ForbiddenFruitSeeds

Crazy?

"There was never a genius without a tincture of madness"
-Aristotle

“The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they are okay then it’s you.”

Rita Mae brown
American author and playwright

posted by Saint Vincent @ 6:20 PM 0 comments

Eaten Any Good Rocks Lately?

So I go out for lunch this beautiful Wednesday afternoon. I had a craving for McDonald’s and went to Elephant Plaza (actually L’Enfant Plaza) but, you know…
So I take the Bag O’ Grease and decide to hang out at the Mall (for those not of DC, the Mall is not a shopping mall but the open space between the Washington Monument and the Capital).

I find a decent bench that won’t upchuck too many slivers in my fat ass and enjoy the time I have left for lunch. And it is GREAT!!!! The breeze, no rain, sun and about 70 degrees. Most snuggly wuggly.

And as I sit there I see a mother and her son walk by on the gravel path. The mother takes a phone call and stops walking with her son. The son stops and looks around.
He is a beautiful blonde boy maybe 5 or 6? I’m really bad with ages. But a young little guy. So cute in his little shoes (baby Timbs?) with little feet. Really cute kid. So his Ma is blabbing away so he sits down right there. On the gravel. NO care in the world and as happy as can be, just sitting there in the gravel, not worrying about the dust on his ass or mud on his shoes.

And he stays there and plays with the small rocks. He builds little piles. Maybe he thinks they are forts or buildings. Whatever they are he made them and he is happy and that innocent content has kissed his face and left it’s glowing red impression. He is truly happy. He is truly content.

And he is still curious. He eats a couple pebbles. Ouch. Not tasty huh? But at least you know what they taste like, right? Icky. But he is still content.

When’s the last time you tasted the rocks?

I wanted to join him and play in the gravel. Roll around in the damp muddy grass that was behind my bench that was wet from last night’s rain. Feel the damp blades on my mouth, taste the dirt, feel the grime in my hair, see its colour change on my tie. And smell the earth that I forget sometimes. Lay there on my back and stare at the sky through the trees, taking in all the innocent and happy noises of the children and parents and tourist and Fed’s.

But I didn’t ‘cos I had a meeting with Dept. of State. DAMN THEM. But If I didn’t have to go explain the tsunami crap and status of Food Aide, I would have rolled around. Even just to have my colleagues ask me “What the fuck happened to you?!?” I could have proudly stated that I rolled around in the grass (by MYSELF thank you very m uch!) and enjoyed the day like a little kid.

And I did enjoy the day today.
Like a little kid.

posted by Saint Vincent @ 3:41 PM 1 comments

Released

Thomas Dolby's song "My Brain Is Like a Sieve" has been on my mind constantly. I love the song and it's voice so I've included it ( in italics with some changed verbaige) in my poem that's helping me deal a bit better right now.

Hell has no greater fury or rage
than a jilted Scorpio that only lives to love

When you said you loved me
When you showed me you could care
When you promised to be a part of me
You promised you would always be there
Did you really mean to kill me?
Were you ever really pleased
Sometimes I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone
I hate you for killing my memories

I know revenge is sweet for I’ve tasted it a million times
But it’s that bitter aftertaste that makes it not to be enjoyed
It’s hard to believe that these past 5 years
Is something you’ve been meaning to destroy

You allowed me Europe
You allowed me Brasil
You rented me all this empty space
That my heart now has to fill.

You gave me all the unimportant crap I could ever want
I gave you everything you never needed
You gave me coldness, degradation, and chastising
When I tried to save us and cried and pleaded.

I looked away from your cheating and your computer’s “favourite’s” list
And your other playpen’s of enjoyment that weren't mine
I looked away from the lies and insults
I looked away but saw it all the time.

I gave you a garden of roses
I gave you little gifts and toys
I sacrificed unto you my soul and life and poetry
Only to be discarded and replaced with your selfishness and young dumb boys

I made you homemade pasta every weekend
I was the only one to clean the floors and bathrooms on my hands and knees
And it wasn’t a big deal ‘cos I was in love with you
But now I see I was a fool who just wanted to believe

And could I orgasm in the revenge I could take upon you?
Of course, I could, oh what sweet memories through my revenge have sang
But time and your loneliness will be the ones to kill you, not me this time
Bad penny return from whence you came.

You ought to be ashamed of your behaviour
In treating me this way
As if I have deserved
To be some ditch
In which
to vomit your ire
Someday someone’s gonna dowse your bonfire

You’d make a crucial team in your dying world
And apology is a word
I’ve never ever heard
In your vocabulary
I’m a victim in your murder mystery

When you said you loved me
When you showed me you could care
When you promised to be a part of me
You promised you would always be there
Did you really mean to kill me?
Could you ever unconditionally please
It’s too hard to remember
For you’ve killed all the good memories

posted by Saint Vincent @ 12:13 PM 2 comments

Friends

A true friend is a true relief.

When the world is shit, how wonderful is it to have a friend totally make one forget the bad day or the treachery a fool can cause?. At this moment in my life I could be bitter, I could be vengeful against the man that ripped apart my love and took so many gifts from my heart for granted for such a LONG time. And even more time than I originally thought. People change. People fall out of love as quickly as they fall into love. And that’s fine.

That is perfectly fine.

But let someone know. Don’t be a twat-head and sneak around. Just fucking let them know it’s over and you ain’t the one. That would hurt less. But again, that’s fine.

That is perfectly fine.

That doesn’t make this time any less difficult or sad or mean I have any less rage. And just ‘cos I have rage don’t mean I’m gonna start pickin’ people off with a machine gun or anything. I don’t have a machine gun. But rage and anger are healthy feelings if they don’t overwhelm us or cause us to throw someone out a window or throw boiling grits on someone, though I must say, the folks that did that type of thing are probably well within their rights (I have to admit it may even feel good to do that if one didn’t have to feel guilty or regret afterwards). I guess that’s my rage speaking. Shut up Rage. (suh-right)
So I thank my friends for saving me from getting too mad, for allowing me to laugh at this time and the times ahead. Just a phone call or IM or email is all it takes and I’m all better and it’s that easy simplicity (as in most things) that makes life so wonderful, when it can be so terrible. Thank you.

posted by Saint Vincent @ 12:20 PM 0 comments

99 bottles of beer on the wall

This past week was most awful, uncreative, and bizarre, so to take my mind off of the shit, (which I’d rather not subject you, the reader, to), and in a way, to see if I still “got it” I went to the Eagle for the very first time on a Friday evening. I’d been there before I think on a Wednesday when I first came here to DC. It was cool but if you been in one leather bar, you ‘ve pretty much seen them all. The crowd was very nice though and the staff were most cool and this past friday was no exception. It’s nice to have a place in DC where there is no attitude and the looks one gets for being a big boy are positive instead of distasteful.

I really dig the music they play at a leather bar, I get to reminisce of my own time spent dj’ing at leather clubs, though I’m hardly into the lifestyle full-on... don’t do the cowqueen leather drag, that is. But the sex of the leather lifestyle is of some interest to me.

So as the group of patrons started to get fuller and as the guys were liberally getting acquainted, I was deep into thinking of the current wackyness of my place right now and as I started to really think of the sadness that is pinching at me every now and then, a thick hand petted my belly and I kind of got startled back to reality.

"You are the fuckin’ hottest guy in here", this most snuggly furry dark Italian looking man said to me. Thank god I still got it... well wait how drunk is he? he’s not legally blind is he? why the fuck am I so insecure tonight? tonight? dork.
"Thanks, man... sorry I was zonin’", I said
"I like your sad sexy eyes"
Well then you’re about to be my next fucking husband then aren’t you?
"Thanks, that’s kind, I’ve a lot on my mind right now... and trying to be distracted."
"How do you like to be distracted?"
"Slowly. By men like you." awwwwwwwwwwww
The Italian stranger smiled. He wasn’t drunk.
(As was the hustler who fanned the flame of my insecurities who reeked of sour alcohol, abuse, sweat, and bitterness that tried to pick me up earlier saying how he could work my nipples off and how I was soo damn fine and must be a model and sexier than any man in here and "hey sexy could you buy me a shot" and when I knew what he was from his first wiping of sleep from his eyes and the smell of alley that blanketed him and I lied and said I didn’t have any money, well then I wasn’t so sexy or exotic or interesting to him any more, as is the process of the hustler. From 1992 to today, the bar hustlers haven’t evolved. At least get some new lines guys.)
The Italian stranger seemed to have normal eyes. The Italian stranger was an older maybe 45 furry man a la alec baldwin with short black s&p hair, a snuggly tummy that wasn’t manufactured in a gym but thankfully left to it’s own natural devices of some late night pasta and potatoe chip binges with some diet coke and college football lineman days. Kinda like me though I never played football in school - outside of school yeah and still do.
He drank beer. I cringed a bit. Only ‘cos I hate beer kisses. But he was a god. and this god was talking to me. And wasn’t drunk or legally blind or a hustler.
"You’re really hot", he said
blah blah blah, do they really mean this shit? well you say it to them too, don’t you? okay.
"thanks, you too. You're like one of my fantasy men," I grinned
"yeah? how do you mean?" he asked
blah blah blah "You’re a perfect Italian ‘lil daddy"
The Italian stranger laughed like he was family and hit my arm like I do sometimes to other folks when they make me laugh. He was comfortable and familiar and then I knew we were alike in some ways. In those deviant ways and I wanted to be with him and see where he would take me.

He was different.

blah blah blah what do you do, boyfriend? girlfriend? wife? husband? pets? fish, really? cats thank you no originally from chicago blah blah blah jesus tap dancing christ kiss me already "May I kiss you," I asked him. He terrified me. I was nervous like I was in high school when the quarterback shoved me hard against the parked band bus and kissed me even harder as the tabs from his shoulderpad's chest plate dug into the top of my own chest. He was italian too.
"You don’t need to ask any man if you can kiss them," he said. I stood up on tiptoe and grabbed the back of his head softly and kissed him. A dry kiss 'cos you never know where their mouths have been.

You never know where their mouths have been.

Mustache tingles along my mouth and spine god that would feel good up my ass. His hand went inside the back of my pants underneath the jockstrap and his thickest finger played and slid down inside my ass searching? Woo hoooooo he’s a top
wooohoo wooohoooo woohooo wooohoooo woho (a la daffy duck)
"Tell me you're a bottom," he said
"Okay, you're a bottom wooo hoooo woohoohwoooho....
That fuckin' laughter again that makes me remember what happiness is.
"Labels are for clothes", I said blah blah blah
"I can’t be your boyfriend but I’d like to play with you," he said
I can’t seem to be anyone’s boyfriend so that’s okay, no prob.
"I’d like to play with you too. I can be a great bottom," I said
His eyes opened wide, unconsciously I think and he licked his lips, unconsciously I think and he yanked me by my jock strap whiplash fast to his furry chest and belly.
His cologne was Antaeus. That's what made me know he was different. Not many men know that cologne or would think Chanel made a masculine man's cologne. That cologne brand is over 80 years old. Gramma would say "Gentlemen wear Antaeus". And grampa did. And so do I and this Italian stranger. But I wasn’t wearing it that night.
"Can you take a big dick," he asked
Do you have one to give or are you using the wax-on-bong-off-mr-miyagi-measuring-stick?
"My favourite dildo is 13x9. I like shoving things up my ass blah blah blah say it again, well it’s not exactly bewitching me or anything...
"Well I’m not that big."
sigh...you never are
"I’m only 10"
hellllo friend
"I’m only 33, be gentle, it’s my first time blah blah blah say it again sam
"Your first time?!?"
"Yeah with someone who’s only 10"
That fucking laughter again from both of us.

From both of us.

"Buy me a beer," he asked. Awww fuck why'd you ruin it?! NEXT, gong, you must be working in groups tonight
"I don’t by drinks for horny drunken old men" I said as I got up to leave.
I saw how hurt he could be. I saw his sadness and loss and paternal shortcomings.
"I’m not drunk duh he said annoyed oh shit now you blew it. as usual
"I’m sorry. Really really I am a la any b&w silver screen drama queen please forgive me it’s just earlier...oh never mind I’m sorry".
He smiled and I saw how happy he could be. I saw his accomplishments and pride and his paternal rewards.
He leaned in close to me, his mustache flirting like a good whore against my bottom earlobe. "Buy me a beer ‘cos it’s not going to be just a beer. You’re going to like it. We’re both going to like it," he said.

Sometimes one just knows who to fuck with. Like cats know what other cats to fuck, brother or sister or mother or father or not. Cats fuck whoever among them and like cats some of us just know who we can play with. We know who is part of our tribe.
I bought him a beer and brought it back to the place against the wall where we were standing and flirting and I wanted to be his. In so many ways. Gentlemen wore Antaeus.
"You don’t drink?" he asked
"No. Not a drinker. And I really don’t care for beer. though in Brasil there was this beer called Brama beer and I DID really like that blah blah blah no wonder you’re single you ass.
He rammed me close to him again. "You truly classy guys are all whores inside. I want to let you out". click. meow. The beer bottle was cold against the small of my back and he drank a bunch of it. I was hoping he wasn’t going to burp in my face. ick. Had that happen once.. ooooh foxy mamma... not.
The beer bottle was half full half empty blah blah blah and again, he slammed me against him, such strong arms you have...all the better to give you whiplash my son.

And then the Italian stranger did something I’ve never had done in a public place. With so much pleasure. With so many sexy musclemen watching and so many mouths open.

So many mouths.

He hugged me tightly and it felt like I had the wind knocked out of me. you so big an scrawng with the back of my jeans under my ass, he shoved the beer bottle up my ass ‘cos he knew it would go. He knew I’d like it. click. meow. He almost ripped my left nipple off. click meow. He pressed his 10 inches on me and it felt like the roller of a rolling pin. MEOW. He fucked me a while with the beer bottle. And pinching my left nipple and just looking at me, looking in me scaring me to death 'cos maybe he could really see in me I felt, I sensed that maybe he really could see in me. Maybe he really could see in me.......and I moaned loudly when I came. Loudly "'cos you know you Italians gotta let the whole damn world know your gettin' fucked" and the men around us were focused on us. I still got it! woo hoohwohhooowowoo how do I explain this to the doctor if the bottle breaks in my ass? How do I GET to the doctor if this breaks in my ass. jesus tap-dancing christ. But it felt so damn good.
It reminded me of new years eve and the dom perignon. Another blog my sweet.

He pulled out of me and drank the rest of the beer.
He didn’t know me from Adam. OR Eve.. or Madam... or Steve... hahhah

You never know where their mouths have been.

I’m glad I didn’t tongue him. But it was hot.
I came through my jeans, the jockstrap was all twisted and my dick popped out of it and when I shot it seeped through my jeans. I liked it. But how many men had he done that too? How many bottles of beer were on his wall. But it was hot.
"Can we go back to your place," he asked.
I don't seem to have a place here on earth, my friend
"No, I already came thanks bitch... oh you BITCH hee heee
"You just gonna go?!?" he said
"Yeah I got off, thanks that was hot" bitch
"What the fucks wrong, didn’t you like that, don’t you like me..."
"I loved it , you see how much I came? I could fall in love with you, but men like you scare me"
"What?"
"How many guys have you done that to? I could have AIDS or herpes or fuck I could be some straight guy that never wipes his ass right but always want’s some other down low daddy’s face up it. It was heaven until you drank from that bottle".
"You’re a classy guy and you have soft hands" he said
{Que what Maria?} "This bar ain’t your life, you're not the common Eagle type. Your watch and shoes are Dolce and Gabbana, you sat up front on that bench for almost 2 hours not interested in any of the men that came up to you and you knew that hustler right off. You're sad 'cos you’re not a slut and when I shoved my finger up your ass nothing jumped out at me - what did you douche with? and how long? an hour? That made you dehydrated didn't it? 'cos you've been drinking water like a fish" click. meow.blah blah blah my shoes are prada "I made you buy a beer so you could remember it and you'd know the bottle was clean. I’m negative," he said blah blah blah where’s your paper? and a note from your mom and a note from the nurse blah blah blah I can’t even play with guys safely without worrying can someone let go of that goddamn aids cure already GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!!!!!!

I felt guilty for not getting him off. "Jack off," I said,"Play with my chest as you jack off behind me". He flung me around and slammed my back against his hard furry belly and massive furry pecs. My own personal King Kong. He tortured my right nipple just as bad as my left. click.meow. He was bigger than 10 inches. dammit where’d he have it last? did he use a rubber? rubberless? hey you don’t be silly put a rubber on your willy woo hooohwwoohoowhhwooohoo... some old leather queen told him to shoot on his chest. The Italian stranger was a popper. (In coming, I classify 3 types of ejaculation, shooters, poppers and dribblers. Shooters of course can make an olympic event out of the distance they can come, poppers are just a one time mamma pop of cum and that’s it and dribblers are just.. well dribblers. yawn.) I’m a shooter, the Italian guy was a popper. It was hot and no one seemed to mind. It was crowded anyway. I desperatley wanted all of him down my throat.

Me and the Italian guy chatted for a while after. He really seemed like a great guy. My ass started to twitch and get hungry again. He really could have doubled for a darker alec baldwin.. furryness and all. he gave me his email address, I’ll never use it 'cos he spilled the beans that he was married with a kid. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Why why why.

At least I was able to get my mind off my personal wacky shit. wooo hooowhwoowhwooohwwowowoowooooo

posted by Saint Vincent @ 12:00 AM 0 comments

Boxstar

So I was dj'ing last nite at a private party, nothing major, but very cool. The coolest, intimate set I've played in quite a bit. The progression of us dj's has always interested me.

I remember when I learned to mix, my mentor, the Great Andrew Gage aka Anderoo ( we were the team of Vinnie the Pooh and Anderoo) would tell me of the revere of the dj way back when. He would tell me of his early days in MN at a club called the Gay Ninetees and how club dj's back in the 70's and 80's were revered as gods, pretty much.
I came to club life just by coming out to dance every weekend. I was 16 and just loved to dance. No one ever ID'd me so I got away with experiencing some fantastic adult worlds through the eyes of a 16 year old. And I always just went to dance. I never went to get drunk or pick up guys, though guys were always picking me up and sometimes I didn't say no. I remember being at the club from Friday at 9.30pm dancing until closing (which in AZ was 3am) going to breakfast with friends or "new friends" and usually staying over at the apt. of my two other influential dj friends DJ Jimmy Justice (James Fowler) and his husband Rick White*. It was great to listen to all the music and see the import mixes and I was definitely interested in the dj thing.
In 1990 I was 19 and frequented 2 clubs: Cactus Jacks and Trax in Phoenix, AZ. One has to understand that in AZ most places are just bars with a tiny make-shift dancefloor. Cactus Jack's broke the mold with their stainless steel dancefloor, raised dj box (booth), plush couches and expensive light system. It was heaven to dance there. Trax was a leather bar (and and I never really was into or cared what that was back then I could always dig elements of the leather lifestyle, but the bar always housed a bunch of old guys in leather and jeans who looked like mechanics while most of them sounded like a bunch of old drunken queens. They were always sweet to me though). Trax was an old place with wood everywhere, think S&M Lincoln logs. But the wood dancefloor was huge. Cactus Jack's was my first meeting of Anderoo. He moved to Trax on Sunday's with his "trash disco" set that was competition with another club that was more popular for "trash disco" though the disco that club played was the generic crap and not really disco at all. Anderoo has THE best collection of pure disco I've encountered anywhere.
I finally got to match the artist with the music my Ma would play when I was a little kid. I loved Tavares and Voyage and Cerrone and when I was able to find my own copies of these albums my Ma would reminisce of her old "disco dancing" days. (my folks were always supportive of my music endeavours and Ma even was MY light tech some nites at TRAX). Music was always a part of my life. So as I would spend Sunday nights dancing to Anderoo's disco, we got to chatting some nites. I asked him if he needed a light man up there in the box with him and he said sure but I'd need to ask the owner if I could be up there. I knew nothing of lighting or anything, but remembered thinking that lighting is just painting with no mess. So what the hell, I could do THAT. I remember asking the owner if I could run lights on Sundays. He was quite the miser so I came to find, and even at our first meeting he, for some reason, never really liked me, I don’t think. He said he couldn't afford a light guy on a Sunday so I said I'd do it for free. Story of my life.
Of course he agreed to it and over a couple weeks he and the patrons saw that I pretty much rocked the lights. I was good enough for the owner to ask me to work as back up for the weekends and finally had the weekends. And even, ultimately got paid.
During my stint as lighttech I was very curious of the mixing thing and dj thing
and Anderoo said that for my B-day gift that year (91) he would show me how to mix. It was a lot more goin' on than I thought. He had a splitter so we both could listen to him cueing the records and I was hooked. I bought records, old and new like mad, counting bpm's and intro's/outro's****.
The first record I started learning off of was New Order's "Blue Monday" I bought two copies of it and mixed the two together. That was an easy disc to recognize the beat or to recognize what two discs sound like together faster or slower than each other. I was then trained how to mix using disco records. Anderoo told me that if I could mix disco, I could mix anything. Live drummers and changing beat patterns did make the learning tough compared to the digitzed and even, current house music of the time. After a while, I got used to it and began the road of practicing for hours and hours there at the club on sunday afternoons.
Train wreck after train wreck** I finally caught on and began progressing in my talent. In the fall of '92 I broke up, well ran for my life from, my drunken ex. And when that happened he called the club out of revenge and informed them that I was underage and they cut me off until I turned 21. I remember I was only 2 months to my birthday when that all happend. ugh. It was a VERY long 2 months of NO dancing or playing.
Novmber of 92 came and I was back practicing and running lights. Anderoo and I were both nominated for DJ and Light Tech of the Year (respectively) and though we both never won, it was a pretty big deal for us. Anderoo and I had a fun time up in that box, his music and my lights, sharing Laffy Taffy and laughing at the wacky lame jokes and then running to Gag in the Bag (Jack in the Box) for Ultimate Cheesburgers though we pronounced them Ull-tim-uh-tay cheeseburgers.
My very first time spinning was not at Trax however. The owner, still not quite into me, was fearful of giving me a nite so I leapt at the opportunity to play at another bar. Unfortunately it was to cue up music for a drag show at a lesbian bar. I sucked big time. The owner of the bar and her lover were very nice to me though, a lot more decent than the owner of Trax. I wasn't into Hip-hop at the time (and not full blown on it now) and I didn't last long trying to sneak in house tracks to a crowd that would clear the floor if the beat got past 80bpms. Fortunately for me the Friday dj's at Trax wanted to do their own thing and one friday comes along with no dj – he just bailed. My chance was at hand and I took over the tables that nite and so began my residency at trax.
The crowds were great and the applause was something I began to crave. I was never big BIG time like Calderone or Vazquez or Rauhofer, but I had a decent following and signed my name on a few asses at the local afterhours diners. It was a fun time, for that time. I also had the honour of being asked to play at Tempe and Phoenix Gay pride festivals from 1994-2000. I really started to like Latin house and tribal and one Friday nite, possibly my best Friday afterhours set was when I played a bunch of latin house type stuff. There was a club across the parking lot from us called Club Zarape. It was a gay Mexican bar and on this particular Friday the Club Zarape patrons who were mostly Mexican and Native Americans, flooded my dancefloor and it was a great nite. However after I was done playing and the doors were locked the owner comes up to me and goes “Don’t ever play that Mexican crap again, we don’t want them over here every nite.”

!!!!!!!!!

I played nothing but latin house and tribal my remaining days there. The owner always demanded 80’s Hi-energy to please the leather queens – all 5 of them – and ultimately the business went elsewhere for newer music and to be honest while I had a good floor and following I never swamped the crowd over for my style was always the imports and deep, happy, hard house and the Friday crowd was a bit fickle. A dj from LA, Enrique Pagan moved to town and would come to hear me. We befriended one another and I would let him spin on my nites since I was pretty much over the place. And one Friday evening, after I had helped Anderoo move to West Hollywood, I arrived on my Friday nite about 20 minutes late after calling in to the owner to say my plane was delayed. Enrique was playing when I got in to the club which was fine. The owner said that he wanted Enrique to play from then on and that I was out. I didn’t mind, but I said I could at least be given the decency of a last nite. I don’t think he ever agreed to it, but I played my last nite there and it was a decent goodbye.
I went to visit a new club at the request of a dj friend the following evening and that friend asked if I would play at the club. I liked the freedom of music and the non-prejudice normality so I said yes. My residency began at Harley’s Club 155 in mid 1998. Trax closed down and sold to new ownership a few months after I left.
The whole club thing was fine and something I remember fondly. The dj culture now has turned to more of a humdrum thing, whereas it’s not so ‘cool’ or special to be a dj anymore. Anyone can dj now-a-days with the technology and computer software that makes it so easy. A true talented dj is still remarkable to listen to live though – and one who still uses vinyl is definitely considered a REAL dj in my book. It’s still amazing to me though the things folks think of club dj’s. We all don’t do drugs. I never have done any drugs in my life actually. All Dj’s are not jukeboxes. I don’t take requests – as any self respecting dj doesn’t. All dj’s won’t give away free music if you let us fuck you. All dj’s don’t fuck every one that comes up to the box. Though if you’re gonna be on my floor for more than a nite, I’ll definitely get snuggly wuggly with ya. In your OWN box. :D

* Jim Fowler and Rick White lived in phx, Az. At least until 1999 on Thomas road and 24ths street approx. They moved, supposedly to Washington state and I’ve lost contact with these two wonderful men, sad to say. ***Enrique Pagan and his husband Juan also lived in Phoenix at Indian School rd. and about 30ths street. I too lost contact with them and truly miss these remarkable guys. If anyone knows where they are, if they STILL are, please contact me and let me know.

**”Train wreck” in dj lingo is when one doesn’t have the records perfectly matched and the mix is all off and shit and sounds like sneakers in a dryer. A most NASTY sound. Quite possible the most ugly sound in the whole world.
To a dj anyway. :D

**** BPMs = beats per minute (how fast a record is)
intro= how many beats are at the start of the song to mix into
outro = how many beats are at the end of a song to mix out of

posted by Saint Vincent @ 3:16 PM 0 comments

Lucky Ones

I don't think there are any other words in the english language that can cause so much torture, so much wackyness, so much drama than "I Love You".

Who the hell said that we have to bite our tongue and not mention those words 'cos it may be "too fast".
As I age, well I'm not cheese so I should say as I GET OLDER, I'm becoming more free in my sharing of self and emotions. I fall in love at the nod of a head and SO WHAT. What's the big deal of sharing feelings between two consenting adults.

We are moments.

We are flickers.

And when we croak what is it that we keep?

our skin? no. our money and Sebring? no. our stocks and accounts? no. Ma's mexican food? no. My favourite books and movies?no. My rings and diamonds, records, iPod, snuggly coat, my Mac? no... the experiences and memories... the ones we can remember anyway.

so make a million of them.... every day we should be making as many memorable things happen as we can
take the chances and risks, look like a fool, but understand that you're not a fool 'cos you're living and creating the world that you are able to bring with you in another world or time.

I am not afraid of living or appearing a fool. I will fall in love and have other people think they have broken my heart and fall in love again, cos that's just it.. a heart NEVER breaks.. it's a living thing until we don't take care of our health and have a heart attack or until we actually die. is that why when someone has a heart attack and bumps titties with death they say... oh jesus tap dancing christ I'm gonna take care of myself better, i'm gonna be a good person from now on, cos I have so much to live for and it took my heart almost going out on me to realise this? maybe they see how strong their heart and their love really is and what it's all about.

love and live why are those words so close? an "O" and an "I" LOVE LIVE is that coincidence?? who the hell started this language? how did they know ?

L O V E

L I V E

L V E

(and hey, why is LIVE EVIL when spelled backwards? who the fuck made up this language? or am I just crazier than usual tonite and just reading too much into everything??)

so i live and love whomever will let me. I love that closeness to be all up and under someone to be snuggly wuggly with someone to make that memory to have to always remember and to smile. To be in someone's arms and say I love you and not worry about "oh jeepers mary and joseph, is he gettin' all goofy on me, is he falling in love with me oh god is he getting too close? SO WHAT it's not about marriage and being your only man although that would be grand, ideal.... but it's about making that memory and making that happiness last for a little bit....whenever. I like that. And I love you.

posted by Saint Vincent @ 11:12 PM 0 comments

Front Porch 030305

My second performance at the Mocha Lounge in Tim'm's Front Porch was very fulfilling to me. It was nice to hear applause again and good to know I still can make folks clap or laugh or listen. It was great to be in the company of fellow talented folks and to have my friend Kenny there with me. It was also nice to see the handsome Paris whom I met for the first time and still can't get off my mind. Oh well.

After editing the video of my performance, I realize some of the ladies in the audience may have taken offense to the piece "I ain't gay or nuttin'" that included the following line:

" ... and when you're more bitch in my bed than your wife is in yours, well that's a little gay to me..."

I truly hope the ladies don't make out that I make a career out of making their husbands cheat on them
I never new some of the guys I played with were married men and worse off that they had kids too...
they were never honest with me to begin with, I never knew and don't like to fuck with married men with kids, so ladies, please don't think badly.

And when i wrote "bitch" I just meant the whole givin-the-ass-up-legs-in-the-air-screaming-like-a-woman-hurt-me-fuck-me-daddy down low guys who change from a butch masc man to a whiny 'Bitch" in the bedroom. Agan I meant no offense to the ladies. I love women and i'm no fag woman hater. Just want to make myself clear. :D Thanks for every who was kind that nite.

posted by Saint Vincent @ 5:19 PM 0 comments

Overheard at the Department of State

"If pro is the opposite of con,

then is progress the opposite of congress?"

posted by Saint Vincent @ 12:34 PM 0 comments