Gays of Our Lives (Poetic Portraits from the 1504 Club)
In my last blog, Oh Gay Can You See, I promised some awful old poetry from my days working at the 1504 Club in Lorain, Ohio. Here are four samples from my journal Spittle Aglow for your ogling pleasure. It's interesting that I refer to being "caged" and "jailed," despite not yet having experienced real imprisonment... and being clueless that it would one day play such a huge role in my life.
Untitled
[10 July 1991]
I was a poet
Comfort destroyed me
I was a visionary
Now I am less that a reflection
I was a free flyer
But am now a caged bird
In worldly learning I gained much
Yet nothing
In lust I found pleasure
Yet pain
On the tracks cold steel
Yet hot steam.
* * *
The Doug Trip
[2 November 1991]
Into a dark chasm
Vanessa wanders
Aimlessly
Looking for a free cock-tail.
The siren,
Unaware of direction,
Plods forth
Never realizing she's merely a myth.
Crawl, appalling shrew;
Find another
Hole to haunt
And bury your hungry heavy head.
* * *
Untitled
[4 June 1992]
The fountain glimmered seductively in the twilight. We were afraid to enter it. Ripples in the water sent ripples through our consciences (and my consciousness). The Rasta man approached us, his dreadlocks concealed beneath a hideous blonde wig. Being a female impersonator (don't ever let him hear you say 'drag queen'), he insisted we refer to him as Miss Jamaica. I (and later you) obliged. He (should I say 'she'?) encouraged us to go slowly. We removed our shoes and I my socks (you wore none) and went nearer. The pool still glimmered, yet seemed no longer to be of water, but blood. Undaunted, and confident Miss Jamaica would not lead us astray, we stepped in. The thick, warm liquid soothed our aching feet and sent a vertigo to our heads. Soon (was it a hallucination or reality?), we were neither any longer at the fountain nor in the presence of the Rasta man.
Where were we?
* * *
Untitled
[2 November 1991]
Asinine hordes
Beg for my affection, attention,
Castration,
Death...
Each an enemy to himself, a
Friend to all, people lick the
Glue from my stamp; I
Have no postage,
I cannot be mailed; why am I
Jailed?
Kill me first;
Let
Me
Never be always confined...
Over and against the ceaseless din of this club's
Pretentious, promiscuous
Queens, I
Rage, yet find no
Solace, only
Temporary, fading stimulation...
Under the
Veil of once
Well-watered foliage, I dehydrate, wither, an
X marking where this treasure once laid...
You see it no more; I am gone; two, one,
Zero.
Untitled
[10 July 1991]
I was a poet
Comfort destroyed me
I was a visionary
Now I am less that a reflection
I was a free flyer
But am now a caged bird
In worldly learning I gained much
Yet nothing
In lust I found pleasure
Yet pain
On the tracks cold steel
Yet hot steam.
* * *
The Doug Trip
[2 November 1991]
Into a dark chasm
Vanessa wanders
Aimlessly
Looking for a free cock-tail.
The siren,
Unaware of direction,
Plods forth
Never realizing she's merely a myth.
Crawl, appalling shrew;
Find another
Hole to haunt
And bury your hungry heavy head.
* * *
Untitled
[4 June 1992]
The fountain glimmered seductively in the twilight. We were afraid to enter it. Ripples in the water sent ripples through our consciences (and my consciousness). The Rasta man approached us, his dreadlocks concealed beneath a hideous blonde wig. Being a female impersonator (don't ever let him hear you say 'drag queen'), he insisted we refer to him as Miss Jamaica. I (and later you) obliged. He (should I say 'she'?) encouraged us to go slowly. We removed our shoes and I my socks (you wore none) and went nearer. The pool still glimmered, yet seemed no longer to be of water, but blood. Undaunted, and confident Miss Jamaica would not lead us astray, we stepped in. The thick, warm liquid soothed our aching feet and sent a vertigo to our heads. Soon (was it a hallucination or reality?), we were neither any longer at the fountain nor in the presence of the Rasta man.
* * *
Untitled
[2 November 1991]
Asinine hordes
Beg for my affection, attention,
Castration,
Death...
Each an enemy to himself, a
Friend to all, people lick the
Glue from my stamp; I
Have no postage,
I cannot be mailed; why am I
Jailed?
Kill me first;
Let
Me
Never be always confined...
Over and against the ceaseless din of this club's
Pretentious, promiscuous
Queens, I
Rage, yet find no
Solace, only
Temporary, fading stimulation...
Under the
Veil of once
Well-watered foliage, I dehydrate, wither, an
X marking where this treasure once laid...
You see it no more; I am gone; two, one,
Zero.
It's odd that I should run across your poetry at a time when I've just started writing a little of my own. Please check out the blog on my MySpace page regarding poetry and let me know what you think.
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Cool... I will do that! And thanks for stopping by, Jay!
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It's kinda scary, John. You sound so tortured. But so beautiful.....I wish I had known you then. I'm glad I know you now. Did prison free you? Or are you just a different bird?
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Prison freed me in a lot of ways... the first few years I mostly sat on my bunk, wrote and read books - and worked in the prison library. But once I made a few creative friends there who urged and inspired me to get out of myself (starting with joining a quartet that sang for chapel services, which led to my becoming involved in prison theatre, bands, community service projects, and finally the Horizon Interfaith program), I ended up discovering talents I never knew I possessed and finding a sort of freedom (though creative endeavors and helping others) that I hadn't really known before. The biggest way prison freed me, however, was through breaking a long, torturous relationship that I might never have had the courage to leave behind otherwise. That relationship with my ex-girlfriend was a very real prison, and the primary source of the "torture" you recognize in these poems.
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Finally, realizing the "torturous relationship" that actually has had something to do with why you were accused of rape, makes sense. Lies, sex, 11 years of prison and redemption make sense. You didn't have to be behind bars to be in a sort of prison even in that gay days bar.
We'll hear more about Horizon in a week or so. It was your salvation, wasn't it? Peace, Elena
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Sad...
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The Minister has copied your poetry to read at work today, and is looking forward to seeing what nuggets of insight into your psyche lie within their lines... he will give you his commment later. The photo is so evocative of that time... and look at that long, curly hair!
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Hope you're not disappointed when you read them.
I think of that hair as half Jerri-curl and half Billy Ray Cyrus mullet. Actually, that was my first and only perm. After a couple of weeks of looking like a middle eastern Justin Guarini (when I had expected a cross between Jimi Hendrix and Robert Plant... lol), I had most of the curl cut out about a day or two before that picture was taken.
And that was right around Halloween - so I joked that the perm was part of my costume.
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As promised, The Minister has returned with his comments on the poetry that you have posted in this blog. Hmm, where to start?
First of all, I think you might see a need for titles on all your poems. Titles explain, expose, provide expectation. Your title choices for the poems on your blog the other day ("Allah Agog", etc.) were very well-chosen; you might consider assigning a title to each poem as you post them so that when we read them, we can refer to them by name.
In the 1st "Untitled" poem, I thought the 1st and 2nd lines were fantastic: "I
was a poet/Comfort destroyed me"--as if saying "yes! we must have pathos to write!"
In "The Doug Trip" nice wordplay with "looking for a free cock-tail".
In "Untitled" #2, interesting imagery... and just for the record, when someone cross-dresses, it is considered politically correct to refer to them by the gender they present at the moment, so your "Miss Jamaica" would have been called a "she" in the poem.
The 4th poem ("Untitled" #3), your abecedarium, is the strongest poem of the set; there are two sections of this poem that could easily stand alone, or be the cental cores of other poems. My first favorite part is "...people lick the/Glue from my stamp; I/have no postage,/I cannot be mailed." Since this is a "gay bar" era poem, perhaps you meant "maled", as a play on words?
Hmmm. And the line "Kill me first" reminded me of your recently posted video, "Killing Myself"; the call to "kill me" sounds like a suicide-by-cop type invitation.
In the "T" line, "Temporary, fading stimulation" is interesting, because stimulation is usually a prelude to an event, a building-up of feeling, rather than the fading of an event...so the line is more notable because it jars the reader. And best of all, the final lines of the poem: "Under the/Veil of once/Well-watered foliage I dehydrate, wither, an/X marking where this treasure once laid.../You see it no more; I am gone; two, one,/Zero." Brilliant, absolutely brilliant! The Minister would love to have you take these lines and work them into a new, contemporary poem, utilizing the writing skills you have now, and using your current point of view. These are definitely some of the finest lines you've ever written.
It is notable, as you've pointed out, that you used several precognitive references to "jailed", "caged", "confined".
So, over all, JC, bravo! The Minister was not disappointed, and looks forward to your posting more of the same....
Blessings....
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I like your poetry John... you were in your mid-twenties I'd guess... very handsome and as Jay says somewhat tortured. What was going on in your life then? This was pre-prison ... but sort of raw and real...
just curious how it correlates to your life then?
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Thanks, Chris! I had happy times then, too - and some poetry that was lighter and more hopeful, although it doesn't seem as real to me now as the unhappy work. The "bitchy" pieces seem to age better from an artistic standpoint, although I still see flaws in them.
My biggest prison was my relationship with my ex. I had lived with her since 1985 when I was 19. And - well, that's a long story and a sensitive issue with Geri, who I met six months later, when I was still 19. You may recall me mentioning in my "Ask Jesus Anything" blog that there came a time when Geri gave me an ultimatum. Essentially "Leave her or I'll marry this other guy".... That was in 1992 while I was working at the bar. Of course I was also bartending at a local bowling alley on my off days - and the ex was bartending at a burlesque bar. So when I speak of "asinine hordes," I wasn't referring exclusively to the gay bar patrons (although a few of them fit that description). It also included my ex's family, who when they discovered where I worked decided I wasn't welcome in their homes because they thought I might transfer AIDS from the gay people I worked with to them by breathing their air. (Sounds crazy now - as it did to me then - but they were dead serious in their delusion, and no research could dissuade them.) My ex was very abusive, throwing things at me every night, afraid for me to work anyplace besides the gay bar (out of fear I might find another woman), threatening to commit suicide or kill our pets... it was insane. I was afraid of what she'd do to herself if I left (I'd tried before), so I stuck around. But I was miserable, in a sort of prison I accepted as my obligation. I felt I owed it to my ex to stay with her through her issues, just as she'd been there for me when I was homeless at 19 (but that's another whole book!). Also, in part, I recognize now that I stayed with her because I feared leaving my comfort zone to experience the frightening "unknown."
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Yes we are all curious about what you were like back then. This was after you finished your courses at LCCC. I lost track of you and hoped to write a recommendation for you for a four-year college. But the next I heard was a letter from you in prison. If you all are interested, three of the first letters are posted on my blogs and you will see the "real JC" and his reactions to his incarceration. Mind boggling!!
I guess you are writing your memoirs.
Just a bit is here on my space. 11 years is a long long time to be punished for what you did NOT do.
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...i am equally curious as to where your head was during this time. i love the Untitled (2 Nov. 91) but wonder if you had already run into trouble then, or if this was sort of a premonition... kudos--oodles of kudos!!!!!
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Thanks, barbie! My biggest trouble to that point involved spending three days in jail for Driving Under the Influence. And I thought that was an ETERNITY! Little did I know how far from an eternity that was....
I did have a series of premonitions that some great tragedy was about to happen. But I'd discount it, thinking I was just being paranoid or unduly pessimistic.
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I graduated with my first associate's degree in history in 1990, continued going to school part time through 1991, but was under pressure (by girlfriend, debts, et cetera) to spend more time earning than learning. And at the bar I made more money than I could make with my degree - more than I'd ever seen in my life. Of course money isn't everything - but considering I'd never had it and this was one way to make my girlfriend happy (I thought) plus I could not afford to go to a four-year college at the time.... I was young and thought I had plenty of time.
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...that hair: it's back when we were a little bit younger. the good 90s. I remember '91. Graduating high school. Starting my electrical engineering courses at CSU. I was terribly unhappy then. The only thing I had going for me was the challenge of my classes.
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I had just graduated with an associate's degree in history in 1990 - but I couldn't afford to continue in school without getting a real job, and the gay bar just kinda fell into my lap. A friend took me there on a Sunday night for their 25-cent draft beer, and when the bartender overheard me say I was looking for a job, he said they needed someone there. Next thing you know, I was hired - with no application, experience or clue... lol. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." And it was my escape from a hellish home life.
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is it difficult for you to read your old words?
i find myself somewhat embarrassed by some of mine from 1968.
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It is... what I thought was so smart and good then rarely seems that way to me today.
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The 20s are actually harder for some than the teens. I often wondered what you were doing after graduation. Now I know. When I learned that you were in prison I told Ellis, your history prof. He told me he was very surprised as well and said you were one of the best writers in his class. It is a shame that you couldn't go on to a four year college since Pam was such a drag on your life. These are just some thoughts I have while reading this blog. You always deserved better than what you got in life. You still do. Too much wasted talent and too much incarceration that you never deserved. But we all must not dwell on the past. It is over and the future has to be better. Peace and love. Elena
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I relate so much to your story. How fate can be so cruel and unjust. How a person's entire life can be changed in an instant. I know what it's like to be blamed for something I did not do. I know that there are people who cannot understand how you managed to do so much more than survive during your incarciraton. You did everything in your power to bring back some normalcy to your own life and the lives of the people around you. Your perseverence is What happened to you never should have happened. But you have done an extraordinary job making the best of a horrible situation. You are an inspiration. And, you look like Doug Henning in that picture. I loved Doug Henning. He was another giving and loving soul.
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Thank you very much, Tara. I feel I could say the same about you and all you've gone through as well - all except the part about looking like Doug Henning.
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It is both an honor and a pleasure to be your friend.
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The feeling is very much mutual, Tara! Thank you.
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Doug Henning was awesomely hot! And from what I understand, he was super intelligent and just an all around nice guy. Reminds me of a certain Jesus Crisis I know.
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aww, shucks....
I wish I was as cool in "real life" as I seem online... lol
And I dig Doug.
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wow.
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Abecedarium. I am starting to understand!
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I just wrote the letters on the page first - then poured out a stream of consciousness. I tried not to force myself to think of a word beginning with the next letter - and somehow, it just seemed to come naturally.
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