Lilac Wine :: a warzone towards haiku

June 29, 2010

What’s freedom/ without love?

Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 4:25 pm

Espresso, popsicles and transmen are Pride’s chief food groups. Weirdly, the pyramid’s base is beautiful cis men; pale in black boots, arm round my back. Have I mentioned being in love? There is literally greater fortune than I can handle, and I kicked myself all yesterday for being careless with it. I am easily thrown, and cannot see beyond momentary desires; or am too proud to defer to a respectful solution.

But you forgive me, which intensifies said fortune. I ought to be cautious though, aware I am alight with greed. We are connoisseurs & proprietors of deadly sin; and while lust is my favourite, each has its place in our calendars. Diving down the rabbit hole, it takes acts of will to ever fight gravity and get work done, etc.

I am in the heart of what they see when they look at this city. I love the community which surrounds us, and makes context of our perversions. The raw sexy grinning power of Dykes on Bikes? Boys making out up against speakers? Seen from the day after, our imperfections blur into a unity of rainbows ‘n sweatskin. Seen from within it’s any other festival, littered and grinding its confetti into street grime.

Here is a moment of existential poly weirdness: I am standing in Hades’ arms watching the parade, and one man marching for gay marriage rights comes to shout Thank you for joining us! (at which I want a visual symbol of bisexuality; damn it, i am more than an ally! So for 2 days a year a hetero couple’s privilege flips inside out..) and when we thank him, says You should put a ring on it -each of us looks at Hades’ hand, which has a metal ring; and mine which does not, and I lack the way or composure to explain; when I’ve processed the weirdness of all this, the man’s gone back to his parade route.

My life is beautiful & strange. It was lovely to dance in the streets, flipped to bi poly deviant slut in daylight, where I cannot usually be so. Perhaps they really do see deviants when they look at this city, and gape at the chest harnesses. When they judge us as evil it isn’t just a joke; likely some of them think that. I guess one conception of the rabbit hole is as those avenues of thought which make sick strange things into desired wonders; once you travel this and fall, by experiencing these things, wonderland is home as forever as you’d like. This being home, it means these wonders are real, and a valued part of your life beyond novelty and experimentation; and so: this is real.

Only we in our consent and negotiation set the stages of these pretty plays and may judge our way of life. I love your sadism. Let the world see what they will! They see a proud slut in black, one man’s face pressed to her neck smelling summer. I am a body in the mass and crush of pride, a golden elf queen’s face in the metro window with her fairie king.
Beneath gingko leaves; against the wall of a leather shop. the simplest gestures, given in liberation, are better than making love ever was. Freedom as an orientation..

It might be a noble, painful gesture to strike out alone. I am glad beyond description to have friends, lovers, allies and teachers in this. The transwoman who talked cis privilege with me, Daedalus showing me how to choose boy clothes for a girl’s body, Hades standing with me as straight/ally, my rivet queen who unties her hair, dances her strong, impeccably attired curves through the night, and ties my cherry stems in knots while we talk (:

Grown-up love is so beautiful kittens. Make it through junior high to experience this. Midori sours, espresso shots and industrial music! And the men, boys, bears, slaves, masters, kittens, madames, etcetera forever, of San Francisco. 


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