Georgia's Queer History - Pasaquan

Pasaquan the colorful built environment by one of Georgia's earliest and certainly most colorful queer characters has been designed as a National Historic Site. The place is just magical, and the story of Eddie Martin or Saint EOM is one that has to be turned into a movie one day. It's just such a great story. A fourteen year old boy driven from his poor sharecroppers home in South Georgia for being "different" ends up in New York City in the midst of the Counter Cultural scene. A street hustler, turning tricks and telling fortunes, creating this extravagant persona. Constantly soaking in the art of the NY museums and cultural institutions.

When he comes back to South Georgia (The voices told him to) he started the Pasaquan compound built from common building materials but inspired by a kaleidoscope of culture blended into a mishmash of utopian fantasy.

I used to go down there quite a bit years ago, back when you could just wander around and still peak in the windows. There have been efforts to restore it and get it reopened, hopefully the new historic designation will help. A nice bit of Georgia history well deserving of preservation.

This is also a very important bit of queer history that we should all appreciate. The queer experience of building one's own world and colorful environment (including costumes) as a way of dealing with a harsh sometimes cruel world.

The High did a show on him years ago, there's a coffee table book and a film as well (the video below may be part of it - not sure).

I love in the video the local businessman referring to St. EOM as "not the marrying kind."

HISTORY OF A SIGN

This is a beautiful Mexican short that came out of the Cannes Film Festival this year. I found it on Eric Himan's blog. You should check out his website www.erichiman.com he's an out gay rocker, that's putting out some great music.
Here's the short.

Is it okay not to believe in heaven?

Just generally musing on religion, etc. Feeling very existentialist these days. I keep coming back to one of my main problems with orangized religion, with this whole ideal of heaven. That there is this great reward that makes all the suffering and righteous living worth the trouble. Shouldn't righteous living (and I mean living compassionately, lovingly, aware) be it's own reward? In some religions the most holy figures are the ones that on the cusp of enlightenment, at the very gates of paradise, refuse to go in and, decide instead to help others become enlightened. Why is it with Christianity getting in the pearly gates seems to be the be all/end all?



The Problem with Heaven

Ultimate carrot and stick
Either golden gates,
Or fire and brimstone.
Either paradise
Or the fiery pit.

We hold the seeds of
The divine within us
Why then wait
Until after death
To bloom?

We hold within us
Compassion, Love
Everything to
Make a paradise
On earth.

Why then so stingy
Holding blessings
So close
Is that not
Sin?

Palin - What Republican Really Think

I have to admit to something that's probably not exactly PC, one of my favorite bloggers is Andrew Sullivan Conversative Gay Boy. He does have great content and I always read his stuff. He does harken back to the "old school" conservatives which are all rolling in their graves today with where the Republican party has been led by the religous right wing and their cronies.

Following some of his links to various stories I ran across a pair of Republicans after having just tried to spin the Palin VP choice as best they can, don't realize their Microphones are still on after the segment - take a listen to what even the Republican Analyst are saying when they're not spinning for the camera.

Michel Gondry Tribute

In one of those "A-Ha" moments, I ran across much of Michel Gondry's work on U-tube. Have you ever found an unexpected common thread that tied up some of your favorite things? Without realizing the connection, turns out I've been a big fan of Michel Gondry and his work for years. What's amazing as well is that they were some of my favorite things from such dramatically different creative arenas. I was amazed to find that this one man tied them all together.

First one of my favorite movies, it was an engaging and challenging movie, and a visual and creative stunner (plus it didn't help that it starred sexy Gael García Bernal. Plus for extra pop culture kick it also starred Charlotte Gainsbourg, daughter of the lengendary French crooner Serge Gainsbourg.



Some of my favorite commercials and videos have also come from Michel Gondry, the list is too long to post, but this Smirnof ad is pretty representational. I've always loved this sort of surreal, fast cut, morphing approach. He's done work for Levi's, HP, and several European companies.



And how's this for a pop culture overdose, a piece by Michel Gondry, featuring Bjork playing a piano that drives a 70s spin art machine (I LOVED Spin Art!).



Then to top it all off, I find that he did my all-time favorite music video. It's a bit a classic from the Chemical Brothers. That at first glance just seems to be a camera pointed out a train window, then you realize that the light poles and various buildings are whizzing in time to the music. They apparently took hundreds of hours of footage from this train, then went through and picked the best ones, then did some major video editing to make this seamless video. Everytime you watch it you realize that almost every little thing in the video picks up some musical motif in the music.



Well enjoy!

A Very Atlanta Moment - Zesto's at Little Five Points

My new cell phone will have a camera, this little throw away slice of life piece really needs to be illustrated with the empty wrappers from a Zesto's foot long basket.



Clear Night at Zesto’s

Scarfing a foot long
At the window counter,
I spy high in the clear night
A slightly crescent moon
Smiling down on little 5 points.
It's all Cheshire cat grin,
Perhaps coveting my
Basket of tater tots
Or just amused at the
Chocolate Nut Brown Crown
Running down my chin.

Entropy

Entropy is an interesting scientific concept.

Here's an excerpt from www.entropylaw.com.

"the world is inherently active, and that whenever an energy distribution is out of equilibrium a potential or thermodynamic "force" (the gradient of a potential) exists that the world acts spontaneously to dissipate or minimize."

Or if you took this to a metaphysical level basically the world is set up to minimize or dissipate any state of high energy or potential. The universe likes things averaged out, it doesn't like a lot of waves, preferring smooth calm waters.


Entropicarious

The universe always
Walks downhill,
Being lazy,
Winding down,
In decline, decay.

Entropy seeking,
The dead calm,
Peace and quiet,
The easy path,
Of least resistance.

But to be human
Is to fight the fall
Aspire to higher states
Reverse the equations
Spit in fates eye.

To deny we are marbles
God drops into a
Rube Goldberg cosmos
Slaves of gravity
Until death.

Holding Poetry too Close

There's that romantic notion of poets and artists consumed with passion, producing masterpieces in some sort of crazed delirium of creative energy. Oddly enough though I keep finding myself, as much as I believe totally in the power of creativity and human interaction... I keep finding myself not turning to it, somehow doubting it. However, we wouldn't be poets, playwrights, painters, directors, if we didn't somehow at our core believe that we can make a differnce -- and not only that, but taht other people and their work, if we are open to it, can make a differene in our lives.


Crisis of Faith

Like all things held tight,
Passions close to heart,
Like priests in wartime
That lose their religion.
We can lose our poet’s heart
To tightness of grip, fists
That squeeze the blood out
Right between our fingers.

Is Creative Energy Finite? or a Bottomless Well?

I've been crazy busy lately with our company's move and some major projects at work. Then there's ongoing renovations at the old crack house I live in, and never enough time or energy it seems.

I'm guilty of trying to compartimentalize everything, and keep work, home, personal life, poetry, creativity in nice neat little manageable areas of my life. I also fall in the trap of thinking I'm constantly low, always starving for this sort of mythical mana of personal creative energy. Thinking that for some reason I only have enough to just focus on work, or just writing, or just personal life, etc.

However, it seems that the more I go down that path the less energy there is, the unhappier I am, the more unfufilled I am.

So there's this constant effort to remind myself that creativity and life energy is one of those rare items that the more you use the more you have.


Conservation of Energy

Divvied up, horded
In some inner fortress,
Behind locked doors,
Under heavy guard.
Energy razored out in neat
Cocaine lines,
On giant mirrors --
I dare not look into.

So precious as to be
Rendered useless,
So often counted
The edges worn.
One stack for work,
One to feed the meters,
A small dusty cache
For dreams delayed.

What once seemed so
Boundless in my youth,
Now seeming so finite
Demanding stingy parcels.
Denying the truth of
The creative universe
The one true
Perpetual Motion Machine.

Ghost Rider Burn Out

Well I actually was wanting to see “Puccini for Beginners” this weekend, but got to the Midtown theaters and the place was swamped, no parking, huge lines. So decided to hop over to Atlantic Station. I decided to go with “Ghost Rider” the latest Marvel Comics adaptation starring Nicolas Cage.

As far as comic book heroes go, he’s supposed to be one of the hippest and more relevant. Basically, as a young man, the main character (played as a young man by a completely different actor) is a promising motorcycle dare devil following in the footsteps of his father. He makes a deal with the devil to sell his soul to cure his Dad of cancer. Years later the devil comes to call on him, enlisting him as the newest “Ghost Rider” whose job it is to track down escaped souls from hell.

At night, when evil is near, Ghost Rider, burst into flame. His flesh burning off until he’s just this skeletal figure covered in sterno gel. (Though somehow his clothes never burn).

This movie reportedly cost 120 M to make. The comic book had the Ghost Rider as a very haunted, troubled, hard drinking, lost soul seeking redemption. Apparently, part of the Nicolas Cage deal was that he would get to “tweak” the script. So the cursed boozing loner becomes a goofy, jelly bean popping, Karen Carpenter listening loner. Someone should remind Hollywood that just being “weird” does not translate into a character being interesting, deep, or sympathetic.

It’s a diverting enough movie, I did catch myself getting caught up in it from time to time, in that sort of very male high school way. Whenever in the presence of evil, Nicolas Cage catches on fire and becomes the Ghost Rider. Even his bike is transformed from a pretty cool custom bike, to this Bike from Hell. Also, it is worth seeing Peter Fonda as a very menacing and effective devil.

Okay, then there’s the flowers, as in hundreds of fake silk flowers. It’s set in Texas, so I’m guess they’re supposed to be Texas Blue Bonnets (which they’re not). There’s a recurring bit of set, a big oak tree on a hill surrounded by blue flowers, it’s used in several key scenes in the move. However, if you’re going to spend 120 MILLION on a movie, PLEASE don’t go out and have someone just buy 300 very fake looking blue silk flowers and stick them in the ground. That person should be shot.

Workshopping with Ava Leavell Haymon

Above: Workshop participants and staff with Ava Leavell Haymon (2nd from Left).

Had a really nice evening with Ava Leavell Haymon’s poetry workshop. It was a small crowd so we got to do quite a few exercises, and have lots of nice little conversations on the process, what inspires us, and we also got to read some of our own works.

She’s also reading this Tuesday night at Charis books (7pm), I’d highly recommend anyone catch her reading that can. She’s currently doing readings from her new book “Kitchen Heat”.

Unconcious/Inconscientes

I was first attracted to this movie for its setting, in one of my favorite cities - Barcelona. Probably one of the most unique cities in the world, and on the top of my list if I ever decided to go expatriate.

On that account it certainly doesnt disappoint, especially since it's a 1913 period piece, when Barcelona was in the midst of a cultural, architectural, philosophical golden age.

The costumes and sets are just incredible, if you're a big fan of Art Nouveau and Modernisme, you have to see this movie just for the apartments and fabulous dresses and hats.

That said, it's also a cute little entertaining movie - what some people would call a modern "romp". The main characters, two sisters and two brothers who are both psychiatrists, are each married to the wrong person (for reasons that unfold throughout the movie). The movie losely revolves around a trip by Sigmund Freud to the city and a plot to asssassinate him. Along the way theres, bordelos, Maury Povich "who's the daddy" drama, lots of talk about large penises, incest, secret transvestite clubs, victorian porn studios, royal intrique, etc., etc. the twists just keep coming eventually it all gets to be a bit much.

I have to give it credit though for being sort of a "modern" period piece, and one of the main themes is how society deals with self expression, identity, and uniqueness. Some people are liberated, and others, well...

What do you do when self-examinating and discovery, let maybe one too many genies out of the bottle - that can't be put back in?

Vernon Robinson Ad

I saw this on Andrew Sullivan's blog and thought I'd post it as well.

It's absolutely hilarious. Probably one of the most condescening, pandering, fear-mongering ads I've ever seen.

When People Die and No One Notices

This story kept sticking with me. So I thought I’d comment. Recently, a man was found mummified in front of a blaring TV set. They estimate he’d been dead for about a year. His neighbors didn’t really notice, thinking he’d been shipped off to a home. Apparently, no family checked in, or there was no family. There were no friends or anyone else to check in either.

How does this happen? There’s lots of issues here, like how we dismiss the elderly and tend to warehouse them and how we can be so isolated in a modern society that is all about communication and interaction.

But what I keep coming back to is probably a universal fear we all share. What if we die and no one notices? This is a case of it happening quite literally, but doesn’t it happen every day? I guess we all like to think we make a difference, have caring friends and family. However, under the right string of circumstances this could probably happen to any of us.

I guess I’m particular sensitive to this issue, since I have a personal experience along these lines. Years ago, when I lived in Woodland Hills, a nice intown little neighborhood, I had an elderly next door neighbor. She was nice enough, not the friendliest person, but a retired professional, educated, having a nice little home. I remember she smoked a lot of pot, mostly with her maintenance man who seemed to be his main visitor.

We had pretty typical small ranch houses, close together, and the windows on the side were high on the walls, so you could see into the next house if the curtains were open, but only the top part of the room. I’d often put my tie on in the living room on the way out the door by a big mirror there. The way the mirror sat I also got a view of my neighbors back room. I noticed one day there was a note stuck to the wall. Just like a piece of notebook or legal paper taped right to the wall. I remember at the time wondering that it was, and deciding it was probably a note to her handy man, Something like instructions on painting the wall or something.

A week passed, then another, in the third week I came home after work one day to find all this activity in my neighbors yard. There was an ambulance, the police, other cars. Turns out my neighbor had quietly killed herself, and the note I was seeing everyday as I put on my tie, was not some instructions for the handyman, but actually her suicide note. A note that hung on the wall, right over the couch on which she lay dead. A body that just because of the way the windows were laid out, I just barely couldn’t see.

So how does this happen?

How does someone pass away in front of their TV set and not be discovered until a year later?

David Lynch - THE GRANDMOTHER

The David Lynch Experience

I recently saw David Lynch's newest Movie "Inland Empire" a 3 hour tour de force, of talking rabbits, time warps, stories-within-stories, emotional instability, and lots of tight gritty close-ups. A lots been said on that movie, and I actually wanted to talk more about the experience of David Lynch movies rather than any particular movie itself.

For me it started at Wake Forest, I was pretty much just off the turnip truck from rural Eastern North Carolina. However, I was all set for something new and different, challenging. The little student theater there, run by the film department was a small basement affair in the student center. A small cinder block room, painted black with maybe 20-30 chairs, and a projector on a AV stand in the back. There was probably never more than 10-15 people there for any movie that I can remember.

It's an experience I'm not sure people get today (what with Netflix, downloads and DVDs). There's something exciting about going down long hallways and stairs to some small basement black box to see some arthouse movie - there's that feeling of discovery, of being introduced to something unusual, something "arty". There's this joining of a small club of film buffs who "get it" when most people don't even try.

Well David Lynch was part of all that. I remember seeing Eraserhead and his earlier movies here, being riveted to the screen by the sheer perverseness and creativity of it all.

He later went a bit more mainstream with Blue Velvet, and Dune. Then veered off the tracks a bit to a more personal style with Mulholland Drive and now especially Inland Empire.

I read a recent article asking -- "Just how do you keep your reputation as a renegade avant garde film maker when you hit 50?"

I also remember seeing Andy Warhol movies there (see previous post on Factory Girl) actually sitting through all five hours of "Sleep" (which you can't even find today) - Who in the MTV generation would do that today?

How do people today discover art cinema? That there's something outside of the the local mall octoplex?

DVDs are a mixed blessing, I know they're cited as the main culprit in the death of the Art Cinema. Atlanta used to have quite a few. Places like Rhodes Hall, that showed old B&W classics, and hard to find foreign movies. It's nice that it's all (mostly) available for home consumption, but I guess I miss the magic of seeing those classics on the big screen with an audience.

Or in the case of David Lynch, seeing a a movie in a student center basement.

I've attached what I think is probably the ultimate early Lynch movie "The Grandmother" not as famous as Eraserhead, but probably more disturbing and memorable.

Coconut Creme Hazelnut Coffee - Am I Really a Coffee Drinker?

I like to think of myself as a bit of a purist.

However, I think most died-in-the-wool coffee lovers would cringe if they saw me drinking my morning cup of java.

For years (The Miami days) I was partial to cuban coffees and straight up expressos. Though cafe con leche was my coffee drink of choice.

So, it's with mixed emotions I introduce what is one of my favorite products lately. Coffee-Mate Coconut Creme creamer - yummm. Then to add insult to injury, I add this to my Hazelnut flavored coffee.

So the question is - am I really a coffee drinker, or am I just jonesing for a caffeine buzz and candy coating in exotic tropical flavors just to get it down?

I came late in life to coffee, not really drinking it until my late 30s, though my parents were heavy coffee drinkers. I can still picture my mom at the dining room table with her lipstick stained cigarettes and coffee mugs. My caffeine fix of choice was always (and still is) diet Coke.

There's just something about the ceremony, the procedure of getting the water, filter, measuring out the coffee, the machine dripping away, the aromas - nothing seems to say "okay I'm awake" more than that second cup.

So apparently this is a "limited edition" creamer (gee, don't I feel special just having it in my fridge). So try it while you can.

Factory Girl

I’ll have to admit a certain fascination with all things Warhol. Especially the whole mystique of the Factory. I’ve always thought of it as the Left Bank of the 60s. Sort of a perfect storm of inspiration, creativity and chaos. It apparently, had a bit of everything 70s -- Lots of drugs, tons of sex, and rock ‘n roll ala the Velvet Underground. It is also famous for taking people and chewing them up and spitting them out, while a detached remote Andy reigned benignly over it all.

There’s some fascinating characters that came out of there. There was hunky bad boy drug addict Joe D'Alessandro. Viking songstress Nico and then also Lou Reed with the Velvet Underground. Then just a whole slew of various wannabees, drug addicts and hanger ons.

But probably the most famous of the Factory celebrities was Edie Sedgewick. Who supposedly gave us the term so often used now “superstar”. She was a bit of a poor little rich girl, from a totally nonfunctional family. An old money socialite who depending on who you walk to was either a beautiful flawed total nutcase carrying on the family tradition of nervous breakdowns and self destruction or she was a fragile beauty that Andy Warhol used up and discarded like yesterday’s empty tomato soup can.

Sienna Miller is in the title role, and manages to show Edie’s early brashness and charm that pulled so many people in, then the just utter lost soul who is strung out in the Chelsea while her friends shoot her up, make porno movies, and steal her silver and furs.

Guy Pierce is almost unrecognizable as the pasty, blotchy faced and emotionally distant Warhol. Warhol does not fair well in the movie. He comes across as vapid, and petty. He seems to be fascinated with Edie, but at the same time, two faced and an unreliable friend.

A Bob Dylan-esque character is central. Apparently in real life Edie was seeing him for sometime. He seems to be her savior for a while, but then abandons her to the factory and the drugs, going off to get secretly married. Bob Dylan apparently tried to block the release of the movie. Though I don’t think he comes across as the big bad guy, he just walked away from a bad situation, when he was probably Edie’s last hope.

Also, I have to mention one of my favorite actresses, Illeana Douglas, who plays Vogue Editor, Diana Vreeland.

All in all, I know this is one interpretation of the whole Warhol Factory scene and the tragedies that surrounded it. Warhol definitely loses a bit of his luster in this movie. However, you feel sorry for him in a way, being such a tragic lonely figure, that can’t reach out or make any real connections.

In the end, I think this says a lot about current pop culture. That whole 70s Studio 54/Factory scene may even have started a lot of it. Everyone’s fascination with their 15 minutes of fame, and superstar status continuing even today with Britney and Paris.

And where Andy Warhol elevated common cultural items like soup cans and advertising images to art status. It seems he did just the opposite with Edie, taking a real beauty and helping transform her into a bruised common heroin addict in a seedy hotel.

WOW! No Gay Discos Allowed

I gave myself two presents for Xmas this year. First, a new ipod mini, the little clip on one (I LOVE it!) I’ve been listening to new Bjork ever since.

Second though, I finally broke down and brought WOW – which most people know as World of Warcraft. It’s the largest massively multiplayer game online and was recently parodied in an episode of South Park. Now I like video games as much as anyone, and especially the more quest/problem solving ones (like the Sims). I’ve enjoyed it, but never realized it would be tainted by discrimination.

WOW allows you to go on quests through an almost endless number of realms in the WOW world. Some of them are problem solving, hide and seeks, delivering messages. They range from delivery secret messages to the capital, to wiping out pesky murlocks and trogs. And as you play you loot each vanquished foe for booty that you can swap or trade for cash and other useful items.

It also promotes multi-player use. You can play as a single player, but it’s much harder. You can form groups as you come and go and coordinate strikes and swap goods. This gets to be fun, but you never really know who you might be playing with. I once tagged along and an attack of a trog mining operation with a group of Marines stationed in Iraq.

You also get to join “Guilds” which are large groups that get together and form gaming parties to carry out quests. So I did some research on any GLBT guilds and found several. I also stumbled into a rather interesting case of discrimination.

WOW has banned the use of “GLBT” in any sort of guild associations, on the basis of harassment.

Not that GLBT players are actually doing any harassment. However, the company feels that by identifying themselves as GLBT it’s just inviting harassment from other players. With probably a lot of their player base being teenage boys, you can see where it might be a problem.

However – can you actually ban “GLBT” as a term, just because it brings out homophobia and harassment – in other people? WOW’s apparently rethinking their stand after a threatened lawsuit.




Above, CLEOMAN, 20-Level Human Rogue, does a little disco stepping on the docks on scenic Lake Everstill, in disputed Alliance territory.

Don’t you love the fur Sonny and Cher boots? I saw those on sale in the Western Garrison on the way to Westfall and just had to get them. Not only are fashionable, but kick ass with armory points. You actually get to buy different accessories, not only weapons, but the boots, tunics, gloves, etc. You buy them mostly for armor points and other benefits, but sometimes they just look FABULOUS!

Holiday OCD

Well I can tell the holidays are now over - my OCD has calmed down.

The Holidays are generally pretty stressful for me, esp since I got laid off and have just been doing freelance. I can slip into these bizarre habits without even realizing it.

Like I went to Cliterati to hear the reading and had to stop by the grocery store to pick up a few things. I realized while shopping that my favorite yogurt was marked down to .39, which generally means I can get 6 (3-9=6). Not that that formula makes any sense at all, but it's just that there has to be some formula or reason for every little decision.

I also, got to the .99 frozen pizzas and usually means I get 3 (cause 3 goes into 9), but I actually only got 2.

I know we measure things in small victories sometimes, but I actually got a big thrill out of living dangerously and breaking the rules.

I finally have the gas pump thing licked. I used to have to always find the gas pump number that matched how much gas I wanted to get. For instance if I wanted $10 in gas, I'd have to go to pump #10. If that one was busy, I could go to pump #9 or $11, but I'd then have to get $9 or $11 worth of gas. I realized that had gotten out of hand though when I actually would find myself leaving a gas station and going down the street if a) only low # pumps were available (cause it didn't make sense to just get $1 of gas - duh) or b) only high # pumps were available (cause I couldn't get $18 dollars in my tank).

Funny how the mind works.

I even used to be that way with my poetry, I was a hopeless counter. Squeezing each piece into some bizzare meter like: 5-5-5-5, or 2-3-4-5, not that it had anything to do with the work, it's just that if I didn't make all the meter work, it drove me crazy.

A lot of people would probably find this strange, especially considering I'm such a laid back and relaxed person generally. I'm certainly not up in the leagues with the chronic house keepers (I wish) or the hand washers.

But if you ever open up my fridge and find some bizzare number of things, like 9 bottles of pancake syrup, or 12 jars of mustard -- you'll know I must have been having a bad day.