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LSD Tabloid
Schmoozemagazine of the Love's Supreme Desire collective
No. 2, vol. 9 September 1997
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's Supreme
Desire. Next tabloid deadline is October[?afkaP] 1.
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I've been avoiding talking about HIV.
There's a virus in my bloodstream that could spring to life and pull me
down like quicksand. It could scrape the muscles from my body and drink the
flesh from my bones. It could ruin my face with scarlet lesions, it could
steal my eyes and warp my brain. There's a virus in my blood that I both
admire and fear.
Right now it's undetectable in my bloodstream thanks to a cocktail of the
antiretroviral drugs DDI, D4t and Nevirapine. I also take tons of vitamins
and minerals, garlic pills, and beneficial Eastern and Western herbs. I eat
right and get plenty of sleep. Sometimes I lift weights, but I am generally
loathe to exercise like I should. Sometimes Elroy (Dan) and I take Chigong
classes in the evenings, which is a form of therapeutic body movement meditation
like Tai-Chi. But after a day of work at the pizza joint, I mostly just want
to come home and relax. My T-cells are high, the numbers are rising and my
health is good. My physical and mental health is just fine. I am active socially
and creatively, looking forward to my future, however long it may be. Most
importantly, I am enjoying and appreciating the present. Sounds like such
a cliche to people before they get a shitty diagnosis: "Little Timmy the Cancer
Boy would like everyone to know that they should appreciate life and enjoy
what they have and who they are." Yeah, yeah, yeah. How many times has that
line been the moral of a disease-of-the-week movie and everyone in the room
groaned? I sure as hell did. Now I'm saying those things myself. Until something
surprises you with your undeniable mortality, you may think your life is
a life sentence. Then when you find out you really will die one day, all
you want to do is live and live well.
Yes, my health picture is currently rosy. But every day I know that I have
this virus in my blood, every day I know that things could start going the
other way and I could begin to die. I'm tempted right now to jump in and say,
"but then we all die eventually," or something "courageous" and "inspiring"
like that, but I'm going to dwell on my fears for a minute here. The part
of me that always wants to change the subject to something light and easy
and glib is the part of me that is afraid. Afraid of seeming weak, afraid
of "turning off the audience," afraid of being a whiner. But I'm not whining,
I'm being honest. It wouldn't be honest for me to only write the LSD Tabloid
when I'm feeling happy, at peace, strong. There I went off again into a little
tangent, trying to avoid talking about my fears. I am now going to shift focus
into some of my fear scenarios, just lay it out for you, so you'll see. The
following is not really happening, but could happen:
"It was a long day at work. Tourists kept coming into the restaurant to
buy more pizza. I couldn't concentrate all day. The cooks asked me for pineapples
and instead of opening the can and putting the pineapples into a clear plastic
bucket, I threw them right into the trash along with the lid of the can. I
had to sit down for about fifteen minutes at lunch rush because I felt so
spaced-out and weak. I kept bumping into things and I dropped a bunch of
heavy platters on the floor. Finally the manager asked me if everything was
all right, would I like to take a break. My skin was clammy and I felt dizzy.
A few of the people working at the register turned and looked at me. A few
of them know I'm HIV+. I don't know for sure who knows and who doesn't. I'm
sure they all know now. Everybody in the restaurant was looking at me. Some
people looked away, thank God, they were being polite, or couldn't bear to
face mortality, or were too busy reading the newspaper. A few seemed concerned,
they wanted to help. But they couldn't help, and something in my eyes told
them, 'I've been expecting this. This is not an aberration. It's been coming
for a long time. There's nothing you can do.' "
Another fear scenario: "I'm in the hospital. It's finally caught up with
me. It's some sort of lung infection that had me coughing up blood all night.
So this is what it's like, this is the start of the slow descent. Dan looks
so sad and scared. He's trying to be upbeat and strong, but he's hurting.
Goddamn this fucking virus! I don't want him to be going through all this
shit. I don't want him to have to change my diapers and clean up my bloody
vomit and I hope this doesn't go on for long, for both of our sakes. I'd rather
die right this minute than rot away here in this hospital with the nurses
and the white walls. I hate this place. And who is going to pay for all of
this? Dan, of course, I don't have any fucking money and these bastards will
bleed him dry, pretending that they can "save my life" when we all know it's
a crock of shit, I'm going to die just as surely as they will die one day
and all of this medical hoopla is just about avoiding the inevitable, avoiding
the fear of death and the hereafter and it's all about making money off of
those fears, and I'm buying into it by default. I wish I could get out of
here right now, just wander off with Dan into the woods to a quick-running
stream. I wish I could just say my goodbyes to him and walk into the deep
water, never to be seen again. I'm tired of being sick, I'm tired of bullshit
from the insurance company, I'm tired of pumping my body full of pills. What
is so scary about just letting go? There's nothing to fear. I want to die.
I want Dan to be able to move on and be happy again."
Another scenario: "I'm still in the hospital. It's been a long time. Dan
has been here almost constantly. God, I love him so much, I wish he didn't
have to go through this! I have a respirator on so I can't talk. I've been
drooling a lot. I hate that. Mom came in yesterday. She flew in all the way
from Cincinnati. Why did she wait until now? We could have had so much fun
back when I was still healthy. She looked so small and helpless, so scared,
God, I hate seeing people in so much pain! I almost wish they would stay home,
I feel so guilty for some stupid reason, and so exposed and vulnerable lying
here in this fucking hospital bed with tubes out of my arms. Of course I
look like shit, too, like a monster, with red blotches all over my face and
white crap all over my tongue. I guess this is my karma for being so vain
all my life. My body is so shrivelled up, I'm probably pissing myself right
now. God, this miserable shit of dying! It's so humiliating, and I'm trapped
here.
"I wonder if dad will come? The end must be pretty near now if mom came
all this way. I hope he does come, but I also hope he doesn't. It would be
nice if we could smile at each other before I die. I mean, I forgave him
long ago and I may have been blowing the whole thing out of proportion anyway,
I mean I'm sure he tried his best and didn't mean for me to feel like he was
ashamed of me, like he hated me. It just felt like that at the time. I don't
think he'll come. He's too proud, and we broke off ties so long ago. He's
never come to the hospital before, but maybe he'll come this time, I don't
know. I doubt it. It would be really uncomfortable for both of us. But in
a weird way it would be nice, a good finish to all that ugly shit that passed
between us. Oh well...
"It's been really hard to concentrate today. I tried to write something
on my laptop but I actually forgot how to turn it on. Dan started to cry.
God, I love him so much! He's been so good to me. I swear I'm going to haunt
him when I go. I don't want to scare him, but I want him to know I'm still
around, that I still love him. I remember when I told him I was HIV+ on Election
Day of 1996, he just crumpled up in a ball. His eyes were shaking. He couldn't
talk. I was afraid he was going into shock. That was the hardest thing for
me that day, telling Dan. When I heard the news, I walked out onto the street
in front of Glide Memorial Church and something told me I could handle it,
I wasn't going to be tested any deeper than what I could handle. In fact,
right after Gus gave me the news, that small voice in my head said, "it's
a gift, you'll see." I went on to work that day and smiled and laughed like
usual. It wasn't until about a week later that I had a discrete nervous breakdown
at work, lapsing into a loud, leaden silence. But that day when I got the
news, I didn't even cry, not until I saw how this was affecting Dan. Then
it became "real" to me. My biggest fear was that Dan was also positive, but
the little voice inside kept telling me that he was not infected. If Dan had
become infected because of my self-loathing irresponsibility, that would've
been too much to bear. Thank God, he wasn't infected.
"I don't want to be on these machines any longer. I wish they never hooked
me up to them. I wish I never even went to the doctor in the first place.
All those pills and all that money, and still here I am, dying. What a fucking
scam. Maybe I would've died earlier but at least we would've had more money
to play with. Now Dan is going to get stuck with all these bills. God, if
I could only undo everything. If only I had had enough self-respect to avoid
getting HIV, if only I had loved myself back then, I wouldn't have gotten
the virus. But then HIV is what taught me self-respect. HIV has taught me
so much, it changed my life for the better. I was destined to get HIV, it
was my karma, my defining challenge. It brought me so much closer to Dan,
to my friends, to my art, to myself. How can I hate this virus? I don't hate
the virus. I hate this slow process, this fucking annoying, boring, pathetic
dying. I wish it would end, but I don't want to die. I'm not afraid of dying,
it just seems too early. There are so many things I still want to do, I'd
love to grow old with Dan and the kitties, with my friends, I want to write
that book, I have so much still to do. I accept this Karma and all of these
hard lessons, but I can't help feeling like a failure in some way: 'Caught
the virus, stupid. You should have known better, the disease has been around
for years and everybody knows to use condoms.' Yeah, but maybe I caught it
doing unprotected oral sex, which everybody said was OK. Or maybe I caught
it that time I was so depressed that I got drunk and... But what does it matter?
Why think about that now? I'm dying. We all die. I was meant to die this
way. Maybe I chose it in my previous life as a good way to burn through some
karma. Dying is never easy, stop whining (Oh, fuck it, it's OK to whine, you're
dying. Everybody starts to lose their shit when they die, and you're no different.
Stop trying to be such a hero and be real for a change. You're being stripped
of everything. You're being taken away from this world. You will lose everything
you know, but will gain wisdom.).
Journal entry, 8/28/97
"Big transition point for me. I feel strongly that it's time for me to quit
working at the restaurant. For one thing, there's this guy who is a prep cook
in the back with me and he talks non-fucking stop about stupid immature shit
like what a hardass he and his friends are and how much pussy he gets. But
even if he was talking about something interesting I would still want him
to shut the fuck up because all he does is go ON and ON and he's so high-energy,
I swear he must be only 17 years old or something.
But the thing is, I don't want to waste any more time working here because
that's what it is, a waste of time. Sure, I get a little money but if I started
jamming on the jewelry (Rock Candy, the line I started with my friend Lars)
and the writing and the cartooning, I know I could make up the weekly $100
eventually and Dan said he would support me in the meantime if I wanted to
quit. It's not like I would just expect him to pay for everything; I really
know that if I applied myself, I could make up the money and not have to work
a straight job anymore. I just don't want to waste any more time. I mean,
this job isn't helping me, it's a hindrance, a crutch I don't need nor want
anymore.
I truly have faith that if I make the leap to self-sufficiency, it will
push me and encourage me and give me the room to grow and be who I was meant
to be. After all I have learned about how the universe works, how could I
have any doubts that I will be protected, nurtured, indeed blessed and rewarded?
It is my responsibility to trust my art, trust my instincts and trust the
universe. In a way, it's like my pride is starting to kick me in the ass and
that's a good thing. I don't want to be a thirty-two year old dishwasher (not
to dis' dishwashers, I just can't do it anymore); I don't want to rationalize
this shitty job anymore and say, 'well, everybody who works at the restaurant
is an artist/musician whatever like me, this is where we all work.' That doesn't
do it anymore. All the ones here are FRUSTRATED artists not necessarily doing
their art, drinking too much. Some of them seem to be going crazy because
they're so unhappy not doing what they were meant to do. If I keep working
here, I'll go crazy. I want to do my art. I WILL do my art. I want to quit
this job right now, but I think I'll wait until after Christmas. It will be
my New Year's present to myself. No more washing dishes in 1998!!"
So you see, my spirit has been in high gear lately and I'm on the edge of
liberating myself from one of my long-term fears, the fear of taking responsibility
for my life, essentially. I'm overcoming the fear of both failure and (equally
treacherous) the fear of success. Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about,
"I want to be famous and rich and fabulous." But then, who am I kidding? I
would be a big fat hypocrite if I said I didn't want to have more money. I
would be lying if I said I didn't want to be fabulous. I mean, come on now,
don't lie, we all want these things just a little bit. Famous, I could do
without. I would hate to be Madonna famous. Who could live a normal life once
they become Madonna famous? A little famous? Sure, hell, why not? Could be
fun.
What I'm talking about really, though, is that I want to write. I want to
make jewelry. I want to draw cartoons. I want to take photographs. I WANT
TO HAVE TIME TO BE AN ARTIST. I want to do what I was meant to do in the world.
I don't have time to shuffle around that restaurant wiping tables with a
clammy old rag anymore. I've tried office jobs and hated them, so I ran to
restaurant work to hide there. I like the vibe at restaurants better, the
people are more open and real, but it's become the same trap for me as working
at an office: giving over a big chunk of my life, doing things I dislike
(frequently with people I dislike), working for the financial benefit of
someone else while deep inside, my little voice is SCREAMING "Jump ship! You
can do it! What are you afraid of! The universe will provide! The past is
behind you. Claim your future!"
Oh my God, I just realized I sound like one of those motivational types
who sells videotapes on infomercials. But what can I say? I believe it. The
universe will provide. Like everyone else, I have talents and abilities with
which I can achieve a level of self-sufficiency and perhaps even prosperity
(why not?) if I work hard and apply myself, when I overcome fears about rejection
and poverty and just trust the universe.
A few things have happened that have finally given me the courage I needed
to make the psychic leap into the unknown. First and foremost, my spiritual
experiences (which I have described in the Tabloid) have all taught me that
there is NOTHING to fear. FEAR is the block to happiness, to prosperity, to
love. All of the tests and trials that come up in our lives are to make us
stronger, not to wear us down. We are not being punished by plagues, wars,
unemployment, etc., we are being challenged to grow spiritually and personally.
We are being globally kicked in the ass so that we will become aware of our
individual power, our individual and communal beauty and perfection. The trick
is to surrender to the unknown, to welcome it, to roll with it, to surf the
apocalypse (I want to put that on a T-shirt). We have within each and every
one of us power to change our lives, to change the world, to change the universe.
The challenge is to trust, to have faith in your inner voice, to love yourself
and to love other people. I could say more but there are things that cannot
be explained, they must be personally learned and each one of us, whatever
our spiritual tradition, has our own unique path and our particular lessons
that must be learned along the way from "birth" to "death." All I want to
impart to you is that I firmly believe the universe is at your back and by
your side. There is nothing to fear.
Frank Moore, Linda Mac and Michael LaBash
are sweet subversives in a peaceful purple house in Berkeley
I met the performance artist Frank Moore (http://www.eroplay.com) last week
over in Berkeley as well as his partners Linda Mac and Michael LaBash, an
illustrator whose sexy, subversive ink drawings I like a lot. It was an important
meeting for me and opened me up to some new creative/life possibilities.
Frank has cystic fibrosis and is in a wheelchair. He communicates by pointing
a stick, which is attached to a headband, at letters and common words on a
brightly-colored board on the tray in front of him. It was tricky at first
communicating with him because it had been a long day at work and I was moving
pretty slow. He'd indicate the letter "P" and I'd be like, "um... 'P.'" But
in a short while, I realized that this form of communication was very much
like when I used to do the OUIJA board with my old boyfriend David back in
Cincinnati. There was an intuitive element involved in trying to guess what
Frank was saying based on the clues of context and the first letter of a word,
and soon I found myself almost in a trance state.
Before long, we were talking about "surrender" and how we have both had
strong material examples in our lives of the way that when you surrender
to the universe, the unknown, god, goddess, your inner voice, the great spirit
(whatever you want to call it, it's the same thing), blessings just come
showering down upon you. It was a pleasure talking to someone else about
these things because I don't know many people I can talk to about spiritual
experiences. I never want to come across as preachy or as if I think I have
all the answers or as just plain crazy. Besides, like I said before, I believe
that spiritual things cannot be fully taught nor explained, they must be
learned firsthand by embracing the vagaries of life. Simplicity is the hardest
thing to explain!!
It was good for me to meet Frank when I did because I had been feeling "woe
is me" about being HIV-positive earlier in the week. But then I saw Frank
and I realized how lucky I am to even be alive, first of all, and how lucky
I am to be able to walk and speak and move about freely. That's the crude
first layer of what I learned, but the deeper thing was that Frank Moore is
in a wheelchair and drools on himself and makes grunting noises but he's happy,
he's doing his art, he's inspiring people. Those are priceless gifts!
Before I met Frank, I was communicating with him via his artist's e-salon
(check out his webpage url above) and was beginning to tire of people constantly
kissing his ass, saying how great he is and how powerful his art is. I was
beginning to think that he must have a huge ego. But in person, he's so sweet,
so innocent on a core level, and there's a feeling that radiates from him
which is, "I am free. I am creating and I am flying. We can all do this. It's
fun, look at me. You can do it, too! Why are you waiting? Let's have some
fun!"
Frank, Linda and Michael inspired me with the sheer depth of their commitment
to life, to art and to fun. In about a week I will be returning to Frank's
house to be in a segment of his upcoming video which is a sequel to the video
"Erotic Play." I'll be trying on funky costumes and basically being an innocent
little doofus.
I am changing the subject now to plug the delightful Trad'r Sam's tiki lounge
at Geary blvd. and 26th ave. In San Francisco. No posh tiki re-tread (like
the Lilo lounge), Trad'r Sam's is the real McCoy. I drank "Black Magic," which
was described as "a powerful love potion which will vex your romantic rivals."
Obviously I also had to try the "Surfer on acid." I played Blondie, Duran
Duran and Tom Jones on the jukebox. Nice mix of people, leaning toward the
straight end of the pool, but not in a bad way. Everyone was friendly and
fun.
NEXT WEEK'S ADVENTURE: Roadtrip to Portland, Oregon with my friend Eric
from Long Beach. Yippee!!!
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Sounds from Space by Miss Haia Ted Berk the Venusian (a regular feature)
A thought on the crazy permutations of August 1997, Year of Pan and of El
Ni=F1o, the island of Montserrat may soon volcanically disappear beneath the
waves... What then? Does Atlantis reappear as Edgar Cayce predicted? My home
planet Venus grows brighter and brighter outside my bathroom window.
From my writings of 9/19/81 this:
"3:15 am. I awaken to thunder... To the drum talk of the Titans and rush
outside see Sister Pele Volcano Goddess Flash this message: 'Be one with all!
Speak truth... Walk with thy comrades on the mountain path. And do not hesitate
to be illuminated or to fly!'"
Dream of Jan 13... some year...
"I have come to a great abundant commune... A brother shoes me a field of
corn that goes on for many miles. 'This is the blessing of the Corn God,'
he says as he embraces me, his eyes twinkling." ---In faery love...your eternal
brother Haia of Ven= us
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Time is not money. Time is art.
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"Oh, lighten up, willya?" Bozo the Clown to Franz Kafka over jelly donuts
at the Chilly-Mart.
Check out LSD Tabloid at http://www.eskimo.com:80/~davidk/faeries/pubs.htm
Read my sweat lodge vision at http://www.well.com/user/bobby/SC/bloobrd.html
Discover the Gay Kens of San Francisco at www.sirius.com/~fishpaw/ Haia the
Venusian and his dreams: see http://www.links.net/vita/sf/haia/) Visit the
Frank Moore's shaman's cave at http://www.eroplay.com It takes balls to follow
your heart.
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