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*************************** LSD Tabloid *************************** Schmoozemagazine
of Love's Supreme Desire XXX * New Moon, August, 1997 This is LSD Tabloid,
the monthly and then some callboard and events newsletter of Love's Supreme
Desire XXX, a radical faerie and friends' creative network. Feel free to copy/distribute
as long as nobody makes any money. Entire contents copyright Bloobird/LSDxxx
unless authorship otherwise noted. Submissions accepted, especially art-related.
To subscribe to LSD Tabloid, please send $5 to Bloobird, 634 Edna St., SF,
CA 94127. E-mail: bloobird@sirius.com. Tel-a-Fool events & info line
/Fax: 415-333-9549. Thanks to David Kerlick, back issues of LSD Tabloid are
available on the World Wide Web at http://www.eskimo.com:80/~davidk/faeries/pubs.htm.
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There's a seventeen foot tall Santa Claus in Frankenmuth, Michigan, cheerful
and nice Had a great time in Michigan! People seem friendly and open-minded,
smart and straightforward, cosmopolitan without the attitude, no-bullshit,
with the added bonus of seeming to have a charming innocence that is missing
from many of the jaded, been-around-the-block ho's I know in San Francisco,
myself included. First we went to a Detroit suburb named Birmingham, where
my partner Elroy's brother Jeff, sister-in law Julie, and mother and father
live. Birmingham is lovely, tree-covered, with big old midwestern brick houses,
lawns, and a slightly chi-chi but not entirely yuppified shopping district
where I bought a pair of leather pants for only $50 and another pair of these
dark blue with crushed black velvet dandy pants for about $30. The leather
pants are way too tight but I'm sure they'll stretch out, or I'll lose some
weight, whichever comes first. Of course, as an HIV-positive person I'm not
exactly keen on the idea of losing weight but if God forbid I should hit the
skids, at least I'll have something to wear. We stayed with Elroy's brother/sister-in-law,
and they had a big bar-b-q in our honor for the entire family right off the
bat. In attendance were Elroy's parents, conservative and elderly but still
accepting and embracing of their son and our relationship. There were also
Elroy's brother Tom and his wife Nancy, their two delightful children Elizabeth
and Jack, Elroy's sister Mary and her daughter Katie. Jeff's parents-in-law
were also there. The only ones missing were Michael, Julie's brother, and
Courtney, his lover of many years. We met them later on. I love having other
gay folks in the family. I myself have a wonderful gay relative who lives
in Berlin and is an accomplished writer. It was so wonderful for me to be
in a family environment where I did not feel I had to be closeted about my
sexual orientation. In fact, it was something of a first for me, but not the
only time it has happened in the past month or so (I'll get to the wonderful
wedding of Josh and Garrin later on). In my own family, I always acted not
"closeted," exactly, but never fully myself, though this is currently changing
for the better. I never knew what I could show them about myself. The worst
part was with the kids, because kids can be very intimidating to me as a gay
person. This is not to say I don't like kids, because I do, but I also have
a deep memory of how cruel kids can be to those who are different, and this
causes me to be very shielded around them. I myself was cruel to other kids
who were different, just as there were kids who were cruel to me, and way
before I knew I was a member of the FFA (Future Fags of America), I would
call other kids "fag" or make other such ignorant cracks. One time I called
Sherry Custer, an older girl who lived down the hill from us, a "fag." She
asked me if I knew what that was and I said "shit." Took me a long time to
realize what "fag" meant, and longer still to learn that as a fag I wasn't
shit, but a fabulous shining star like everyone and everything else. While
in the Birmingham area, we drove a little farther south towards Detroit to
a city called Berkley to party a little bit with the fabulous Dawn Schmeltzer,
Chris and Laura Langa-Spencer, and Ken Carps (Elroy's ex) and Ken Bollinger
of Baltimore (a couple we refer to as The Kens). When we visited Dawn and
company in her charming home full of populuxe kitsch and lampshades that many
queens would kill to possess, it was a hot and sultry Michigan evening. The
fans were blowing, the music was playing, and then there came the rain. Rain,
glorious rain! In San Francisco, the weather is generally beautiful but God,
it is boring. There's almost never any dramatic or interesting weather in
San Francisco. You either get a sunny day, warm, with fog in morning and evenings,
or you get a cloudy day, cold, with fog in the mornings and evenings. In
the winter, we get a cold sprittle of rain, otherwise we get almost no rain
at all; certainly not fabulous thunderstorms with lightning and heavy downpours
of water from the heavens. I went out on the front porch and stood in the
cooling rain, grinning like an idiot to the bemusement of Chris and Laura,
rushing to their car. You know how it is when you're in a relationship with
someone but you never know exactly what it is that they like about you (as
if it were possible to quantify exactly what attracts one person to another)?
I related to his old friends so well that I could suddenly see "why" Elroy
loves me. I felt totally comfortable with them and gained a new understanding
of Elroy and our relationship by seeing his hometown, his family and his old
buddies. I felt like a logical part of the continuum of relationships in
his life. I "belonged" in his life. After a few days around Detroit we went
up to fairly-rural Okemos to visit Mark and Jan and their two cats. When
we first got there, mister jungle-kitty Bibs walked up to me and Jan on the
back porch pleased as punch with a dead bunny rabbit in his mouth. Of course
I was honored by the gift, but having just eaten, decided to bury the little
guy behind the tool shed. I didn't bury him deep enough because that night
some critter dug up his body and ate it. The rabbit had fulfilled the circle,
life becoming death, death becoming life. The woods behind the house were
small, yet dense, packed with living and dying things. I walked around back
there following a glorious thunderstorm and found an elder tree covered with
yellow slugs climbing towards the sky. Here was the storm in Okemos: Elroy,
Mark and I had just seen "Men in Black" (which we liked) at the mall. When
we left the air-conditioned shopping temple we were met with a blast of humid
air and the smell of rain. Soon the wind began to pick up and it was cool;
an approaching cold front. The clouds became tall and grey. Thunderclouds
have a way of sneaking up on you. One minute you look at them and they are
small, white, puffy, harmless. The next minute they have climbed into the
upper atmosphere like a mushroom cloud and spread in all directions as if
on a sheet of glass. Soon the whole sky became dark and exciting. When we
got home the rain came pouring down; a strong, steady midwestern summer rain.
There were thunder and lightning quite close to the house. We stood out on
the front porch under an eave and watched the splendor of dramatic mother
nature. The storm front transformed the hot, muggy weather into cool, comfortable
breeziness. We watched the clouds and the rain move slowly east as the sun
came out behind us on the other side of the house. Then there was the rainbow,
no, a double rainbow. Strong and bright and clear spreading over the green,
lush landscape. There was something magickal about this storm, I don't know
what it was, but it just made me so happy. I felt strangely light and playful
and soon we were walking around in the front yard among the flowers staring
up into the sky, fascinated with the clouds and the brilliant blue spaces
between them. We moved onto the back porch where we blew iridescent bubbles
and talked of riding in hot air balloons among the clouds. Then I ventured
into the wet woods alone where I connected with the elder tree. This storm
reminded me of the most incredible storm I ever experienced, which took place
last year as I drove a friend's car from Baltimore to San Francisco. I had
been at the Zuni Mountain Sanctuary in New Mexico a week or two before I
departed Baltimore to points west, and at that time everything was as dry
and brown as could be. On the radio, the locals were exhorting everyone to
pray for rain in whatever their spiritual tradition may be to end the drought.
This all took place around the summer solstice of '96, the first official
faerie gathering at Zuni Mountain Sanctuary. We had a parade and some rituals
on the land and shared our energies with all those others praying for rain
in their personal traditions. That very day it clouded up and there were sprinkles
that were not anticipated by the weather forecasters. But the real rain came
later. When I drove through the southwest weeks later we encountered heavy
rains beginning in Oklahoma City, where we drove tentatively through sheets
of white foggy drizzle downpour. The rain continued as we drove along highway
40 through northern Texas, foggy and damp with drizzle. But the main fireworks
came when we drove into magickal New Mexico. Never had I seen so much lightning!
The skies were completely black. The arroyos ran blood red with overflow.
Where there had been dryness and desolation only a week or so before, there
was now standing water and the promise of new life. I was so excited at the
drama of this storm. I had been through tornado weather in Ohio, a near-miss
hurricane in Louisiana, but never such raw power and beauty, never so much
fire from the sky! When I later arrived at Zuni, the rains had begun to clear
and the desert was already springing to life. The last time I went to Zuni,
in July of this year, I hardly recognized it. The land which had been brown
was green and lush, blooming, alive with the sound of insects and birds.
Great place to eat near Okemos, Michigan: the Traveler's Club and Tuba Museum.
They feature the cuisine of a different country every night and have a huge
menu. The vibe is very Indigo Girls, comfy, lived-in, unpretentious, friendly.
The service is slow, but get over it. When we were there a large blind woman
was at the piano just rocking the house out with her strong voice and outgoing
personality. Yes, the place is also a "tuba museum," and there are lots of
old tubas and historical-looking photographs on the walls. Nice place. While
Mark and Jan were working, Elroy and I would often drive over to East Lansing
to hang out near Michigan State University. I know many of you, upon hearing
the words "Michigan State University," immediately think of The World's Largest
Hairball. Everywhere I go these days, it seems people want to know about
The World's Largest Hairball: "How big was it? Did it smell? Was it grey
or like, greenish?" Unfortunately, Elroy and I were unable to pay homage
to TWLH because it has mysteriously disappeared from the Animal Husbandry
building. I suspect a sinister plot because when we went to buy ice cream
from the MSU dairy, not steps away from the Animal Husbandry building, the
cashier claimed to have NO KNOWLEDGE of The World's Largest Hairball. But
how could that possibly be? Surely everyone has heard of the basketball sized
curiosity which was fished from one of the stomachs of a deceased Michigan
cow long, long ago. Wasn't there a movie made about TWLH starring Tippi Hedren
as a sincere but flawed Animal Husbandry major who achieves fame, fortune,
and acclaim with her discovery on a dark stormy night of the unwitting cow
whose belly nurtured the unseemly, hairy blob? It was called "The Lady and
the Hairball" and co-starred Ernest Borgnine as the custodian who drags the
cow into the Animal Husbandry building, only to fall hopelessly in love with
Tippi, who is too busy for love (especially with Ernest Borgnine). It was
Tippi's last movie, and made TWLH an international sensation, as you well
know. We hope The World's Largest Hairball will be returned to the Animal
Husbandry Building, no questions asked. After all, Tippi Hedren added a few
strands of her own famous hair to help promote the movie, which was an unprecedented
critical and box office disaster. We celebrated the thirtieth birthday of
one of The Kens at a very good restaurant in East Lansing called Beggar's
Banquet. Very dark wood interior, ferns, seventies hippy vibe in a good way.
The food was excellent, the service was great, the prices were reasonable,
we had a good time. I understand why Beggar's Banquet has been a popular
East Lansing establishment for many, many years. Big Ken was morose but it
wasn't the food. Little Ken the wine snob approved of the wine list which
featured "good wines at a reasonable price... brrrp." Elroy knows a couple
in East Lansing named Dick and Jane; it's true. Jane is a writer/photographer
and Dick is a musician who runs an excellent record store called Flat, Black
and Circular. Dick clearly loves his work, loves music, especially quirky/funky/weird
shit, and his store is one of the best in East Lansing. He has an area where
you can buy 25 used CD's for $10. Such a bargain! I didn't know any of the
bands but then I tend to keep playing the same records over and over again:
B-52's, Blondie, DEVO. But I do know a good deal when I see one, so I picked
out 25 CD's whose names and/or cover art struck me as interesting. I got
some good stuff: Devilhead, Johny Bravo, Foreskin 500 (the name is better
than the music), the Goops, Big Hate, Bogmen, Ape Hangers, Bovine, The DeRita
Sisters and Junior, and Couch of Eureka, among others. Also got some fun
'zines there: "Tiki News" #10 (the wood phallus issue), "Beer Frame, the
journal of inconspicuous consumption" (smartass but not diatribic remarks
about consumer products and marketing), and "Cool and Strange Music," (featuring
the del Rubio Triplets, Enoch Light and the discotheque craze, and belly-dancing
cover art). Jane turned me on to a new toy that is sure to sweep the nation,
if it hasn't already and I just wasn't paying attention. It's called, appropriately
enough, "Fart Sludge," and is simply some colored goo in a small container
that makes a fabulous disgusting farting noise when you sink your fingers
into it. Here we were, Mark, Jan, Elroy, Dick, Jane, grown-up artsy-fartsy
and/or serious professional types, pissing our pants laughing at the delightful,
wonderful vocalizations of Fart Sludge. Sometimes it pays to be as immature
as humanly possible. There is a place called Bronner's in Frankenmuth, Michigan
which you must visit if, like me, you are addicted to lights and shiny things.
It is a Christmas super-store absolutely packed with shimmery glass balls,
glittery tinsel, string-lights, Santa Claus drag, life-sized manger figures
for the lawn, and nearly any other kind of Christmas kitsch you could imagine.
People come to Bronner's from miles away to be saturated with sparkely yuletide
fabulousness. There's even a 17-foot tall big-ass santa outside, scary as
hell. Elroy and I bought a black wreath, fiber-optic glitter poinsettia lights,
laser-hologram star-shaped string lights, and a laser-hologram gigantic star
light for the top of our tree. The lights are downstairs right now calling
to me, "Don't wait for Christmas, hang us up now and be dazzled, darling"
but inertia prevails for the time being. We also spent one week on the Old
Mission Peninsula at a crunchy place called the Neahtawanta Inn, a Bed and
Breakfast and conference center for people involved in peace and social justice
issues. What a nice place! The peninsula is covered with cherry orchards,
vineyards, and pine and maple trees. It reminded me of rural Italy or France
or some place golden and covered with rolling hills like that which I have
only seen in pictures. I spent a lot of time writing there, using my new
used laptop computer which we bought from Jane, and Elroy read a lot. We
also drove up to Empire and walked around the beautiful Sleeping Bear Dunes,
which are forty stories high and look out over the beautiful Lake Michigan.
I carried on a conversation with a really chatty bird there. Birds just love
it when human beings whistle in communication with them. Try it sometime.
They always talk back. I don't know what the hell they're saying, but it's
more interesting than "Bay Watch." After The Old Mission Peninsula we returned
for our final Michigan weekend to Birmingham. We spent one day walking around
downtown Detroit, which is a pretty interesting place. I have never seen
a modern, large American city in such a strange state of abandonment and
general crumbliness. Not that I am dishing Detroit, because that's such a
cliche and besides, I liked it there. I've always found urban decay perversely
fascinating. When we were downtown it was as hot as hell, nineties and humid,
and the whole city was hazy and grey. There were very few people walking
about and most of the business were closed for the day (or for good). We
passed a store that I had to take a picture of because down the front column
of the store hung a banner which read "Grand Opening!" and in the windows
of the store were signs which read, "Going out of Business." It seemed to
sum up the downtown Detroit situation pretty well, but then there were some
wonderful bright spots. We were just strolling around and discovered a fabulous
wig store, packed floor-to-ceiling all four walls with wigs. I just love
wig stores. I don't know why, but I find wigs to be inherently funny. This
store had some great styles, mostly African-American, but also some great
big Texas white woman hairdos on top of severe looking wig-heads, skinny
with bad make-up, skeletal, looking like white-trash junkie-punks. A few
blocks away from the wig store we discovered Hart Plaza, right near the Detroit
River, and the African-American Music Festival there. We were so happy to
see other people! The city felt so empty and deserted elsewhere, but the
plaza was full of beautiful black men and women wearing African dashikis,
selling jewelry, incense, music, artwork, and food, or just strolling around
digging the scene. I bought some African beads to temporarily sooth my bead
addiction. We plopped down for a while to groove on the music of a saucy
black woman in a red dress belting out the blues, but the steps of the performance
area were as hot as hell from the summer sun so finally we had to move our
butts back on home away from the terrible, muggy heat. When we got back to
San Francisco, we were the lucky guests at the wedding of Garrin Benfield,
writer/musician, and Joshua Smith, photographer. Wow, what an incredibly
wonderful day we enjoyed up at Wildwood, near Russian River in Northern California.
Josh and Garrin are products of two of the most healthy, supportive, progressive,
creative, families I have ever seen, which explains why they are such nice
guys. Josh's grandmother, a minister, performed the ceremony and their entire
families were there in a laughing and loving way. We were all encouraged
to "dress creative," and so I wore my purple tuxedo shirt and my pink pants,
all my favorite necklaces and rings, and an orange tie-dyed superhero cape.
The ring-bearer was a charming man dressed as Wonder Woman. He looked so
good, and worked the drag so well, he stole the show. We all shed a few happy
tears as the boys walked together under a canopy supported by family members
to meet the lovely grandmother at her station on the edge of the plateau
with blue sky and green trees beyond. The crowd of assembled freaks and artfags
was truly moved by the beautiful ceremony and all of us were bedazzled by
and envious of such fully-functional progressive modern families! Congratulations,
Josh and Garrin! Last things before I go: my friend Lars and I have started
a line of jewelry called "Rock Candy," which is sure to be at least as popular
as Fart Sludge. Also, you must catch "Psycho Beach Party" at Theater Rhino
in San Francisco before it closes on August 30. Extremely funny queer theater.
Also, I may be traveling around assisting a woman who is writing a biography
of Perry Farrel, lead singer of Jane's Addiction, in the Spring. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sounds from Space by Miss Haia Ted Berk the Venusian (a regular feature) I
would like to thank all of you beautiful beings who have sent energy/prayers
to my beloved cat-familiar Sam, who is now happily cavorting in feline Valhalla
with Elf Kitty, who departed earlier. And the Dolphins call out (a song)---March
13, 1990 And the dolphins call out... And the dolphins call out... And the
dolphins call out... "Save us!" I hear them ever and they are always in conscious
thought and I cannot pretend to not hear them! And the net imprisons... And
their clicking language is loud in my head... "Soon we will only exist as
a fragment of you... Do you hear us? We are calling, dolphin creature to human
creature. Withdraw the nets!" Dream of March 22, 1989 Most amazing dream!
I dream I am a cat prowling about... Transformed I am into that feline body...
Totally that creature... Yet in a way I sense that I am a human somehow become
a cat... I am astonished... It feels so real.. So life-like.. I am on a roof..
And then I am actually half-awake and hear a series of frantic meows and
I open my bedroom window and in hops Elf-Kitty. (for info about Haia the
Venusian and more of his dreams, see http://www.links.net/vita/sf/haia/) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
--- 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. Time is not money.
Time is art. ******************************************************************************
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