First let me get this out of the way, I don’t claim to be a writer.
This project began as an outline for self portaits (photographs) that I wanted to make about sex, sadness and being a superhero. As I started making notes, they slowly turned into short stories. The first seven stories were turned into hand-bound booklets called CAKE WALK. That can be purchased HERE.
I’d also like to give a big thank you to Jon Kinnally for all of his support, as well as his incredible editing and profreading skills.
This project began as an outline for self portaits (photographs) that I wanted to make about sex, sadness and being a superhero. As I started making notes, they slowly turned into short stories. The first seven stories were turned into hand-bound booklets called CAKE WALK. That can be purchased HERE.
I’d also like to give a big thank you to Jon Kinnally for all of his support, as well as his incredible editing and profreading skills.
Good To Go
The Oatmeal Boy
Colonel Mustard
Señor Wolff
New Wave
Learning To Fly
The Accidental Fister
First Time
The Oatmeal Boy
Colonel Mustard
Señor Wolff
New Wave
Learning To Fly
The Accidental Fister
First Time
New Wave
May 4, 1985.
“You’re going to hell.”
“Okay.”
This was the conversation as we sat on our mother’s fresh grave.
“If you don’t believe in God then you’re going to hell. Mom doesn’t want to see you go to hell.”
“She’s dead. She can’t see anything.”
This feels like hell.
That was the last conversation I had with him.
…
Before tonight, I had taken ecstasy only a couple of times. I’d sit in a friend’s apartment, or in Tompkins Square Park, and we’d talk and talk and talk about everything and nothing. When Brett asked if I wanted to take some E and go dancing I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to do that. It was always a completely cerebral experience, so doing something like dancing while tripping felt like I’d be robbing myself of the effects. Nevertheless, I agreed. It was Friday and we decided to go to Crowbar, which was a block and a half from where we both lived. They had just started a new party called 1984, where, as the name suggests, it was all music from the 80’s. It was a delight to be able to dance to The Cure with a bunch of hot sweaty queers; I felt like I was able to relive my youth there, but truly as myself, an unapologetically messy, loud faggot.
We met at Brett’s apartment on Avenue B, which was two floors above my own. We took our pills and washed them down with some tequila and headed out the door. We arrived at the bar and the line wasn’t too long for a warm spring night; even when there was a long line it was fine because just as much cruising was done there as inside the bar. Also, by the time we walked through the door the ecstasy started to kick in and then we hastily made our way to the small, dark dance floor.
Monday you can fall apart
Tuesday, Wednesday, break my heart
Oh, Thursday doesn't even start
It's Friday, I'm in love
Within thirty minutes, I understood. I could feel the music course through my body, entering every vein and taking refuge in every cell. I was sharing life with the songs. I danced with my eyes closed and with a smile that filled the bar. No one else was there. The conversations that I had before in the park with my friends were still happening, but now it was only between me and the beats of the music. Every now and then I’d peek open my left eye to look at Brett and he seemed to be having the same experience. We’d catch each other’s gaze, smile, pull in for a sweaty hug and then return to our own worlds. This continued uninterrupted until the bar was near to closing. Brett left before me; he usually did when we went out. Before the lights came on, I was making out with this cutie I had inadvertently been dancing with. Shaved head, cut off jeans and a tight black shirt. We walked back to my place holding hands. Kissing and groping, we made our way up three flights of stairs. He stayed the night. We had sex again in the morning and then went to 7A for breakfast for the $2.75 egg special. After finishing, we made out again on the street corner and finally went our separate ways. I never saw him again.
Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?
Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth.
May 4, 1985.
“You’re going to hell.”
“Okay.”
This was the conversation as we sat on our mother’s fresh grave.
“If you don’t believe in God then you’re going to hell. Mom doesn’t want to see you go to hell.”
“She’s dead. She can’t see anything.”
This feels like hell.
That was the last conversation I had with him.
…
Before tonight, I had taken ecstasy only a couple of times. I’d sit in a friend’s apartment, or in Tompkins Square Park, and we’d talk and talk and talk about everything and nothing. When Brett asked if I wanted to take some E and go dancing I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to do that. It was always a completely cerebral experience, so doing something like dancing while tripping felt like I’d be robbing myself of the effects. Nevertheless, I agreed. It was Friday and we decided to go to Crowbar, which was a block and a half from where we both lived. They had just started a new party called 1984, where, as the name suggests, it was all music from the 80’s. It was a delight to be able to dance to The Cure with a bunch of hot sweaty queers; I felt like I was able to relive my youth there, but truly as myself, an unapologetically messy, loud faggot.
We met at Brett’s apartment on Avenue B, which was two floors above my own. We took our pills and washed them down with some tequila and headed out the door. We arrived at the bar and the line wasn’t too long for a warm spring night; even when there was a long line it was fine because just as much cruising was done there as inside the bar. Also, by the time we walked through the door the ecstasy started to kick in and then we hastily made our way to the small, dark dance floor.
Monday you can fall apart
Tuesday, Wednesday, break my heart
Oh, Thursday doesn't even start
It's Friday, I'm in love
Within thirty minutes, I understood. I could feel the music course through my body, entering every vein and taking refuge in every cell. I was sharing life with the songs. I danced with my eyes closed and with a smile that filled the bar. No one else was there. The conversations that I had before in the park with my friends were still happening, but now it was only between me and the beats of the music. Every now and then I’d peek open my left eye to look at Brett and he seemed to be having the same experience. We’d catch each other’s gaze, smile, pull in for a sweaty hug and then return to our own worlds. This continued uninterrupted until the bar was near to closing. Brett left before me; he usually did when we went out. Before the lights came on, I was making out with this cutie I had inadvertently been dancing with. Shaved head, cut off jeans and a tight black shirt. We walked back to my place holding hands. Kissing and groping, we made our way up three flights of stairs. He stayed the night. We had sex again in the morning and then went to 7A for breakfast for the $2.75 egg special. After finishing, we made out again on the street corner and finally went our separate ways. I never saw him again.
Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?
Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth.