spiritual calling is what motivates
me. All else is temporary pleasure, not "sinful" but not lasting, not integral.
I truly felt blown away with humility and the realization that the most powerful
part of this sweat lodge for me was happening in the real world, outside
the lodge, in addition to the healing that had taken place inside the lodge
during the first sweat ritual. The blessings were manifesting in the material
world, and I had nothing to fear.
Between the first and second rounds of the sweat lodge for which I served
as fire keeper I went for a dip in the small brown lake there to wash away
the sweat and the red dust. I also knew this had a spiritual significance:
I was being baptized into a new life after having processed the shit from
the old painful one. I would be starting a very new and more happy phase of
my life, and so far this contendedness, this feeling of safety and openness
has continued. The sun set over the amazingly green sacred land of New Mexico
and I felt so at peace, so whole, so sure that things would happen just as
they were going to happen, and that even though challenges would continue
to confront me, even related to HIV, I would be able to handle them with grace.
I felt like I could trust the universe, not fear it; that blessings would
come my way if I foolishly expected them to.
Gosh, so much happened at the gathering that I could go on and on blabbing
about how much fun and how powerful it was for me, but you just have to go
to a gathering yourself and experience it, that's all. They can't be explained
in a linear sort of way. I will now proceed to the fun road trip home with
Eric of Long Beach, surfer and driver of a cool '64 Rambler (or was it '63?).
We drove through Globe, Arizona on state highway 60 and of course had to experience
the "world famous mural room" in a bar there whose name I forget, but it's
aquamarine on the outside and you can't miss it. Inside we found locals bathed
in blacklight and a mural of Katchina dancers done in Day-glo paint behind
the bar. The best part was the sassy peroxide-blonde bartender who kept us
rolling with her dirty jokes. She was totally cool, sized us up right away
and winked, "You know what they say comes from California, only three things:
shit-kickers, berry-pickers and dick-lickers." We were of course in agreement
with at least one third of the joke. There was a guy at the end of the bar
with one of those electronic voice boxes that people have to use after they've
smoked three or four hundred thousand cheap cigarettes and another guy with
Wayne Newton hair. The jukebox had Barry White and Elvis. GREAT PLACE!
Next we caught highway 88 AKA the Apache Trail, which was most lovely, winding
road through canyons with the kind of cacti they show in cartoons, that look
like a skinny guy with both arms upraised. We then stopped in Tortilla Flat,
an Old West town that had been destroyed twice. They had a great little restaurant
there (it's the only one, so you can't miss it), I can't remember the name.
Maybe they called the town Tortilla Flat after the restaurant, I don't know.
Next time I'll take notes, I promise. The cool thing was that the insides
of the place were completely covered with dollar bills from all over the world,
so to speak, most of them personalized. I played "I'll be home for Christmas,"
"Desperado" and Miss Dolly Parton on the jukebox.
We had to make a few stops in Phoenix, on first glance a pretty dry and
charmless place, then proceeded on towards Los Angeles, where I was to catch
a Greyhound Bus at 11 PM. We stopped in Cabazon, California, on highway 10,
at the Wheel Inn (this place I remember). You must drop everything and go
to this place because there are two huge dinosaurs out front, one of which
contains a gift shop in its belly where I bought a plastic purple disco "mirrored"
ball necklace for $2. They have big food portions and the waitresses are
nice. Lots of wood panelling, a display case full of turquoise belt-buckles,
big goingy colorful plastic light fixture globes hanging from the ceiling,
pie and coffee. Don't get the sweet and sour chicken. Should I describe the
bathroom?
The Greyhound Bus terminal in LA is an interesting place. Both times I was
there on this trip I ran into and began speaking to some fun characters. On
the way to New Mexico, there was this very silly lady in her sixties who seemed
to have smoked a lot of dope over the years because she was very scatterbrained
and giggly. First thing she asked me was, "Are you an artist or musician?
Why are you wearing nail polish?" I had been wearing cheap blue nail polish
from Walgreen's on my left hand and cheap orange nail polish on the other,
both over-coated with multi-color glitter. I replied, "For the hell of it."
She said she was just worried what my father would think and of course this
was a loaded one but I said simply, "well, we don't speak any more." She let
it go at that. I liked her. She was moving from LA to Philadelphia, only at
first she told me she was moving to New Jersey because she said she hates
Philadelphia as much as she's hated LA during the twenty years she's lived
there. There was this butch marine white-trash guy sitting next to her and
at first he kept staring at me while she was asking me about my nail polish,
thinking: "This guy's for sure a fag." The answer I gave earlier wasn't enough
for him, apparently, so when he asked me again about the nail polish I said,
"It's a free country, might as well take advantage of it." Later he was cozying
up on the bus with a naive girl way too young for him.
On the way back to San Francisco there were some people in the Greyhound
station going to the Rainbow Gathering in Oregon. One was a friendly guy trying
to sell ten sheets of acid so he could buy some pot. He was waiting for a
girl to come up on a late bus from San Diego. Then two other guys came up.
One was a young bearded hippy dude who came to LA from Hawaii only to be
dumped by his girlfriend. Said he'd spent his last money and was going to
hitchhike up to the Rainbow Gathering. The Greyhound Bus terminal in LA is
in a very crumbly part of town so we talked him into chilling there overnight.
He kept stretching his arms up and his t-shirt rose, exposing his soft belly
and a little of the top of his pubic hair above his pants since of course
he wasn't wearing underwear. I decided to not be all that furtive about looking
at him when he stretched. "Why should I?" The third guy was quiet but seemed
nice, just shy. One of his eyes was smaller than the other and he had a dark
beard. They were nice but all their talk of wanting to get ahold of some marijuana
glazed me over.
On the bus there was a white trash young man in a white sox hat who kept
shuffling and reshuffling a deck of cards. A little boy across the aisle with
his mother had a toy truck and the guy kept saying at him, "Is that a truck?
Do you have a truck?" The little boy stared at him blankly. Later on the
mother began to watch Jerry Springer on a portable television while we drove
through Hollywood. The program featured some young woman who used to be a
prostitute but had since changed her ways. She even got married. The studio
audience roared with approval. Eric and I had planned to stop at some shitty
bar in Hollywood Blvd. Or along Sunset Strip but we didn't get to LA in time
for that. A lot of very humorless-looking punks hang out in Hollywood dressed
in torn black clothing, trying to look as Apocalyptic as possible, but then
I guess they have a right since they're in fact living it. Someone wanted
to board the bus at the stop next to the Kentucky Fried Chicken in Hollywood
but he was drunk and the bus driver wouldn't let him on. I imagined him having
to sit there all night.
A day after I returned to San Francisco I walked in the Gay/Lesbi/Trans/Bi/blah
blah blah Parade with the faeries in a new contingent we retroactively dubbed
the Pot Whores. I was wearing a blue sequined top which was a little clingy,
but a bargain at $3 from a drunk guy on 16th street, and my sheeny silver
pants which he had graciously thrown in for a mere dollar. I also wore my
rainbow-colored afro wig and my purple plastic mirrored disco ball from the
gift shop in the belly of the dinosaur in Cabazon. God, what a great parade!
I had so much fun and got to meet the charming and attractive Pogue from Santa
Cruz as well as Earthbeam from Portland. Of course the faeries were all mixed-up
about where to meet and so there were several faerie clumps in the parade
but we all had fun, I'm sure. It was such a beautiful San Francisco day,
cool, sunny, light and breezy (like always) and there were so many interesting
people in so many incredible costumes or lack thereof. The Pot Whores appropriately
walked near the Cannabis Cultivator's Club gaggle of parade-goers, behind
the parade marshalls Dennis Peron and Brownie Mary. Behind us was a male Glinda
the Good Witch and three gorgeous leather cuties. I just had to tell them
all how adorable they were, because they were!
There was one guy along the route holding a sign, you know, "REPENT or DIE
and BURN in HELL" or something charming like that, but gosh, he seemed so
small and hard compared to all those beautiful loving condemned freaks, I
felt sorry for him. I'm sure with the wonder drugs they have these days, his
delusions could be cleared up in no time flat! He shouldn't have to suffer.
Then I had a nice time hanging out with Bearcat at the end of the parade
just sitting along the sidewalk watching all the people walk by, so many lovely
drag queens, butch dykes, leather boys, just plain Joes, kids, grandmas, everybody
just happy to be there hanging out with the fun people; you know, "sinners
are much more fun." Buttercup facilitated a hang-out with music later away
from all of the "Pride for $ale" booths. Stayed there for the longest time
cuddling my friend Racer as he lay in a blissful drowsy state in the grass.
This weekend I'm going to Michigan for two weeks to discover the mysterious
and wonderful Michigan donut-and-coffee experience with Dan and his family
and friends. I will take notes so you will not suffer in the fear that the
rest of the world is overrun by the donut mafia that rules San Francisco donut
production and forces us all at gunpoint to eat dull pasty glerky glunky donuts
at places with names like Glaze Donut or Happy Donut and also serve pork
fried rice twenty-four hours a day with coffee black as a butt crack in a
dark alley.
I just have to put this last thing in because it was so much fun, my second
time in a bowling alley in two weeks but the first time I've played in about
a year. My friends Ghi, Nigel and Paul invited me to accompany them and several
others for "cyber-bowling" at JapanTown Bowl on Geary street and we had a
blast. They have blacklight tubes above the lanes and a DJ who plays disco
and spinning light balls in the ceiling. People were dressed in Day-glo colors,
with hot pink and uranium-green feather boas, miniskirts and tube tops that
really worked the lights. In the lobby they have bitchin' video games where
you get to destroy everything in sight.
The other bowling experience I mentioned took place in Show Low, Arizona
on the trip to LA. Eric and I wanted to stop in some place called Ellen's
or something like that but it was closed so we went on ahead to a bowling
alley with a sign that said "coffee shop." It was nice in there. Everything
was very beige or brownish, no nonsense, and at the end above the three last
lanes were people's names who had scored 300. We both ordered cheeseburgers,
yes I know, I ate traumatized deceased cow's flesh, but it tasted damn good
and they had the country music video station playing in the bar from a TV
hung in the corner, which was very interesting. On the TV they were doing
a country music dance program and all these people had little country music
costumes and had very plainly danced these very same simple dance steps at
least three or four hundred million times, just to get it right. They seemed
to be thinking about their cars out in the parking lot. We drank a beer at
our table along with the three or four regulars at the bar and one very thin
woman who was about to be involved in an indiscretion with the only handsome
and young guy there. I imagined they were having an affair and they worked
together at a tire store up the road, but for all I know they were spies from
Happy Donut.
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Sounds from Space by Miss Haia Ted Berk the Venusian (a regular feature)
At 3 AM June 25th 1997, truly extraordinary aura around the moon... ethereal,
milky white in color. My familiar Sam sitting in bathroom window watching
it with me, both of us enthralled. And beneath the moon: a star? A comet?
A starship? For sure, a bright wonder-thing radiating lines of blue-white
light...so thrilling... So pure. So much a message! Ten minutes later... It
is still there! Spikes of light emanating from it in all directions like the
hair of a street brother.
LATE FLASH! Garrin Benfield of the band Maya and I are planning some time
in the near future to put out a CD of Garrin with his beautiful original music
backing me reading my work going back to 1957. (for info about Haia the Venusian
and more of his dreams, see http://www.links.net/vita/sf/haia/)
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Projects, plugs, and upcoming stuff like that there
* Writing circle: I'd like to start a supportive circle
for aspiring writers and/or cartoonists, wherein we would regularly meet to
read/share/discuss each others' work and perhaps collaborate on creating a
publication. The main strength I think we could get from this group is encouragement
and motivation to write on a regular basis. Since none of us would be professionals
or critics per se, we will all be learning from one another or in any case
enjoying one another's company and moral support. Bloobird at 415-585-8273.
* Drawing circle: I'd like to propose a life drawing circle
in which we take turns being the model. This could also be a photography circle,
sculpture circle, whatever, but the essential thing is that it would be a
fun, supportive, spontaneous environment to encourage the blossoming of our
talents. Bloobird at 415-585-8273.
* LSDxxx zine #2 nearly ready: It's almost finished. Really.
Oh God, WHEN WILL IT BE FINISHED? If you would like to list something in the
space above, call Tel-a-Fool at 415-333-9549 or e-mail bloobird@sirius.com.
Links and URLs are welcome!
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It takes balls to follow your heart.
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