Castrati

It dawned on me that a poem I recently published has to do with a fetish. Castrati were around for centuries and, despite relative acceptance in public and, in many instances, downright exaltation, they were examples of fetishes gone too far. I'm making a judgment here because this was done to children. They had no say in something that would change their bodies forever.

Someone decided long, long ago, to suspend--in time--a boy's prepubescent voice so a man's throat could grow around it and create an otherworldly sound. I dedicate my poem to Alessandro Moreschi. You can hear him.

Celibacy

Before yesterday's interview, I NEVER thought I'd run across anyone celibate. This youthful 20-something Asian, whom I prejudged to the hilt, has been through a lot. Being from an extremely rigid Christian family, when he came out, he came out hard--in all the unhealthy ways. There were drugs, excessive sex, drinking...we know the drill. Once, he awoke from a drunken stooper to discover he'd been raped by two guys he'd turned down earlier in a bar.

I have a lot of respect for this guy. Being celibate for anyone, especially in this society, is a major accomplishment. But to be celibate, conventionally attractive, gay, and in your 20's? That's serious shit.

Here's some of what he shared: "When I came out I went crazy with trying to find an identity...[sex] isn't something you should let overcome you...I masturbate all the time...white men think all Asians are bottoms...they see me on Facebook and think I'm just this dumb, easy person..."

We need these stories.

The last few days have been miraculous. Men from Maryland to San Francisco have talked to me on the phone and in person about their fetishes. We've all made discoveries. The song lyrics are coming along, too. I'm looking for a cute guitar player.

Mojo was a no go

After the SF Public Library's Smash the Church, Smash the State book panel (which was inspiring in every way), I headed over to do what I haven't done in years--read at an open mic. I didn't do it because the place didn't seem to engender, say, seriousness about poetry. These poems need attention to be paid and so I couldn't risk (maybe too strong a word) sharing this enterprise where it wouldn't be considered, really considered.

Headed to the Castro after that and there was a guy on the street with a typewriter writing poems for a contribution. Maybe I should consider setting up a feti(sh)ame table with my typewriter.

Rosebud

Here are excerpts from three poems from feti(sh)ame. Please note that in gay culture "boy" refers to a man.

Rosebud

At Babylon
I fingered a Thai regular.
He had English enough
to tell me his dreams.
And if you know how a Thai boy
can make you remember years from that moment
even the faint rising music of his voice...

Uncut

When the clean-shaven one
with the black Porsche asked me
not to clean it
I understood the poetry
in his appetite...

moan

why haven't i ever
needed you
black porno
with your slim,
veined do-ragged trade,
too rough and tatted tough
to moan or make any sound
like it hurts good or bad...

Sharing and Sharpening

I read a few feti(sh)ame poems at the final reading in the Jack Straw Writers Series last Friday. It was only the second time I'd shared any of those poems in public. Not one person said anything to me about them. I did receive a FB friend request from an audience member who thanked me, specifically, for writing about fetishes. Other than that, nothing. I'm going to keep presenting these poems at various readings in and outside of the SF bay area to see what's working and what needs work. Tomorrow, if it works out, I'll go over to Mojo Bicycle Cafe and see what they think.