Wednesday, June 15, 2016
Never saw this Icon before...wonder why. I wish I had it to show them deranged Nuns that were beating the crap out of us, and terrifying us with eternal french frying for having a ham sandwich on the wrong day.
"Sister look Our Lord is a Queer Peacenik Hippie that loves us all...even you deranged fanatics."
Oh for a time machine.
Jesus loves me! This I know,
For the Bible tells me so;
Little ones to Him belong,
They are weak but He is strong.
I was always told the big Guy loves us no matter what. Reassuring that. However religion puts all sorts of riders on the deal. Yeah he loves you 'BUT' first ya has to do all this other stuff to earn..blah blah. Fuck that.
If I am still a christian then I'm a radical one that believes exactly what the guy stood for. Love Forgive Share...Period. Sounds swell. Strictly speaking I'm not strict at all. Just be good to each other...that about sums all that faith/religion noise of all sorts up pretty good...so there.
The above image is my perverted Memorial for the Dead in Orlando.
Them evil fuckers can kill us all they want. For everyone lost another Dozen are Born to take their place. Them two baby Sissies above being gleeful examples of our replacement troops newly born, and which are already on their way.
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Abu Nuwas was the pen name of Hasin ibn Hani al Hakami, born of Persian parents around the middle of the eighth century in Ahwaz. As Hakim Bey points out in "A Legendary Life of Abu Nuwas," the scholarly biographical essay that occupies the second half of this volume, Abu Nuwas made the transition from slave to street-boy to poet, playing "the perennial archetypal juvenile-delinquent-genius role." Contributing to his success, no doubt, was the fact that Abu Nuwas, "future lover of boys, was himself famous for his beauty as a boy -- his penname means `master of the ringlets,' long curly locks of hair."
Hakim summarizes Abu Nuwas's achievement as a literary figure and legendary character thus:
Abu Nuwas flits through the 1001 Nights as a minor personage in numerous tales.
His character, as painted in this great master- compendium of Arabic, Persian and Indian stories, matches the portrait we can infer from his authentic poetry: the very model of a worldly debauched court poet, jester, trickster, rake, wit, and drunk, boon companion to his friends, scathing lampoonist of his enemies, and above all, ravenous boy-lover.... Despite the religious Law, which utterly condemns homosexuality, Islamic society has often taken a tolerant view of pederasty; a great deal of Sufi poetry is composed in the form of love-songs to boys.
Abu Nuwas helped to establish this theme in Islamic literature... But where the Sufis came to maintain a literary self-image of chaste longing and aesthetic appreciation (the cult of "Gazing at the Unbearded"), Abu Nuwas wrote poems about kissing, masturbation, frottage and anal intercourse with real live, unsymbolic boys.
But my speech tinged his cheeks
with pink blush
as if my words were
splashes of dye.
Never before in real life nor in art
have I found one so beautifully slender --
so thin you might almost disappear
if I couldn't see you shining.
Illustrating a persistent tendency to depict the boy as an object of religious devotion, poem XII raises the ikon of the shining boy to the point of heresy when the boy's radiance is compared to the return to Allah on Judgment Day:
Last Friday night I encountered a mob
of wildly milling men all yelling
"Judgement! The Last Hour's upon us!
The return to Allah! The prophets say
a sign of the End shall be
the Sun at Midnight! Here it is!
We tremble! We submit!"
I laughed & said, "This is no sun
that rises as a star, but only
my friend, young Ahmad, brightening
the velvet canopy with his crystal track,
the dogstar on his forehead, venus on his cheek."
The image of the boy projected to the heavens occurs in many variations. Sometimes, as in poem XLVIII, which makes a case for the superiority of boys over women, the projections run simultaneously to the sky and down to earth. This poem also reveals how far Hakim is willing to go to bring Abu Nuwas fully up to date:
I love a willing boy, a dangerous gazelle
his forehead a moon half-veiled
by the clouds of his coalblack hair
who gave up Nintendo & TV for a new game
(a kind of croquet with mallets & balls)
who lolls around in his underwear
demands no jewelry or perfume
never goes on the rag
or gets pregnant.
Poem XXXIII is an ode to a moon that once presided over a boy's bedroom:
O moon of the darkened bedroom
I kissed him once, just once
as he slept, half hoping half fearing
he might wake up
O silksoft moon
his pyjamas held such softness
Ah how I'd like a real live kiss
how I'd like to be offered
what's under the covers
Poem XLV:1 shows how easily Abu Nuwas can switch his approach from tender to bawdy:
Come right in, boys. I'm
a mine of luxury -- dig me.
Well-aged brilliant wines made by
monks in a monastery! shish-kebabs!
roast chickens! Eat! Drink! Get happy!
and afterwards you can take turns
shampooing my tool.
Can't be arrested just for looking.
Eyes, feel free to enjoy his face,
his lazy exquisite pliancy.
Pure glances, dart about the public park.
In the concluding retort of poem XXXII, a man's romantic illusions are abruptly destroyed by the boy's quintessential, ultimate put-down:
All out of breath I caught up with him
Say, aren't you new around here
O fawn of the desert? Listen pal, he said,
go chase some girl. I don't want to
be in your movie.
Well known among unsuccessful wooers of boys is the unsatisfactory consolation of the hand, which Abu Nuwas describes in poem XXXIV thus:
won't even give me a hug
much less anything more
fuck off is all he says
with your boring complaints
& so I'm reduced to this
clothing love's hand with
the veil of jism
O yes I spent the night
on pain's camel
whining in misery
as you slept sound
to my right the winds of passion
to my left the stars of desire
wishing I could jack off so hard
the mountains would tremble to their roots
In poem XXXVIII legal imagery is cleverly used to express a man/boy relationship gone awry:
So... can't even say Hello
can't even chitchat
like you're running off to a lawyer
with transcripts of our conversations
to check if everything's legal
So tell me: what does your attorney say
about the grievous mayhem YOU've committed
O sweet moon of my dreams
little scoflaw juvenile delinquent
Finally, poem XLI must be quoted, for it supplies the title for this volume, and summarizes the credo of Abu Nuwas:
Lay in supplies
-- (O tribe that loves boys) --
of a pleasure that will not be found
-- for all its supposed joys.
Hakim Bey, in rendering these treasures into the contemporary idiom, has provided English-speaking connoisseurs of man/boy-love with a supply of erotic thoughts expressed in startling images. As the examples cited above should indicate, this is not mere verse, as boy-love poetry sometimes is, but real poetry, poetry that is often sublime. It is hard to imagine a finer, more artisticly modernized translation of ancient boy-love poetry than O Tribe That Loves Boys: The Poetry of Abu Nuwas.
O Tribe That Loves Boys: the Poetry of Abu Nuwas, translated and with a biographical essay by Hakim Bey (Amsterdam: Entimos Press, 1993), 56 pages (unnumbered), illustrated.
*( Not certain if this is still in print. Check Amazon if not.)
*( Drawings by the page Editor.)
Read more about Abu Nuwas:
Yes I am moved that the President of the United States has shown such understanding compassion, and support for some in the Queer Realm. I'm mostly not among that "some" what with my love for as the Sufi call them the "Beardless".
"Oh Tribe that loves Boys"
Still again I must say that this acknowledgement by the leader of the most powerful Empire in World history is nothing if not a miracle.
Remembering the immediate post Stonewall Days.
Time, and experience taught us hard lessons.
Revolutions almost 'never' become what they were intended. Many comrades were expelled, and damned. Thrown to the wolves for the sake of political expediency.
So yes I am happy that the persecution has somewhat eased for some of my former brothers, and sister...known now as "LGBT" or Straight Gays, Stroller Pushers. Those that act, and dress, and behave as those who once hunted arrested killed, and tormented us all.
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
Robin tried like hell to talk "Bats" out of that stupid "Superman meets Bullshit" dog. I don't think 'anybody' liked that disaster.
Even the Boss of North Korea...what's his name emailed how much he hated it. He usually likes all of our crap...not this time!
He said that "if a movie company in his country had come up with a stinker 'this' bad!" He would have had them 'all' to their fifth cousins "slowly lowered into a dry well full of starving Pit-Bulls"
...eh, "rubbing their naked bodies down with beacon fat" first.
Well anyway as ya see above "Bats" came to his senses again.
Btw they've decided to happily continue to live in sin. Said the happy couple. "Marriage is for them damned mutant "Stroller Pushers!"
Sunday, June 5, 2016
There's a Girly boy teen right above...sweet.
Btw a historical note. Back in my 1970's post Stonewall Radical daze when we was all happily Queer together...mostly. Our lesbian sisters some of them hated 'all' the varieties of Trannies.
I mean these gals was so full of themselves they hated these sweet harmless souls to the point of incidents of violent assault which I personally witnessed.
Let me illustrate with a little show here.
Me on a dark stage in front of one of them phony stage camp fires ya know with the orange light, and a fan blowing pointed sheets of yellow silk?
Okay I'm dressed up as an aged *Native American shaman...neat huh? Anyway there I am in Native drag under the make believe stars as I takes a long drag on some sort of long pipe, and I sez...
"Many many moon ago when cars had fins milk was delivered in bottles, and our biggest fear was nuclear annihilation, and or integration."
"In that long past peaceful time when Queers was just starting to kick ass, our Dyke sisters had a weed up their butts with the assorted Shemales of the tribe."
"Some wackka-doodle crap about how they're an insult to womanhood."
"Turned out they was just as bigoted as the white man."
"Yes my children I with these now withered eyes witnessed an violent assault on a Shemale Teen boy by several overheated gals in the first Queer tribe Community Center on West 4th Street in 1973."
"Oh yes it was true..most true that long ago very young tribal boys did come out, and were welcomed most warmly...ahem extremely warmly in some cases."
"This long before they were forced into chaperoned hiding to protect their virgin-hood by those same wackka-doodle angry man hating alleged Dykes, and their male feminist pets."
"...and so began the division of the tribe."
"One part for the males, and another more valued for the females. The era of when we were brother, and sister was over. The era of "We're more oppressed than you so shut up" had begun. From this slowly came the strange time of the "Straight Gays, and the Straight Dykes".
The time of the acting like looking like the people that hated us beat us arrested us, and killed us had begun. Much like the Natives that gave up their history, and the Blacks that dropped their cultures."
"Oh my dear children these are strange, and sad days for the tribe."
"For we...far too many have become dreaded "Stroller Pushers".
"No offense to our dear pale boys whom we love as our own, but my children we have become Honorary White."
"June which once was Celebrated as our Festival of Revolt is now a time of Shame."
The stage Lights dim the stars above flicker, and go out. The Shaman drops his pipe, which breaks, and he covers his eyes with pain.
The fire slowly fades out.
Only the sound of the pre-recorded crickets remains till they too fall silent.
(*...It's a bit cool acting a Native part. I'm Black/Native on my Dad's side. My Native pals give me a hard time, and laff, but fuck it.)
As I've mentioned on various of my pages current, and nuked. My Grandma used to dress me up in girlie stuff. She especially liked stuffing her old bonnet from the 1920's on my head.
Well back in her day boys, and girls dressed the same so she didn't think it weird to do me up. My Dad was a tad freaked out, and eventually put a stop to it, but for a few years my Granny, and I explored junior cross dressing.
Basically yeah Grandma was trying to turn me into a transvestite. Today she'd be arrested, and shot. What with everything being illegal now. Back then however people had Freedom to do weird stuff...imagine that.
Anyway I guess among other things this is why as a kid I wanted to be a Nun, Nurse, Cowgirl, Ballerina, and yeah a Geisha.
The only drag I'm into these days is my eventual intention to get a re-enactors Civil War Calvary uniform. The 9th U.S. Colored Regiment. I'm really specific in my fantasies.
Still if I was a kid, and still had my girlish figure I imagine I would do the Geisha thing. My Dad would'a had kittens, but Grandma would have loved it.
Ain't life interesting.