Archive for the ‘Yum Yum’ Category

Once Helpful Hannah hung out with us and now is back on the scene. She asked that during the holidays that we publish one of her works. Ms Helpful loves her Holiday Tip Line and would send these tips to people who were not expecting the tips. Sort of scratch your head, and wonder art. Here is one such holiday work. We hope you enjoy it.

 

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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…)

The New Haven Pride Center Presents:

FEMME IN PUBLIC: a performance by Alok Vaid-Menon

What feminine part of yourself did you have to destroy in order to survive in this world? At what point does femininity become synonymous with apology? Who hurt the people who hurt you? Alok is trying to figure it out.

Join for an evening of poetry, comedy, and performance art.

Monday, November 13, 2017
Performances at 7:00p and 9:00p
Doors open 30 minutes before performances.
General Admission $25 / Center Members $20 / Students $15

Lyric Hall Theater
827 Whalley Ave, New Haven

About the Artist
Alok Vaid-Menon (they/them/their) is a gender non-conforming performance artist, writer, educator, and entertainer. Their eclectic sense of style, political comedy, and poetic challenge to the gender binary have been internationally renowned. Alok was recently the youngest recipient of the prestigious Live Works Performance Act Award granted to ten performance artists across the world. They have been featured on HBO, MTV, The Guardian, National Geographic, The New York Times, and The New Yorker and have presented their work at 300 venues in more than 30 countries.

See facebook page for more details HERE.

If you can and if you haven’t or if you have ever or never yet seen a performance by Alok get your tickets and go. High Queer Art, some of the best.

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After a summer of exploring identity, intersectionality and youth leadership, our Queer Academy campers are draguating! You’re invited to Queer Academy’s Draguation on Sunday, August 20th for a show, a ceremony, and a celebration! Queer Academy campers will share their messages from the stage through drag, song, dance and more…

Draguation will be at TheaterWorks from 6:00 – 9:00 PM, with a Silent Auction included.

Draguation is free and open to the public, but donations are accepted.

Facebook Page HERE.

You know this happened to us last time when we were up here in Vermont. We were handed a two dollar bill in our change not once but twice. Strange we never see a two dollar bill in Connecticut.

 Well dear hearts if we were in Ecuador this would be our lucky day. A two dollar bill there is considered to be good luck. Here in the U.S and no one knows for sure why the two dollar bill is considered to be unlucky. Well its just plain old money to me and that’s that. I got enough to worry about without some superstitious fools telling me the two dollar bill I got back in change is unlucky. But you know what I will do says dear old Olga, I’ll keep it just in case. Stick it in my box and hope that some how some money will find its way to me and I promise with no fingers crossed that if it does I will then become a believer in the power of the Two Dollar Bill. ( 1 ) Not paying too much attention to the news Olga thought she heard that some man was robbed in his home and among the items taken was a stash of two dollar bills. Police wanted info from folks if they received any two dollar bills and where they got them from. Damn if I know snorted Olga, and does anyone really think that I would hand over my two dollar bill to the police. Nah I’m no fool the next thing you know they would be here in my hotel room asking all sorts of questions and then take my two dollar bill away and I would never get it back. I’ll just keep it and be quiet. The very next day Bessy Marie reported that she also got a two dollar bill in her change. Somethings up at the store across the street.

Out the Train Window

Olga was so happy that in many spots along the route the train slowed down. Really down, a crawl. Better to look out the window and see what I can see. I love looking out the window as everything passes by. Sometimes I go and stand at the back of the train and look out the back door at everything receding down the track. Goodbye, see you on the way home.

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Skunk Cabbage

You know Skunk Cabbage always got a bum rap. Smelly stuff that grew around the sewer outlets in the town where I grew up. One time as children we pick a whole bunch and threw the leaves on old Mrs. Wilson’s front porch. She was a nosy old crone, always yelling at the kids in the neighborhood, calling our parents for anything and just a all around mean lady. Well we were having none of that. I think someone’s aunt told us to go pick some skunk cabbage and rub in and throw it all over old lady Wilsons porch. Well that is just what we did.

A few years later I found out that Skunk Cabbage, (yes it does smell like a skunk) was a healing plant and worked wonders for many a people. I first heard about the use of Skunk Cabbage from Mrs. Bates a member of the Wongnuk Tribe who lived in my home town. Her nephew and I would accompany her out to gather wild plants, nuts, roots, barks and berries in the woods. She told us, people take Skunk Cabbage for a variety of reasons bronchitis, asthma, cough, and whooping cough. It is also used for painful condition such as join and muscle pain, headache and toothache. It is used for treating infections such as worms, ringworm and scabies. Once when old grandfather Bates got bitten by a snake we used Skunk Cabbage and you know he lived to be we think 106. Mr. Bates loves to eat Skunk Cabbage and I cook up a batch of leaves for him. Many times some of the herbalists I know have used the tea for a blood purifier and to stop bleeding from surface wounds. Here is something that I bet not many folks know. The root of the Skunk Cabbage may live several hundred years or perhaps over a thousand as long as the soil that it grows in is undisturbed. Check out a plant if there are numerous leaves then you can bet the rhizome is old. This species has survived through millions of years since the Cretaceous period. ( 2 )

I never saw flowering skunk cabbage but here is a photo I found of what the flowers look like.

Fiddlehead Ferns (more…)

Well us old gals are at it again. Traveling in search of a new home. This should be our last trip. We have contacts who have contacts who are in the know of where to live and where to go. Where to stay away from and where to check out.  Someone told us Vermont is full of cows, well we said even if we don’t drink milk, eat cheese or ice cream we love cows. Bonnie said with giggles, “you should see the place during rush hour, cows here, cows there, cows everywhere.” Yeah okay we will be in the city where we are sure there are very few cows. We’ll see some cows from the train give them a moo moo and be glad we don’t have to clean the barn. We love cows even if they do a job on the ozone. “I have to wonder,” said Bessy Marie, “do cows ever escape the field and come and stand on the train tracks?” I really hope they don’t as the train has no cow catcher in the front of it and if we hit such a creature it would be all over for the cow and cause delays. ( 1 ) Let’s hope not said Olga, lets hope the cows know where they at suppose to be and if they go anywhere else they will not hear the dinner bell. Here is a little song to start us on our way.

I am Cow, by Arrogant Worms.

Rush Hour In Vermont.

 

Lots of these on our trip. No worry the train is only 5 cars long. We were happy we weren’t waiting to cross the road or go on through to the other side of the tracks in Springfield as there was a freight train with almost 75 cars passing by.

The train route

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We know that by the time the train gets to us the bathrooms can be and usually are very smelly. Olga is the smart one in the bunch always brings a mask to wear when she is in the toilet. I just can’t sit there and smell that horrid smell, do my business and not have vomited all over the floor. Then the train folks would have another mess to clean up. So I get one of those masks fold it up keep in in my pocket along with a Lysol wipe or two. No telling what germs lurk around in the train. Germs are a funny thing can’t see them but if they get into you man can they do a job. Both of us gals are too old for that and thank our lucky stars we haven’t contracted anything this past winter on top of what either one of us have all ready. We take our Elderberry syrup each and every day. Getting old, now that is a whole other story. We don’t know too many old folks to sit around with and talk about getting old. I wish we did as then we would say, “Hey we don’t have it all that bad.” At the very least we would know what this getting old is all about and if this or that pain is worth complaining about. Maybe it will go away in a couple of days.

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Gals like us love the train. Having never learned to drive we take it all the time. You know the things you see on the train are much different than what you see in a car whizzing by at 60 miles per hour. These highways leave a lot to be desired as far as good scenery is concerned. Trees, cars, trees, cars. We love the train we get to see the backside of the cities, usually the older part, the graffiti along the tracks is always something to marvel at, an art show caught out of the corner of our eyes and then it retreats into the distant. Last time we were amazed at all of the mullein patches along the tracks. Huge Mullein plants, skunk cabbage, and ferns, ferns, ferns all along the tracks edge and into the woods. Something we very rarely see around these parts are white birch trees. The white lines among the green and brown, lovely. We came home last year in October and what a site to see out the windows of the trees changing colors. Never saw such beauty. What will we see in the spring time wondered Bessy Marie, of course we will be north and hopefully the gardens of tulips near the State Capitol will be in bloom. (more…)

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Randy Rainbow is one of the most wonderful queer artists working today. Randy we love you.

http://https://www.facebook.com/RandyRainbowOfficial/videos/1035626616539281/

Check out more of Randy Rainbow’s work on facebook HERE.