Archive for the ‘Queer Thoughts’ Category

Notes from an artist in the run-down section of town.

From queerartist’s memory banks and then some.

Old man Brown said that he was going to raise the rent $5.00 since the weather was getting warmer and now the studio had heat. “What!!!, you old fool, you don’t supply the sun that shines in the windows and gives us some heat each day. We survived the winter in your no water, no heat, shack of a building and now since the sun will be shining stronger you want to charge us more? Well you old fool I don’t have that much cabbage and if I did I would want to buy some food and art supplies not give it to a rich old doctor like you. Old man Brown was a classic slum lord. Lived in a nice suburban ranch and owned a couple of old buildings in Goon City. I couldn’t even sing The Faucets Are Dripping since this studio came with no running water. Bet his faucets didn’t drip in the suburbs, bet he has heat and didn’t have to decide each month is it the rent, food, the electric bill or art supplies that my little bit of money will go towards? Since its a problem that isn’t going to go away as long as we live under this dirty rotten system lets listen to Malvaina Reynolds sing her song, The Facets are Dripping and remember that landlords are a large part of the problem we face. Here is a wonderful quote from Punkerslut: One can find the essay Landlords Parasites of the Earth, HERE. The essay is well worth reading.

“The landlord lives by owning. They earn their wealth by possession and not by labor. What they live on has been made by the endless toil of workers in all nations. They do not build up or maintain the housing of their tenants. They hire from the same class that they collect rent from, the laborers. The individuals or family inhabiting the building are only paying for a place to live and sleep. Since the world has been broken up into small tiny chunks of land, the possessors of land have been exploitive of those who need the land.”

Well what was an artist in the run down section of town suppose to do. Move out?

Suppose a new studio could be found but artist had put quite a bit of work into this place and the thought of moving to another run down building in the run down section of town was not at all appealing. Where else could artist go? The old firehouse was now being taken over for a car repair shop by a hot hunky gay man. ( oh yes honey he could repair cars as well as any red neck in fact so well that he had a line of men outside of his doors all wanting to get their crank shafts greased.) Add to that mix the way he carried himself one would think he was straight except for what he like to do in bed, in the bushes, at the porno-theater, on the floor and in the back seat of any car. Now that old fire house would make a great studio, and it had heat and running water. Maybe queerartist thought, I could get a place in the old abandoned factory. Nah, too big and scary and it has Turd Brook running under a good part of it. Do think that after a while that the smell of the water and the constant running water sound would be a bit too much. One would have to burn a lot of incense in order to mask the smell of that brook. Some may like it but not me. At least my pad has electricity. ( the one modern convenience that I had in that studio).

Even with all the studio’s shortcomings it was a home. Since Phil and I took out the wall that separated the two front rooms it is great as one big room. Four windows on the south side of the room and two to the north. We were high on crystal meth one evening and I said to him, “I would love to have a large studio rather than the two rooms.” “Well, said Phil, “I am sure that it wouldn’t be too hard to take out this wall.” So we began. What a sight. Two high hippie artists taking down a wall. The first layer was some type of thin wall board.(save the wall board good for painting on) Then a surprise. The wall was made of tongue and groove boards. That wall came down real fast as it was like taking apart a toy. Get one board out of the line up and the rest came out one- two-three. Once the wall was down we had to find a place to dump the broken down wall. There was no trash pick up in the run-down section of town and everyone had to dispose of their garbage any way that they could. Most people around town either drove to the dump or hired Wilbur Giles who had most of the garbage pick up in Goon City but where was a poor artist going to get the money to dispose of boards and two by fours? This had to be done on the sly as if Stubby Stabola who owned the package store downstairs saw us getting rid of Brown’s wall he would be on the phone fast calling Old Man Brown up and telling on us. He was a funny man, a nice redneck if there can be such a creature but wasn’t happy that artists were upstairs his store.  I needed paint, I needed canvas, I need food, I had to pay my rent. Money, money, money. Maybe I should dress up, and get my money-maker out on the street. Some one may be hot to trot with queerartist and be willing to pay for a hot fast quickie.

Where can I dump the wall? Goosey Bell said “behind the factory is a neat place.” Talk about illegal dumping. Old sofas, washers, collapsed boxes of crap, large piles of old skids, wet cardboard, rolls of plastic, scrap pieces of wood, an old water heater, a stove, a few old chairs, soggy newspapers and metal. Well the old wall boards would look just marvey out back there with all the other dumpings. Phil and I bundled up all the boards and tied the bundle with rope, loaded it in a shopping cart from Fancies Grocery store and in the dead of night went behind the factory and dumped the load amongst all the other dumpings. No one would know, let alone care as the factory had been closed for 4 years. In the heyday of the factory beautiful wooden pull toys had been made there.

Noah’s Ark toy. Just like the one I use to have. The ark was full of animals. The only animal that I still have is one called Quaky Duck which comes out every Easter.

Ruthie Hillard’s father owned the place. He closed it down during the depression and opened it up a few years after. The factory was sold after Mr. Hillard died. A bunch of other small factories were opened in the building and the last was a factory where plastic windowed envelopes were assembled. Now it just sat there empty.

According to Bob Bee a few squatting hippies had made their way to Goon City from California, on the invitation of Gail hung around in there and had painted up the place real nice. They had made a hang-out hippie pad in the sections that were the offices. Their bathroom was over Turd Brook. A hole was cut in the floor and a chair without a bottom and sawed down legs was placed over the hole. Topping it off was a toilet seat taken from the no longer in use restrooms. This building had no water, no heat and no electricity. The hippies toilet worked quite well. Bombs away right into Turd Brook. That is how Turd Brook got its name from all the turds that floated along in its waters. Anyone whose homes were anywhere along the ridge above Turd Brook, the people on Summit Hill and workers who worked in the factories on the border of the run-down section of town all pooped and the poop went through the sewer pipes and into Turd Brook. It was like that for years and years. Back when we were young kids we always were overjoyed to spy used rubbers caught in branches all along Turd Brook. We wondered who was fucking who up there on Summit Hill? At least we had the sense not to play with or try on the rubbers. We just looked and laughed and wondered what it was like to fuck, be fucked, and us little sissy boys dreamed of some of the big hunky men up there stretching those rubbers over their dicks.

The Run Down Section Of Town.

I found while surfing around the net this old photo of this section of town. My studio was upstairs in the white building on the right. The train trestle separated the town. Many a kid would go up on that trestle and try to get to the other side before a train came along. By the time we came along there were no more passenger trains coming through from New York City making their way to Boston. I am not sure what year this photo was taken but I notice the road was dirt. It wasn’t that way when we lived there but the freight trains still ran through town.

The run-down section of town was just that. Most of the people who lived in the area were those who had rejected society or had been rejected by society. Artists fit right in with some of the people except for a few that hung out in the Purple Cow and those were men who came into the run-down section of town to drink, none of them lived in the area. Billy always said, “Well they have their problems too or they wouldn’t come around here and drink they would stay in their own section of town drinking at some of the more fancy establishments.” Must be something there that pushes them down here towards us. The Purple Cow was the mother of all dives. Let’s talk restrooms. We have to tell you about the men’s room at the Cow. There was a hole in the floor with out a chair  that served as a toilet. We heard that the toilet was ripped out and used as a weapon during a gang fight a few years back. So now it was take a piss but try to get it in the hole buddy. This place was for pissing only. Don’t think that anyone would even want to try to squat down and take a good number 2 as I know that several people talked about something coming up out of that hole and latching on to your ass or chomping off your dick and balls. There was a rumor that Razor Blade one of the local motorcycle guys had thrown his pet alligator down there or some say it was some type of snake. So truth be told no one was taking any chances. Did you ever see a dirty sink that was so dirty that all you saw was the dirty? Dirty, greasy, grubby, dirty dirt. Forget soap and paper towel. Here is a photo of a sink. Just like the sink in the old Purple Cow.

The walls were painted dark brown on the bottom half and the top was a fading green with chips and graffiti. Most guys went out the door and to the back of the Cow and took a piss there. Well that men’s room, was the strangest place that most of us had ever been in. Peter told me that years ago Old Himmey Johnson who to lives up near the town dump use to give blow jobs in there. Phew. Never got one so I wouldn’t know if Peter was passing on tall tales. Gail told us that the women’s room or better yet, Babe’s Piss House (as the sign she put on the door said) was cleaner. But no man would dare use it. The only time a guy got in there was if Babe was performing a cheap trick or two. But when she was there sitting on her stool she had a view right to her room and once or twice when we were in there feeling our oats we heard Babe yell out, “Get the fuck away from my restroom,” which alarmed Willy the bartender who went back there to yell that the trespasser was not to use Babe’s special restroom. “Gotta shit,” was met with “squat over the hole or go home and do your business.”

The Cow had its share of red necks, a few fathers of the local kids, us young artists with connections to the place via family, our friends, some motorcycle guys and their girls, and Babe Moon. Babe was the queen of the bar and if you wanted to be accepted in there you had to pass her test first. She sat up at the end of the bar, on “Babes stool” (and don’t anyone forget that was her stool,) right in the window holding court each and every day,  afternoon, evening, and to closing there she was up on her stool. Her stool even had her name glued on the back. Some of us artists got a pass as Babe rented an apartment from old Edgar up above his pit and she knew us from hanging out there. She knew me since I was a baby and told me once that I was a very ugly baby. I had big ears, and lots of dark hair and a scrunched up face. “I declare,” she said, “you looked like someone elses monkey which had been left on the doorstep.” Ugliest baby I ever did see. I saw a lot of babies in my day, before I became a drinker I was a nurse.

Well Babe takes one to know one. You’re no beauty yourself. You know that I grew out of my baby ugly but honey take a look at you. You got your ugly all over the place. From the top of your head right down to your toes. Up on your stool you sit like a rough rouged old queen, in heat for all the working class men that come in to the Purple Cow. Truth be told around town they say you can be had for $10.00 and give an okay blow job. Men around here don’t really care if it’s only ok as they get nothing from their wifes at home. No wonder they stray into your mouth.  But you know Babe I got the cute ones. Yes Babe, baby ugly me. Frankie the Hells Angel, (he always got good dope, and a dick so suckable too) Ray the fighter, (hot Italian, man does he sweat when fucking)  Billy with his long blonde hair that most people think he is an apparition from the heavens (very careful sex as he is fragile). We do it to each other and we do it for free. Make Love Not War that is what we do. 3 men you will never get. They got me and I don’t charge. So Babe go suck a Purple Cow’s teet. I found one for you and it looks as goofy as you do in my memory banks.

I never saw a purple cow
I never hope to see one
But I would rather see a purple cow
Then be one. (more…)

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Continue the fight.

In from Pink and Black Anarchists.

Someone asked us once why do you always seem to be against some LGBT folks, like HRC, reformists and liberals. Why do you rally against folks in the LGBT community who believe reform is the way to go? Well be certain of one thing, when we see things like the photo we cringe, we are disgusted, and we know fight on! Many thanks to Pink and Black Anarchists for sharing this on their site. You know we have been fighting for years against those who we say have “straightened their genes”, our essays testify to that. We have called for united fronts with other groups since the late 60’s when we were young out of the closet and fighting what we had hoped to be the revolution. We were out to change amerikkka and amerikkka didn’t like us. But you know we are still here and amerikkka has gotten worse. It makes us very happy when the young rise up and breath the truth into the LGBT movement and far beyond. Political queers who will not take the shit handed down to them. Young queers with their heads on their shoulders, queerly as fuck, standing up to those in the movement who just don’t get it. Not afraid to say so, not afraid to speak truth to power. Not satisfied with only LGBT rights but have the answer to that age old saying we are here there and everywhere. So it follows all issues are our issue. Fight on young folks. Fight on Pink and Black Anarchists. Fight on Blue Lives Murder. Fight on Familia TQLM. Fight on Black Lives Matter. Fight on No Justice, No Pride. This time around the revolution must be won!

Posting from Pink and Black Anarchists:

President of LGBT group killed by Campus Police and the liberals came out with this.

Offensive to say the least. This is the “thin blue line” flag, frequently used as a “police lives matter” symbol in direct opposition to BLM.

A while back we wrote in an essay these words:

Cops are just one component of the bourgeoisie’s repressive apparatus for subjugating the working class and anyone else that strays from the bourgeoisie norm.

Historically, cops have been perhaps the #1 most dangerous enemy of gay / trans / queer people for decades, and continue to target us today. Diana’s little Corner in the Nutmeg State recently published an article and had this to say:

“How did the rising at Coopers Donuts (1959), Dewey Lunch (1965), Compton’s Cafeteria (1966), and Stonewall Inn (1969) start?
With polices raids on “homosexuals” where they were checking for three items of male clothing. In other words they were looking for trans people.

“Perhaps no one illustrated potential issues between police and LGBTQ communities more than Nadine Ruff. A transgender woman, Ruff said she had reported a sexual assault to New Haven police but was ridiculed. Ruff said the police response re-victimized her, which she said is an experience that’s too common.

“You need to know about this community,” Ruff said. “We fear police.”

One of the people who commented on this flag with the blue police line and to a supporter of this flag had this to say. (we think it sums it up for anyone who doesn’t know what this is all about.)

“It’s a bad thing because cops are oppressors who have a long history of targeting LGBT groups and individuals, and the murder of an LGBT person should not be tarnished by using it as an opportunity to show support for cops. Further, even aside from this instance, when there are two groups, and one is clearly oppressing the other, posting something like the above flag is essentially saying “Why can’t I support both the oppressors and the oppressed?” which, in its ultimate effect, is the same as saying “I support the oppressors. Fuck the oppressed.”

Lastly, it’s not projecting if it accurately describes your position insofar as you have expressed it. Stop licking police boots.”… Kana Robert Ewing.

This flag and this liberal was responding to the shooting death of Scout Schultz. At the time of Schultz murder we published this essay found HERE.

RIP SCOUT SCHULTZ!

To find out more about Pink and Black Anarchist go to HERE. 

 

This essay is very informative, beautiful, well written and the facts that Ms. Metcalfe has gathered sure to make you cry and get angry. There are links, videos and names that she has gathered for our community to be well informed. We thank Anna-Jayne Metcalfe for permission to link to her article and publish here on furbirdsqueerly. Too many dead, far to many.

She begins the essay this way:

Remembering our dead never gets any easier

by Anna Jayne Metcalfe

Her name was Gwen, but I never knew her.
It was late October 2002, and I was about to leave the family home for the last time. My transition was approaching, my marriage disintegrating and my wife wanted me to move out. I didn’t have anywhere to go, but fortunately a good friend (thanks Tracey!) let me stay on her sofa until I found a place to rent.
That proved to be tricky as I was then quite visibly trans and still had to present as male at work until January. Awareness of trans people among the general public was pretty poor at the time, and when I enquired about places to rent I found that landlords just wouldn’t get back to me. As a result, I didn’t find a new home until December 2002, and even then the landlord was reluctant to consider meeting me (she’d never met a trans person before) until Tracey managed to talk her round over the phone.
Fortunately, once I met my prospective landlord, she was fine (the roadblock was getting past the initial phone enquiry) and that shared house proved to be the safe space I needed for the next two years while I got all of the medical stuff out of the way. I was privileged, and I was lucky.
But I digress. Until late that October I’d never even heard of the Transgender day of Remembrance….and then one day I read about what had happened to Gwen Araujo in Nevada on 4th October 2002 (just a few weeks before I moved out of the family home) and everything changed.

To read the rest of the essay go to HERE.

A few excerpts from the article:

After listing our dead from 2009 to 2017 (the numbers just grow and grow) Ms Metcalfe has this to say:

“How much of that increase is due to improved communication and reporting, the increasing visibility of trans people (remember that as we get more visible the people who want us dead can see more of us too) or other factors, I can’t say. What I can say is that every year, we seem to have more lost souls to mourn and remember.

“Given all this, it shouldn’t be a surprise that the weeks leading up to 20th November are a painful time of year for many trans folks. It’s the time when we not only mourn our dead, but are forcibly reminded of our own vulnerability — and of the fact that there are many people in this world even today who would like nothing better than to torture, mutilate and kill us.
Hard though that is to endure, it is also an opportunity to say “We remember them. We are here, and we refuse to be afraid of those who hate us”.

and this

“Hard though that is to endure, it is also an opportunity to say “We remember them. We are here, and we refuse to be afraid of those who hate us”.

To find a Transgender Day of Remembrance Day event near you go to HERE. This is an excellent resource page.

Or consider your local LGBTQ groups.

“Our journey towards collective liberation is inextricably linked to dismantling systems that reinforce white supremacy and capitalism such as the prison industrial complex, immigrant detention, housing discrimination and Native genocide — battles in which Wells Fargo and HRC sit confidently on the wrong side.” -Lourdes Ashley Hunter

NO JUSTICE NO PRIDE saying it again like it needs to be said. We do hope and we will help in anyway we can to get this message out to HRC, and other mainstream LGBT groups. We have been fighting this battle for so many years. I can only hope as a 70 yr old queer activist that this message will finally get across and folks will realize the real struggle. We fully agree with the above poster and ask that our readers go to the No Justice No Pride page like them, thank them and pass on the information.  To connect with No Justice No Pride facebook page go to HERE. Be sure to read the statement Complicity is Horrifying” Why No Justice No Pride is taking action on October 28, 2017. See HERE.  AND remember to thank these young folks who stand up truth to power.

We would like to add from a piece we wrote awhile back these words:

Dear readers be prepared. These HRC types and their fellow travelers will turn any and all of us liberationists in to the man without a second thought. Many of us are in the way of their being model citizens. These types of people go about making alliances with some of the most dreadful corporations in the world, aligning themselves with the masters, the CIA and the military industrial complex all for equality. We ask how can they claim to be for human rights when they align their group with corporate culture, with the prison industrial complex and selling good manufactured in sweatshops. Contrary to popular belief, capitalism has nothing to do with respect for human life. Our dislike for HRC did not just drop suddenly out of the sky but has been a long running feud with the comfortable class gays and lesbians who run HRC. Folks like these we have been in rebellion against for most of our life. They seek power and become power, power that is some of the worse kind. They have become face of face of the oppressor. Their power  we must continue to deal with in any manner, shape or form that we deem necessary to end it. (1) One question for HRC and all the comfortable class “gays”, now that you have your equality what are you going to do with it?”