RFD 182 Summer 2020

Number 182 Summer 2020 • $11.95

RACE

& FAERIES

RFD 182 Summer 2020 1

Issue 183 / Fall 2020

POLITICS

Submission Deadline: July 21, 2020 www.rfdmag.org/upload

Politics are where you live, the word comes from the Greek word which spoke of the polis, the city.

We here at RFD are impressed by our readers and we want to nudge all of us to think of ways of being more in polity with each other, with as large a circle of like-minded folk as possible.

We are entering into an ugly election year here in the United States (with likely ripples of other places also) reacting to the constant drum beat of false narratives to make us all give up on politics or to merely look to our immediate polis, our immediate surroundings and friends.

Yet we might begin to look at creating ways of networking, building and utilizing the power of the people to shape our futures. In its most simple form, it happens when we elect any government, any system that will govern both for us and over us, we have to make choices.

One of the choices we need to seriously reconsider is being “non-political” or apolitical, in essence we are asking you to reclaim your voices with the larger world polity. Within our current system, every vote counts, as long as it is being counted. Democracy demands an alert citizenry, participating in the very mechanism that creates the governmental structures in which we dwell—like it or not! How can we use our effective means of co-creating our own spaces (polis’) to help shape the larger polis around us.

As we face oligarchical and tyrannical ideologues playing up the fears of the poor, the religious by using anything to distract from what actually happening—our planet is suffering, we mistreat one another, and we’re being more isolated while “globalism” in the form of corporate capitalism continues to tap our labor and our environment of resources, we ask you to consider sharing with our readers ideas, strategies to undo isolation, to re-unite people with shared ideas rather than shared fears.

Please consider sharing your ideas about how to reach people, create alliances and shape things regardless of the election results. What future can we co-create within and beyond the governmental structures around us and with which we must interface?

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Race & Faeries: Discuss Vol 46 No 4 #182 Summer 2020

Between the Lines Sometimes it takes a minute for something beautiful to come together.

That maxim can be applied to the QTIPOC (queer/trans/intersex people of color) issue you’re reading now.

How long did it take for this issue to see the light? Depends upon who you ask. Recently, someone said five years; someone else said less than that; others can’t remember. But it seems the idea has been there, a seed, patient and full of potential, holding on for the perfect moment.

As we write this in late May 2020, we are in a moment in the U.S., though you could argue it’s an imperfect, convulsive moment. As this issue has come together, the news has been roiled by heartbreaking events: the death of unarmed jogger Ahmaud Arbery, a black man in Georgia, gunned down by a white man accompanied by his also-armed father; the death of George Floyd, an unarmed, handcuffed black man in Minneapolis, killed by a white police officer who kept his knee on Floyd’s neck for some seven minutes; the death of Breonna Taylor, a black woman in Kentucky, killed during a police raid of her home, a raid in which, it’s been reported, officers didn’t knock before entering; and the death of Tony McDade, a black trans man in Florida, who, already a target of anti-trans violence, was killed by a police officer’s bullet. And these are the deaths we know about.

If it seems off-topic to bring this up in the nation’s oldest readergenerated gay quarterly, well, this nation has been dealing with race and racism—some could argue not dealing with race and racism—long before RFD put out its first issue in 1974. Here we are, more than 180 issues later, and this is the first issue centered on black and brown voices. Make that black and brown Faerie voices, who offer a range of viewpoints as they explore how race and racism play out in society, in their lives and even in heart circles.

Frankly, there was dread among editors that there might not be enough material for this issue, and RFD wonder-workers worried if the issue might have to be scrapped. Can you imagine the existential shitshow that would’ve followed? Thankfully, disaster was averted because the queens showed up, and the queens in these pages serve realness: real pain, real truth, real insight, real humor, real honesty, real love. There’s a feast here, enough to feed your mind, body, heart and soul. You’ll leave so well-fed, you won’t believe how hungry you’ve been for this work.

So. Race and Faeries. Don’t be afraid to dive in—and if the idea of diving in unnerves you, we still encourage you to dive in. It might have taken us a minute to bring you this legendary issue, but trust us: When you take in what these queens have to say, the minutes will fly by.

Enjoy the love and happy summer!

—The RFD Collective

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Submission Deadlines Fall–July 21, 2020 Winter—Oct 21, 2020 See inside covers for themes and specifics.

Cover photo: Rudolphe at the Third Global Gathering in South Africa makes a power gesture with these words: “Mayibuye!! I Africa!! Amandla!! Awethu!!”

For advertising, subscriptions, back issues and other information visit www.rfdmag.org. To read online visit www.issuu.com/rfmag.

RFD is a reader-written journal for gay people which focuses on country living and encourages alternative lifestyles. We foster community building and networking, explore the diverse expressions of our sexuality, care for the environment, Radical Faerie consciousness, and nature-centered spirituality, and share experiences of our lives. RFD is produced by volunteers. We welcome your participation.

The business and general production are coordinated by a collective.

Features and entire issues are prepared by different groups in various places.

RFD (ISSN# 0149-709X) is published quarterly for $25 a year by RFD Press, P.O. Box 302, Hadley MA 01035-0302.

Postmaster: Send address changes to RFD, P.O. Box 302, Hadley MA

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01035-0302. Non-profit tax exempt #62-1723644, a function of RFD Press with office of registration at 231 Ten Penny Rd., Woodbury, TN 37190.

RFD Cover Price: $11.95. A regular subscription is the least expensive way to receive it four times a year. First class mailed issues will be forwarded.

Others will not. Send address changes to submissions@rfdmag.org or to our Hadley, MA address. Copyright © RFD Press. The records required by Title 18 U.S.D. Section 2257 and associated with respect to this magazine (and all graphic material associated therewith on which this label appears) are kept by the custodian of records at the following location: RFD Press, 85 N Main St, Ste 200, White River Junction, VT 05001.

On the Covers

Front: “Rudolphe” by Kwai Lam Back: “Nateur & Rain”by Kerfuffle/mikekear.com Both covers from the Third Global Gathering held at Warmwaterberg Spa in South Africa.

Production

Guest Editor: Rosette Royale Managing Editor: Bambi Gauthier Art Director: Matt Bucy

Visual Contributors in this Issue

Images or pieces not directly associated with an article.

Artboydancing . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8,9,30,46,49,55,57,58 Eden . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18,20 EL. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32-33 Eugene Salandra . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13,52 Jombi. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Kerfuffle/mikekear.com. . Cover, 2,22,37,38,39,42,43 Kwai Lam. . . . . . . . . . . . . Cover, 24,34,35,36,40,41,45 Theoklymenos. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Timothy White Eagle and Adrian Chesser. . . . 11,59 Correction: The painting “Pagan Kiss” on page 28 of RFD 181 was incorrectly attributed. The correct attribution is Tino Rodriguez. Our apologies!

“Jacques & Saliva’s Wedding,” at the Gobal Gathering 3, Warmwaterberg Spa, South Africa Photograph by Kerfuffle / mikekear.com

CONTENTS Closed Community: Dealing with the Coronavirus. . . . . . . . . . . Bambi. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 One Small Faerie Step. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . White Eagle. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 I want to see the real boys . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Isaac Tommson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Hot Oil and Gold or, How We Got Here. . . . . Lapis Luxxxury. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Embracing the World. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Eden. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Fly Me High . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gary Edward Allen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 Prancing in the Streets as a Queer POC. . . . . Kwai Lam. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Gryphon Blackswan Speaks. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rosie Delicious. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 ancestor prayer # 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lapis Luxxxury. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Someone Who Looks Like Me. . . . . . . . . . . . . Pioneer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 undo my bondage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lapis Luxxxury. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 Revé at Circus of Books. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . EL. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Once Upon an African Faerie. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mother Nateur. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 Recollections from GG 3: Third Global Gathering in South Africa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Theoklymenos . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Back to Africa and the Mother City. . . . . . . . . Miqhey Miqxtja. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 medicine for white witch madness. . . . . . . . . . Lapis Luxxxury. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 A Letter to My 18 Year Old Self . . . . . . . . . . . . Isaac Tommson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 Black Men Who Love White Men . . . . . . . . . . Pioneer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 My Ashes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gary Edward Allen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51 Bromancing the Rookie Roofer . . . . . . . . . . . . Wes Hartley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 Against Social Distancing: A Call for Social Solidarity in this Time of Physical Distancing. . . . . . . . . . . . . Seth Holmes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56 Finisia Medrano. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Seda, Amara, Spider, Sighmoon and Jim . . . 59 Steve W. Whitlock. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sister Soami . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 RFD’s Legacy Now Online. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61

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Closed Community: Dealing with the Coronavirus

by Bambi

A

s most people reading this will realize, the coronavirus, also known as COVID-19, has become a global pandemic affecting the lives of millions of people around the world. An aspect of that impact has been the cancellation of many GLBTQ events—film festivals, Pride events, and the closure of many communities and places where many of RFD’s readers gather to create community.

As you know we’ve been running a gathering guide in our Spring issue annually for a while now listing gatherings from Oregon to China, from Ontario to New Zealand, from New Mexico to Austria, and the list goes on. So first off, although I assume everyone is checking each community’s websites for details how they are handling the COVID-19 crisis, I hope everyone will consider how to best handle the loss of access to community in this difficult time.

Many folks have organized Zoom events—a virtual dance party, a talent show, a heart circle—all done online and involving people from all over. So I commend people’s use of technology to assist in keeping community alive by experimenting how to engage community while “staying in place”.

That leads me to the other aspect of closure of many gathering sites, Faerie sanctuaries limiting or closing themselves off from accepting visitors.

As an editor at RFD, I’ve had the opportunity to engage with many members of the larger “gathering” in community and the spaces that host them, and so I have to say I’ve been very impressed with the internal conversations about “safe space”, queer space and sanctuary in a time like this. Many sanctuaries were founded either early in the Radical Faerie history or as a result of the need for safe spaces in the wake of the AIDS crisis. So it’s easy to draw analogies to providing sanctuary now as we did then during the period of HIV/AIDS. But like many communities faced with this dilemma who decided to limit or close themselves off to gatherings or visitors, I think we have a clear distinction to contend with—HIV was spread in a very narrow and specific way— through unprotected sexual contact, through needle use or via blood transfusion before the blood supple was tested. COVID-19 is a respira6

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tory illness which is easily spread in confined spaces. So people had to make a moral decision about how to maintain a safe space while also being aware of the limits of what a community could realistically provide.

I’ve seen a number of communities draft very useful letters detailing the reasons for limiting access to a property and the reasons events, gatherings and visitation were either limited or cancelled. I’ve seen online a number of people raise the issue of people facing oppression, people needing safe space in this difficult time and raising the issue of privilege versus those who are at the margins and are without. Painting these spaces as cis white male enclaves of privilege while the reality is that most of the spaces we inhabit, use to come together in are often not rich, not wealthy financially but also were never designed to provide services to a large number of people in a pandemic. People can harken back to the days of HIV but the reality is that Faerie sanctuaries especially were then very small microcosms of community they didn’t intend to serve the entire or whole community. By that I mean not words of self-limitation (saying white gay male) but in terms of the audience, the people in the “know”, people who understood what a place was, what it offered and I think most importantly who they knew there. Not ways of winnowing out women, people of color or others.

That we leap ahead forty odd years later those communities have grown, expanded involvement and thus began to include people. So then COVID-19 happens. And poof, they are places of exclusion. Yet I’d like to ask people to honestly ask ourselves about the honest ability of people in small communal settings handling a pandemic we’ve not seen since the 1918 flu pandemic?

So personally, I can fully understand each community making a judgement call about their ability to assist and provide for people in the larger community. I think it’s discerning of our ability as community and it also speaks to the larger conversations about how to deal with this virus—to limit contact, to “stay in place” and to limit exposure to others to both protect yourself

but also others as this virus is often asymptomatic in people who may have it. But it points to the issue of community providing for others.

But it’s worth discussing how we respond to a crisis, who do we “serve” or as I like to say, who am I beholden to since we’re not set up to provide services to people but rather we use the play’d like to think that the ethos of many of us is ful words “of being in service to the Circle”. But that we come together to learn about ourselves, I think if we delve deeply that “circle” is actubuild affinity with others, create common ground, ally those who we share immediate affinity with, make friends and find ways to heal, survive, thrive people we actually “know”. It’s hard for some of in this world. I understand us progressives to think that may not be easy for we’re somehow limited everyone in our comin our power to serve but munity and so we have to I also think it’s human, consider ways of finding it’s honest and frankly empathy, options and wise. How quickly would It’s hard for some of us manifesting ideas to solve a community or sanctuprogressives to think community problems. ary fail if it gave in an we’re somehow limited I think the sad realunlimited way? I want ization for many of us to believe in the idea of in our power to serve but in the Faerie sanctuary bounty but I also have to I also think it’s human, movement is that by its speak to finding creative it’s honest and frankly nature it’s limited—we ways to find it. So let’s us wise. How quickly don’t have a lot of money, engage in ways of speakour resources are more ing about the response would a community or cultural than physical and to COVID-19 in a variety sanctuary fail if it gave in the mainstream GLBTQ of ways to maintain our an unlimited way? I want community and our ragculture, keep some form to believe in the idea of tag communities often do of GLBTQ space available not engage about comand dialog about how bounty but I also have to munity needs or services, “sanctuary” works when speak to finding creative so when a crisis like this systemically it wasn’t ways to find it. occurs who do we tell designed to provide for people to call? everyone except to act It’s a difficult challenge as a gathering space on but I think it’s one we occasion and provide livshould seek to address as ing space for a delimited we move to shape comnumber of people. munity and finding ways to care for the people Meanwhile, I appreciate the online dance sesin our lives. But I hope we’ll also be mindful and sions, people sharing their personal stories on gentle with ourselves that this process is differsocial media and engaging without the outside ent from when communities were started—they world as deeply and lovingly as possible while were small, more homogenous and the cohort of also staying safe, mindful of others and as ever people were known entities in a way which is not reaching to listen as often we share ideas, dreams so easy to say now with the expansion of numbers and goals but we have to put those into practice and the diversity within those numbers. I pray we first. Stay safe everyone and see you at the next all continue to be playful, honest and mindful of fire circle. what we can take on.

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8 RFD 182 Summer 2020 “Kid” by Artboydancing

RFD 182 Summer 2020 9 “Partyboy” by Artboydancing

One Small Faerie Step

By White Eagle

A

t times the Breitenbush Winter Gathering makes me feels like I am a cow at a family reunion in a slaughterhouse.

But I’m getting ahead of myself...

Side note: I am roughly sixty percent Indigenous American and forty percent white; I was given up for adoption and placed in an all-white home; there were very few people of any color, other than white, in school or church. I remember one black man in our town of 3600 people. Everyone called him “Blacky.”

As an adult I learned that my hometown had once been a “sundown town,” where black people were arrested if found on the street after sunset. My Mormon church taught me that the color of my skin was a curse brought about by the misdeeds of my ancestors, and that if I lived a righteous life the curse might be lifted and my descendants would be born “light and delightsome,” My father taught me that Indigenous folks where drunks and lived off welfare. I was raised to assimilate and ignore my Indigenous heritage. I was trained that white was better. I developed a kind of racial dysmorphia: I was brown but thought I was white. In my late twenties when I started to connect with Indigenous folks, I was told that “I need to learn how to talk Indian, because I sounded too white,” A while ago... maybe five years ago. I was at the Breitenbush winter gathering. It was populated by predominately white male-ish folks, over 150 white or white passing/looking folks - and maybe four folks who definitely looked not-white-passing. This was the typical composition of Breitenbush gatherings of the time.

Side note: I mostly pass as non-threatening whiteadjacent, i.e. white folks in liberal areas treat me as a “safe” minority; in conservative areas I am treated with suspicion. And shopping in the South, I get followed around by the store security.

Breitenbush winter gathering is a concentrated gathering, four and a half days, and it’s cold and snowy outside, and the main lodge becomes a central hive. It’s a fair bit overwhelming, all that faerie magic crammed into a tight container of a not-thatbig mountain lodge. At times it feels like I am a cow 10 RFD 182 Summer 2020

at a family reunion in a slaughterhouse, waiting in line. It’s hot, all your old friends and some fresh meat are there, it’s crowded, and you’re both excited and scared. There’s a guy in a cowboy hat pulling your ponytail, the doors are about to open, and you’re sure something is going to happen but you’re not sure if it’s a good thing.

Side note: Breitenbush, i.e. “BB,” is off-grid. Everything is heated with geothermal steam heat. The windows get sweaty, it’s warm and moist inside but cool and moist outside, the no-talent show always goes on too long, and you’re not supposed to have sex in the hot springs, but whatever...

It’s the first afternoon, everyone is arriving and settling in. Through the cackles, screams of delight and hellos, I see a new overwhelmed face across the packed lobby. They were literally the darkest queen in the room, and they look like they just got hit by a stun gun. I try to reach them to say hello, but I get distracted by a hairy faerie in a “Nasty Pig” union suit and glittered cowboy hat who grabs my ponytail, telling me he wants to go on a horsey ride. I’ll find the overwhelmed queen later, I think...

Side note: “Nasty Pig”-whatever-boring-yawnposer: You don’t need a logo to be a pig. #youpaid120foraunionsuit?

I missed the Overwhelmed Queen, and for the next couple of days I looked for them. BB has the central hub of the lodge, but it’s still a large camp with cabins, hot springs, out buildings: It’s easy to lose track of folks. For a couple of days, I’m looking, and finally I start asking around, and no one knows who I’m talking about, even though they were so distinctive. FINALLY, someone knows who I’m talking about, and the Overwhelmed Queen left two hours after arriving. I was told he got there and just felt “the gathering wasn’t for them...”

I went to heart circle the next the day. I didn’t go with the intention of saying anything. I sat there looking into the loving and well-meaning faces, there were about 60 folks present -- all of them looked white.

Side note: This is the white-side of me talking. If you’re thinking right now, “I don’t see the color of a person’s skin,” then you should read “White Fragility”

by Robin DiAngelo. Seriously, you need this book. It’s amazing and helpful.

I stand up and say something to the effect of “Do you ever think about how white this circle is?

I think about it a lot, and I have been coming here for years hoping some of you will see what I see.

This is a really white circle, this gathering is a white institution. Are you willing to change that? Are there changes you’re willing to make?” Or something like that...

Two days later I believe it was, Hammer and Riversong, or maybe someone else, I don’t remember who (I was tripping on mushrooms until late the night before, giving horsey rides to the hairy faerie, so everything was a little foggy. Anyway…).

Someone gets up at the last heart circle of the gathering and announces that the Breitenbush Faerie community had come together to establish

“MotherSisterDaddyQueen, Bibi, Timothy White Eagle,” photograph by Timothy White Eagle and Adrain Chesser.

a POC Faerie travel fund, to support POC faeries getting to more gatherings.

Side note: If your response to this idea of a POC travel fund is “But there is no white faerie travel fund,” Google “equality vs equity.” And if you’d like to hear a different perspective on the matter, then you should definitely read “White Fragility.”

So that, my friends, is one small faerie step toward a more inclusive and equitable gathering. My work/travel schedule has gotten so crazy, it’s been a few years since I’ve gotten to attend a BB gathering, but the last time I checked the travel fund seemed to be helping support a more inclusive gathering space, More POC folks are showing up. The creation of the fund was not universally supported, but the conversation generated by the idea of the fund helped to open the community to larger conversations about race and white dominance within faerie space. And for all this I am grateful.

I am grateful for the community that is willing see and hear me and consider my perspective.

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I want to see the real boys I want to see their chests, Their vibrant sensitive chests, Their big and masculine chests.

I want to see their eyes; That have seen everything, From a social battlefield, Inspired by the ancients.

The eyes that know what to do, The eyes that feel deeply what a man is.

I want to see the real boys, The real, surviving, powerful boys.

The boys who don’t pass, The boys who can’t bind, The boys who don’t have it.

The boys who are poor, Who are rejected, Who are multi-oppressed, Who are sons of immigration.

I want to see the real boys; In movies, in concerts, in shows, In magazines, in books, I want to see them accepted, respected and celebrated.

I want them to be seen by people, They all deserve what they need.

I want to see them happy, with enough Food and love in their life.

I want to see them alive and safe, Doing what they want to do, People can’t judge their survival.

I want to see them older, safer and prouder, With their family, passion and motivation.

I want to see them growing, improving and living.

I want to see the boys alive and making their own world.

—Isaac Tommson

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“Side Eye Angel in the Clouds” by Eugene Salandra.

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Hot Oil and Gold or, How We Got Here

By Lapis Luxxxury

I Making fried chicken is a gift and legacy that is handed to a few. My grandmother Iris Simpson was a nurse, and owned her own apartment building in Brooklyn. Whenever I visited, there was always fried chicken, rice and beans [a thoroughly cooked bean, mind you {a bean shouldn’t fight back at you in your mouth when you bite down on it}]. I was taught by the best though; Markiss Sagee, LoveLee Day, Mothersistedaddy Queen, and Oborion. We have all made the love together, that is frying chicken. I have also fried chicken with a dear beloved friend now, Mother Ruth, Troy Clark.

Mother Ruth told me to brine the chicken overnight in a salt from not around here. This is when you put your love and incantations and prayers for the coming times. It helps to create high tones in your food so your food can and will be in high vibrations. As we learned in the beautiful novel, Like Water for Chocolate, by Laura Esquivel, “Sometimes she would cry for no reason at all, like when Nancha chopped onions, but since they both knew the cause of those tears, they didn’t pay them much mind. They made them a source of entertainment, so that during her childhood Tita didn’t distinguish between tears of laughter and tears of sorrow. For her laughing was a form of crying.”

I am here to claim black, all the way through; myself, my story and what has happened to me; just so there is no deceit or twists as to how this journey is gonna go for us all. You may get confused, but center in yourself and hold to the ground that is beneath you. If things are unsettling, ground in your breath and move forward into a new understanding and growth, because now is the time for growth and understanding, and I am one your guides. You may be angry that it is me, not being the best writer on the face of the scenarios, but I am the one that made the effort, has the patience, and wisdom to offer to you what I know and have experienced directly in my 20 years with Radical Faeries in many different woods and communities.

II I got here because of Gryphon Blackswan.

Grand diva who had the brilliance, who is an 14 RFD 182 Summer 2020

ancestor, and had the bravery of gender non-binaries and opulence that is a gift bestowed upon myself. They laid this ground before I stepped on it. As a baby shamyn, Jesse Kessel summed it plumly: The truth is trouble. She is a beautiful dancer, a chameleon. She may be lapis in this queen’s eye and turquoise in another.

Truth is a funny thing when most folks don’t want it, banned and formed into a palatability suitable for the marketplace. When the truth is banned by the government you know you are in trouble. We are way past trouble, we are in the bubble hubble of the trouble now, hun. I actually can’t believe I’m the one to write to you about it.

In my life truth ain’t come easy. I have found sometimes there is inherent understanding that happens inside yourself with your body, gut and soul. Folks work with it. Living in a truth one has to balance what one understands with what folks can handle and that is often a very uncomfortable place to be, and yet isn’t this often the case for POCs in our lives? Being brave is what is called for these days. Have courage. Allow one to understand that days are going to be tougher, but that in the process we must allow ourselves to get and become better. Lately on my feed I have had to come out about how angry I am, understanding that the undue deaths of black people seem to be never ending.

III I got here because a beautiful man one night loved me and shook me like I had never been and have yet to again—thanks Kencarl aka Everritt Wilde. That is how most gay beings get to where they are going, through love and sex.

In mountains far off I watch my sex not be centered, cherished and honored. I watched my words and imagination be fracked for a movement and not given in reciprocity; the way that my words and other black folks’ words made a middle passage through. In our full linguistic abilities we taught beings how to channel, how to actualize, how to train. Others helped, but Jupiter, she reigned. Now a whole court of empresses must hold the space she wielded so grandly. So grand. I’m here to celebrate living here while we can, because we don’t do that enough: in writing, in action, and in care.

I’m here because of the people who helped me to pass or if I kept my mouth quiet enough—if I did get where I am. My full grace and bow goes to Jombi not rock the boat—that I could change queers below Superstar aka Jeffrey Stovall. Our lives were both the Mason-Dixon line in Tennessee. tough, though Jombi had it tougher than I did, and These days I have to admit I am not sure I did they made ways for me to come through Tennesmore than create the goals I had set out to do, help see. I did not follow the guidelines my dear Mother to heal the ancestors at Short Mountain SanctuSuperior Superstar laid out for me when I said I was ary, and help to get a dance of all people there. My going to Tennessee to help make a Naraya happen, tokenism made way for so many other people there. and I had goals to heal the ancestors of a commune IV in the hills of Tennessee some twenty one years ago.

Part of my mission in moving to Short Mountain I am here because I was loved by men who was to erect Jombi’s legend as an Eiffel tower might had the bravery to love me. I thank them, includbe raised in the center of Paris. ing and not forgetting leopard. I was only able to I watched each of my people-of-color comrades remain on a short mountain because I was in a at a short mountain sancrelationship, functional tuary not be supported in or not, with them. Even if ways that worked thickly it wasn’t for all the right and deeply. I watched it reasons we functioned happen to me. I had come as an interracial couple, Truth is a funny thing to not expect understandthe second one of legend when most folks don’t ing and had allowed myself to make it on the hills of want it, banned and to drown in what I thought Tennessee, where that formed into a palatability was movement-making; love is not supposed to be but it was anger, self-pity allowed or made to thrive. suitable for the and doubt. I am here bemarketplace. When the V cause of great priestesses I truth is banned by the met along the way like VaTo love me is to love skin, government you know lencia Wombone. Whom class, status, and weight.

I met at a Move memoAll of these I left behind you are in trouble. We are rialization at Vanderbilt because I understood them way past trouble, we are University, where Romona to be artefacts, made by in the bubble hubble of Africa was speaking. How society in order to keep us the trouble now, hun. I I got to understand the separated and not together. beauty of my blackness, the Let’s dig a little deeper actually can’t believe I’m deepness of how hard it is into my shamangry, shall the one to write to you to raise a child in the hills we? It’s juicy down there. about it. of Tennessee and to be, at Producing kool-aid chalthat time, not fully apprecilenges, casserole cook-offs ated for that work. All that and events every season at was hard and is still hard to SMS to help keep the comwitness. munity thriving and afloat. I I watched my brothers and sisters and in-bewatched jobs be passed over and around me and then tweens, for one reason or another, be cast out of and people wondered why I was poor; or how I made my exorcised from houses, sanctuaries and communilife work, because it wasn’t supposed to work within ties. It is still happening silently, deftly and strongly. the guidelines. Now it isn’t funny­—but back then I It’s hard because many have just supposed it is the made it funny. natural way things have gone, and it is a shame that The other day I posted on my feed that we are so many opportunities have been asked for, in as angry. For two days there were crickets. It was somber tones as we could. I watched myself and an experiment that I’m not sure was successful. I other brothers and sisters be maligned when our was writing this article, and I was really mad, at so language was still being used to fund and keep the much, and I needed others to be angry as well so culture moving and profiting. I foolishly believed I we could conduct that anger. I call it shamangry: was the exception, that because I had a spiritual hall Shamyn + Angry = shamangry.

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The one thing so many people are afraid of is a black queen’s anger. I test my audiences all the time, they never know when it is gonna happen. It’s why I don’t always get all the good dicks (not that I haven’t gotten some good dicks, mind you, but…). In the dark, allies may objectify and take in the black man’s anger, but in the daylight, silence. Where is the black diva’s truth then? Lost inside, like a mummy wrapped in silence that turns in on itself, but should be instead composted, loved, and allowed to turn into the beautiful flower that they is. I understand folks ain’t gonna go out in their cars to do a million-car march about how racist our president is. These days they fear an army of armed bigots coming for them.

And yet when those they stood up for, all those days ago, had the same if not more up against them, they stood as we actually must now.

I’m here to talk to you about truth, not anger.

It seems in life one must again offer a homogenized, consensual truth, one palatable and nourishing of the time. If your truth is too fermented or sour, it may not be digested. Palatability has been a trick so many have had to balance and make work.

VI I searched for my ancestors James Baldwin, Audre Lorde, Octavia Butler and Toni Morrison, the council of wise, read and published authors.

They had dealt in an unhomogenized racism that was raw hot. Our racism is more invisible now, nuanced, sly, subtle, untouchable, swift and deadly, like a virus. Racism and classism have mutated into larger forms of themselves.

I received no easy answers from the elders for you. So I have my own experiences in my life to reflect on, so that I can give you, maybe, a way through and forward.

Many, many decades it took me to alchemize the hate that was in my body, the words used against me, at me, toward and about me. Whatever the crisis, inner workings and resilience must be formed in one’s self to work out the days, weeks, years, and decades of violence that falls upon yourself. We have no choice but to work out our stuff and the stuff our parents gave us in the here and now, and as James Baldwin mentions leave a light on for when someone else comes down the trail looking for themselves. So if you are struggling to work it out: Please, I understand this inner work isn’t easy but may I offer you space, light and understanding to do whatever in16 RFD 182 Summer 2020

ner work you have to do now. Your guides and gay angels are there to help you in this journey.

VII I was taught to lay chicken in coconut milk for at least two-and-high hours before frying.

Markiss Sagee taught me that I was never to allow water to hit your fry oil while cooking or your whole batch of oil is ruined. They are correct. So often our wisdom gets hated on because we know and have been through things, not because we ever want to be right.

I am here because a kind man from Jamaica and a sometimes wonderful British woman adopted me. Bill Simpson is one of the most patient men I have ever known and I am here because they adopted me. When a brown boy in Roswell, New Mexico, could not accept their skin, I was taken in and raised as best as they could. My father is a great man and I am blessed to have them still and present in my life. Now I am so thankful for them and the love they share with me.

I pass this alchemy onto you, dear reader: Find a way to love in the midst of all that is in front of you. Never let someone tell you who and how to love. Find a way to turn what is before you into a gold that works and is available to more than yourself. I am here, dear reader, to encourage you to alchemize this racism into love, into truth and into a light that we will all hopefully dance under like beautiful “disco healing rays, ” as Jombi Superstar would say.

“My silences had not protected me. Your silence will not protect you, But for every real word spoken, for every attempt I had ever made to speak these truths for which I am still seeking, I had made contact with other women, while we examined the words to fit a world in which we believed, bridging our differences.” The Cancer Journals, Audre Lorde “Just like that chicken coop, everything has four sides: his side, her side, an outside, and an inside. All of it is the truth one has.” Mama Day, Gloria Naylor.

“Untitled” by Jombi.

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18 RFD 182 Summer 2020

Photographs courtesy author.

Embracing the World

By Eden

B

eing a queer person of color in the world is akin to being a lotus flower in the mud.

I seed and blossom simultaneously. In the age of Buzzfeed quizzes and social media soundbites, most people are looking for short answers to many long and historically problematic questions. What I always want to know from people is, why are you asking about my experience?

What are you really wanting to learn? Am I being lumped into a category under the umbrella of your perceptions or are you interested in ME and my actual life?

A real turn-off is the assumption that because of my skin color, I am automatically disenfranchised.

I didn’t grow up poor, I didn’t grow up feeling inferior to others and I didn’t grow up believing that my access to the world was limited. Also a turn-off is the assumption that I hate white people or that I am a cheerleader for call-out culture. I do not and I am not.

Some of my best friends are white!

Lots of well-intentioned and good-natured folks can be incredibly clueless and tone deaf when it comes to this. Yes, even and especially in Faerie space. Not every person of color wants to spend precious time in sanctuary complaining about “WHYT Folks” or educating people about “what it’s like to be a person of color in faerie space”. Short answer: it’s exhausting being your teacher. Longer answer: every person of color has a different experience because believe it or not (and contrary to what is often portrayed in the media)…we are all different people, from different backgrounds, with different cultural reference points, leading different lives.

Interested in knowing a little more about what my experience is like? Read on…

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et’s address the term QTIPOC (Queer, Trans, Intersex, Person of Color).

The fact that this label exists at all is a win.

For generations, many of us were not afforded the privilege of self-identification.

We were property. We were given the names of

our owners. Many of us couldn’t read or write so we signed our names with “X”. We were referred to as “Boy” or “Mammy” or worse.

We still are. Language is very powerful in shaping a person’s identity.

It’s taken a lot of healing for me to identify myself in a way that rings true. I am a black, gay man of mixed African, Latino and Native-American heritage. My muggle name is Damani and my Faerie name is Eden, chosen to help me remember to have compassion, forgiveness, mindfulness and patience for all that grows in my garden.

QTIPOC is a great mother agency but as an independent contractor, I prefer black.

I consider it a badge of pride and resistance, a legacy I proudly inherit.

I’m not hung up on pronouns for myself but I respect how others choose to identify.

If prompted, my pronouns are he/him. I also like “Gurl” with a U during a kiki, “Biiish” when I’m being fierce and sometimes “Faggot” when i’m being facefucked. Sometimes.

These are fun bullet points but they’re not my sum total.

As a gay black man, I have often felt demonized, fetishized or completely ignored.

Radical Faerie culture has helped me build and cultivate new narratives around these paradigms.

We are an intentional community and we are powerful. When we come together, the healing is nothing short of magical. I have profound gratitude for the ancestors, who guide me through our spaces with an open mind. I have met he’s, she’s, they’s and them’s from all over the world who have shown genuine interest in my heart, my mind and my body in ways that have helped open previously locked doors. I have been held as I wept by the fire.

I have thrown epic vinyl parties amongst the trees.

I’ve had romantic dinners with elders during Beltane and basked in the history of our culture. I have had my 6’4” frame turned inside out with pleasure RFD 182 Summer 2020 19

by trans dwarfs (their word) and I have laughed and laughed and laughed until I thought I couldn’t laugh anymore…and then I laughed some more. I have seen the scaffolding of my negative self-beliefs crumble into the earth, into the hole, wrapped around the pole.

Of the important questions asked in this call to share, what resonated most was “How does the world embrace me?” It’s a question every person can benefit from objectively asking themselves, regardless of label. It’s a question of humanity. For me, it’s more important to ask myself how I embrace the world. What choices am I making? What’s my level

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of commitment to living a good life? What barometer of integrity have I decided upon?

Due in large part to my presentation, the envelope in which I’ve been chosen to travel through life, I feel the world rarely sees the contents of me accurately. I’m no stranger to mixed reviews. I get reduced to projections through thumbnail culture, so I choose to define myself, living openly and lovingly, focusing on trying to understand rather than needing to be understood.

It’s up to me to have the courage to be who I am.

People’s opinion of me is none of my business. I am illuminated from within.

Photograph courtesy author.

Fly Me High Fly me high on the wings of tomorrow And bring an end to all of this sorrow Seems that all hope is slowly dying But know I will never give up on trying In a dangerous light we have been cast And it’s only the fear of dying that lasts Can we come together and make a stand For the future lies in these empty hands Endless teardrops fall in the acid rain So many hearts cry out in endless pain Imprisoned by these lonesome four walls As in ancient Rome could humanity fall With all the people and their collective fear It seems that Armageddon draws near Maybe Heaven holds a place for those who pray Hope for tomorrow shining brighter than today As we scatter the ashes of our dearly departed This leaves us all torn and brokenhearted As this plague continues to hit close to home Many thousands of souls die all alone We pray for answers with the coming light And an end to the nightmares in the night Seek the answers on the wings of a prayer We may turn around and hope will be there Got to summon the strength from within Let a new bond of love and care begin

—Gary Edward Allen

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22 RFD 182 Summer 2020

“Jubilee and Pancake” at the Global Gathering 3, South Africa, 2020, photograph by Kerfuffle / mikekear.com.

Prancing in the Streets as a Queer POC

By Kwai Lam

“T

wice Blessed; twice cursed” was the title of a dance performance piece I did years ago. As a Mutt of half-Chinese and half -northern European ancestry, and a queer of indeterminate gender, my experience has always been that of an outsider welcomed in.

On the one hand growing up there was never anyone like dad (Cantonese, intellectual, never worked for anyone else in his life, pioneer in a field) portrayed in the media. “We” were either the exotic sexualized Geisha, Chan the Chinese Chauffeur, or Bruce Lee. And there were certainly no families on TV where one parent came from Asian ancestry and the other from white-bread land (Mom grew up in Providence, Rhode Island, and her family had been in Iowa, of Scottish etc. descent). We were, simply, invisible.

I always felt a bit like an ambassador from another planet, an alien. In school there were never kids who looked like me. They tended to be more white, more Christian (my families’ churches were the land: wild crafting, gardening, skinny dipping; the kitchen and the concert hall) and comfortably unquestioning in what in today’s fashion would be labeled as the “dominant” culture. But there was always a freedom in this; I enjoyed it. The “dominant rules” had no sway over me: I have fond memories of turning my head to watch the soccer ball go by during sports—then to return to my examination of the buttercups, or wander off again into the woods. One could try to “uncouple” this vignette: was this from my Taoist detachment from the physical, or my pagan focus on my green friends around, or the sissy who simply wouldn’t be bothered by the group’s sportiness? But why uncouple?

On the other hand normalities of gender and sexuality always felt external to me, they never had much import. I recall realizing at some early point, definitely well before puberty, that my gaze at the boys was similar to how most of them would check out the girls. I don’t remember being perturbed by this, just bemused. In retrospect my foundational sense of otherness that came out of being a Mutt made this part of my journey easier. Once one sees oneself as an outsider, finding another aspect that “outs” one (pun intended) can be an easy reinforcement rather than traumatic unravelling.

Looking back now I realize that three things came together to make this much easier: the strong love from Mom and Dad, our sense of togetherness in a strange land, and the ways in which they modeled joyfully blazing their own paths. These gave (and still give) me a sense of safety, family within, and possibility. And as a Mass-hole (someone from Massachusetts) a bit of armor.

Whence the “curse?” There was loneliness here too: I recall Mom saying that “we’re the only interracial couple in our part of Cambridge” (that being around Harvard/academia). I’ve often described myself as a fringe of a fringe of a fringe: half Asian Mutt, midst the Radical Faeries, midst the “gays,” dangling off of modern America.

Or maybe there’s a fourth: as one of the hippy persuasion, with a taste for hippy lovers as well— even among Radical Faeries we are a rare breed!

Or as the queer in the room of media activists, or Contact Improv dancers…

T

here can be a desire for more dimensions of overlap too. I came out into the Radical Faeries in the early eighties, back when reading Feminist and Left critiques was part of our education: I remember thinking it would be great if there were more folks of similar background there, or others reflecting the diversity of the Boston area. And in my involvement in the anti-nuclear power movement then, wondering where all the queers were…

Sometimes it’s simply a matter of looking around and wondering where the people that look like oneself are. The most diverse Radical Faerie gathering I recall was one in Malibu, outside of Los Angeles, in the eighties. We had a People of Color caucus and big tent of around fifty people.

We offered a ritual to the gathering: which I recall was driven by drumming and singing and delightfully non-expository, nonlinear, and powerful. For many it was the high point of that gathering. (Note to organizers: We were near Los Angeles, it was a ten-day gathering, and folks were welcome to come for the time they could, be it an afternoon or a day.

This helped a lot!)

In my forty years of Radical Faerydom (how has it been that long??) I’ve had my own journey around this. Moments of feeling so held, so RFD 182 Summer 2020 23

loved, so seen; others where the preponderance of thought, approach and language from faeries of particular backgrounds seemed rich, and at others, limiting. Many in this community see themselves as color-blind (and for that matter gender-blind): approaching each and everyone for who they are rather than via a box. But sometimes it’s not so easy, oft times confusing. I’ve been “triggered” and

called to be a fringe of a fringe? And why should they care? And when we (and hence I) offer up a desire for more inclusion, what are we offering, and what are we seeking, aside from assuaging liberal guilt?

We’ve had more discussions around “diversity,” or “lack thereof ” than I can remember, including at the FaePosiums we organized back when. Who are we to presume that people of other backgrounds are interested in how we are with each other, in what we do, in Radical Faery culture in general?

L

seen others as well; only to ponder later was “it” really there, what was their intent?

It’s been rare to see another Asian American (AA) in RadFae space. But aside from some parts of a few metro areas in the US, it’s pretty rare in the wider GLBT community. At times I’ve crossed paths with other AAs and started to tell them about Faeries, to have their eyes immediately glaze over. We are not for everyone. How many are 24 RFD 182 Summer 2020

ooking at how POC have influenced Radical Faerie culture I’d start with the foundation rarely mentioned these days: the Black Power Movement. For this was one of the inspirations for the modern LGBT movement, us included.

Ditto Feminism. Both inspired us to take power, and oft the steps of stepping outside and creating our own space to do so.

We stand on their shoulders. I hope we never forget this debt.

More recently I invoke Gryphon Blackswan, long an ancestor, whose fierce fabulousness inspired me and many others. Gryphon spoke eloquently about how he wondered who would have his back: being so queer that the Afro American community was challenged by him, and so Black that he made many faeries uncomfortable.

I’ve heard this conundrum from other Radical Faerie of Color.

And yet many of us persist.

As a community and culture, we are also strongly influenced

by First Nations folks. For more than twenty years the Dance for All People (DFAP), aka Naraya, has been danced at the Wolf Creek sanctuary. Led by Two Spirit Clyde Hall (Shoshone Bannock and French), a number of elders from other tribes including long time Radical Faerie ThunderCloud. This on top of the influences that Harry Hay had from Wovoka and others. Interestingly, Wolf Creek is the biggest of the eight dances, and another is based around Short Mountain, TN. Photograph courtesy author.

The DFAP has been a fertile learning ground for myself and many, many other Radical Faeries. We have learned so much about ritual: the importance of ritual container and how to move energy. As Radical Faeries we come into the Dance, individually and as a community, with a good facility at raising energy—but much less so directing it once its around. This has enriched my ritual practice and that of many others. And many of us have brought this home to the Radical Faerie communities.

“Elders:” seeing them, caring for them, valuing them and seeing how human they are has been another rich area where the Dance has helped the faery community grow. Some have found this challenging: particularly given the weakness of this concept in many of our upbringing, combined with the obstacles we’ve overcome with authority figures as queer freaks. Throw a little anarchist anti-authoritarianism, with a dash of personal damage, and it can be fun mixture. But I’ve found these lessons around elder-hood well worth it: and these days very timely, as many of us are getting on. Radical Faerie culture has always had a good mixture of ages—that’s been one of our strong points for me—the Dance has provided us good modes for how to relate.

“Rooting our Wild:” So much of our Radical Faerie culture is about uncoupling from our Judeo-Christian world view and separation from nature. Nature is seen as “wild;” we are “cultured.”

We are pretty good at co-creating ecstatic states where this happens. But we have a long road back to this place. As ThunderCloud observed once, the Dance comes from continuous traditions, and is rooted in ways that were not lost. As such it offers us a way to root ourselves in an unbroken stream.

ThunderCloud also observed that it won’t “make us Indians,” but does provide a way for us to connect and feel magic in that way, and it’s then up to us to take that forward, with our own roots, our own traditions, our own lost indigenousness. This is a rich side of teachings about how to be in ritual, how to live life.

“Laughing at adversity:” Writing this at the time of the Covid pandemic, I’m struck with how valuable humor is in survival. How much humor there is on Clyde’s reservation and others, in the Dance.

How important that is in persevering…and knowing when not to laugh because one is uncomfortable, and sit with it.

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he call for this issue asks what we want to pass along to the younger among us.

My first wish would be, as Clyde Hall says, “Don’t throw anyone away.” Clyde talks about how in his tribe everyone is valued, everyone is seen as being their own gift from Spirit. We may not understand it, we may not like it: but don’t throw yourself, or anyone else, away. As those who bob at the intersection of the waves of gender, the waves of ethnicity, and the waves of sexuality there are few of us as it is. Let’s welcome each other, nurture each other, and, yes, laugh at and with each other.

My second wish is to listen, embrace, celebrate, comfort and let go. This applies to each other, to our friends, to our lovers and to our emotions and thoughts.

My third wish is enjoy what you find rich and nurturing in any relationship, situation, or community. As a gift. As a lesson. As something to resonate with, but not to expect.

My fourth wish is that when you see an area that is weak, or could be enrichened, you work to grow it. Whether it’s you, or you recruit…don’t complain; invoke! (And if someone “pushes your buttons” perhaps there’s a gift, a lesson there—for YOU. To rephrase an ACT UP axiom: “Buttons = Growth.”)

My fifth wish: realize that all we can do is our best. Our best may not look like much to someone else—or theirs may look totally inadequate to us.

Nurture, sure; challenge, perhaps; criticize not so fast (what does it gain, anyhow?).

My sixth wish: to take responsibility for our own safety. While we do the best to do what we can to take care of each other, we may have different notions of safety. And maybe this responsibility leads you to the street, the fire circle, or the ballot box.

My Seventh wish: relationships. Nurture, savor, balance and when needed work to repair them. The webs that hold us, that we weave together, are key to our health, happiness and that of our communities.

M

y final and main wish: realize how precious life is, act accordingly to yourself and others.

Don’t sweat the small stuff. Laugh. Find your fears and dance with them. Dance joyfully, even when you’re sad. Dance full on. Dance for your life! Dance for All life.

When you march to the beat of a different drummer (yourself ), don’t expect lots of company on the way. But you may be delightfully surprised who joins you for a bit as you pass by.

All our Relations My Kwai Speedy Eye Mum Outs RFD 182 Summer 2020 25

Gryphon Blackswan Speaks Trannelled by Rosie Delicious

Recorded 5 pm, 5/15/20, Liberty State Park in which I felt fear for being the scribe to wit Gryphon replied: “please excuse the white scribe Yet Rosie Delicious gets to do this cuz of our Relationship wrought thru the years”

We black folk know Community as the necessary Foundation to staying alive That community extends thru Time thru the ages and Encompasses an epic journey Of peoples’ enslavement and Their ultimate endurance We know our struggles We KNOW our endurance As no one else still endures More than we in white man’s America For as we know No other race has suffered like we And we know that in our bones made from The same DNA as the bones of our ancestors Thus to know ourselves down to our bones We must know our Ancestors & in so knowing Know ourselves

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We look to our ancestors For the wisdom in their stories As those intertwined in ours Like one giant tapestry Weaving us together So that so connected We feed the ancestors as they feed us The link is unbroken - it is interwoven It is in our bones children Connect to your bones Know yourself deep within You are divine - Xtra divine Dwell in it & thru it!

Bless the world with your Fierce presence & NEVER Look back—except to See your ancestors blessing You on your journey PEACE! OUT! GB

G

ryphon Blackswan, ibae, is a beloved ancestor to many in our extended communities. S/he was a fierce queen, an amazing designer of fabrics and fashions, an avowed temple whore, a Loving Companion, and, most importantly, an empowered black man who blessed many by their gifts and acts throughout a life cut short by AIDS. Gryphon has been very active as an ancestor, interacting with many folk sharing stories, ideas, visions, songs and dances from beyond the veil. In fact, this article exists due to Gryphon prodding me to get on with showing how being in relationship with ancestors is a core tenet and practice within African religions. I know this from my time within a Santeria Ile in Brooklyn.

Gryphon came into my knowing whilst I was at my first Sex Magick workshop at Wolf Creek in July 1996. Gryphon had died that April and we held a memorial ritual for them, allowing me to witness the effect Gryphon had had on those who offered their tributes. Five years later I was to meet Gryphon unexpectedly within an ancestor aspecting ritual held by Donald Engstrom at the first Faerie Shaman gathering at Zuni Mountain Sanctuary in September 2001.

We entered the labyrinth with the instruction to “meet an ancestor who loves us beyond all reason.” I

thought I’d run into one of the ancestors who’d show up at the Missa Blancas we’d have at the Ile twice a month. Instead, a voice inside said: “OK Girl—do your thing and I’ll come to you.” I knew exactly what this meant, so at the easternmost stone in the labyrinth’s outer circle, I dropped my skirt, bent over, and opened my butt lips to kiss the sun—the Rosie Delicious salutation! From then on, I have had Gryphon Blackswan in my life as a guide, a teacher, and a friend.

Gryphon taught me how to call out to her, which I did that afternoon in May and wrote down the words she spoke in my inner ears. Gryphon means to share this with you as a teaching and an exhortation, especially to you Legendary Children of Color reading this: your relationship with your ancestors can literally keep you alive—in spirit AND in body. These are troubling times and the ancestors are ever-present and ready to help! KNOW them + their stories = CALL out to them + then sit to listen + BE!

Gryphon Blackswan from Fakir Musafar’s Body Play magazine.

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BLESSED BE OUR ANCESTORS!!!

MAY THEIR MEMORIES BE ETERNAL!!!

Here’s an interview with Gryphon on YouTube: www.youtube.com/watch?v=rolKYhDyJNo.

ancestor prayer # 5 we feel your sadness in the wind and go on asking why, you all are closer to the light help take us there.

your steps have brought us here we live your love, everyday: the work you have done is not forgotten over the concrete. I hear you i am blessed for your acknowledgement.

your pain is the void we wish to fill and think it is our own—I thank you all for lighting eagles to show us our way. sept 7 2000 —Lapis Luxxxury

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Someone Who Looks Like Me

By Pioneer

I

am someone who has never fully fit in anywhere.

There has always been one thing that made me stand out from the crowd. And it was different with every community I was a part of. Obviously being gay was one. Being black was another. Then being spiritual or not drinking or being sexually active.

The list goes on and on.

I think what’s beautiful about the Faeries is that you can be who you are. WHATEVER THAT LOOKS LIKE. It doesn’t have to look the same as anybody else. You can be your own person. There’s no uniform. No stereotype. Just YOU. I don’t necessarily have anything in common with the Faeries. But we do share one thing: None of us fit in anywhere else. And we’re fine with that.

And we support each other in that. The fact that we are our authentic selves IS what we share in common. Not necessarily how we express it.

That said, I am beginning to realize it IS important to have someone I can relate to as a friend within the community. I have been lucky to have recent experiences with other Faeries around the world who were black like me.

The difference was ENORMOUS. Believe it or not, there are some things that you can relate to simply because of race: shared experiences. Whether it is the color of your skin, spirituality, or sexuality, these things define our culture and how black people see the world.

Photograph courtesy author.

This common ground transcends cultures and boundaries. I have met black Fairies in Africa, Europe, and North America. There is something special about being able to relate— not just as a Faerie, but as a black person. There is a shared struggle around the world.

Unfortunately, part of that universal struggle is white supremacy, which leads to racism, oppression, and fetishization. When I talk to black Faeries, we’ve all experienced this to some level. In life and with the Fairies. It’s just a reality we’ve become used to that we know we have to deal with when we go out into the outside world.

Which is why when we—as black people—come together at a Faerie gathering, an unspoken kinship unfolds. Something that we weren’t allowed to have in the greater black community becomes possible: we’re allowed to be ourselves. Our TRUE selves.

FULLY. In all our gay and black glory. Two identities finally merge in a place that is safe for them to coexist. What better people to celebrate that with than our black gay brothers and sisters?

Yes, we celebrate with our white Faerie family all over the world. Yes, we celebrate our queerness with all the colors of the rainbow. But it’s important that I take a moment to celebrate who I am with somebody who looks like me. Because that somebody knows the struggle we had to go through to get here.

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“I Want To Be A Porn Star With You,” by Artboydancing.

undo my bondage in dreams black womyn exclaim, “put a reign on your sex.” as a black chile, i was warned and yet a stallion emerged will not be put in stirrups no collar no whip no saddle no metal to cover my hooves, escalating voices from black dream women take in black masculinity who envelope & alchemize the rage of love stallions challenging my definition due to the chasm, they feel, I remain lonely, and unbridled.

Harsh beloved sentences do not make akka choruses. teach heal peagusus within ride in a body evaporated in love all that remains

head hands penis no collar no whips no saddle no metal on my hooves mute is our story of ascension ocean of healing to the unicorns milk, honey, soft vibrations to the stallions long prairies to the stallions mates who match to the unicorns and to the black children inside these stallions under exact emotion witch coagulate a future, with adequate lovers, in a time that is right to ride unicorns, peagsus’, and stallions well.

4.28.09 —Lapis Luxxxury

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RevĂŠ at Circus of Books (Los Angeles, CA)

by EL

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Once Upon an African Faerie

By Mother Nateur

T

here is a kind of magic you can experience in a fairy space, and as a black man, I understand the privilege of choosing your own path and finding a community that holds and respects you. I don’t need to say much about my background, but I was taught that issues in our life can dominate us, hold us back. In Faerie space, where we allow ourselves to manifest, where we can create ourselves, I was able to find that what I learned in childhood was not my reality. My childhood didn’t teach me to expect the unfiltered love you can receive from an event like the Third Global Gathering of Radical Faeries, where I found myself in mid-February 2020, near Barrydale, South Africa. This gathering was special, as it was the first gathering in Africa and my first time as an African American in Africa.

There were a lot of firsts for many of the folks who were a part of this wonderful creation, and a wonderful creation it was. Even so, I had some issues, and I’ll lay them on the table for people to consider.

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I’ll start by letting you know I was welcomed with love and warmth. The color of my skin did not seem to separate me, other than the compliments it got me—until I tried to unify my fellow blackand brown-skinned Faeries, the ones who lived in Africa and chose to come to the gathering.

The people who lead Faerie gatherings, I’ve noticed, are loving, caring people who think about inclusion. That said, they happen to be predominantly white men. When dealing with the intersection of a radical space, combined with being a man of African roots with American history, combined with the Faerie magic that comes with the first event of its kind in Africa: It all makes for a potion of deep self-reflection, healing and learning. Therefore, it could have been beneficial to have a man of color be one of the organizers, so my healing journey could have been seen and given the chance it needed to prosper and grow. If we include a person of color in an organizing role, there won’t be the need to worry if the gathering will be more inclusive:

“Rudolphe and Mammy’s Boy,” photograph by Kwai Lam.

Having a person of color there will show inclusion is important and that it already exists.

When I first arrived at the gathering, there was a very clear intent to be radical. But when I showed up, I was the only black or brown person there. I thought, “Wow, what did I sign up for?

Did I make a mistake? Did I come all the way to Africa to be a sprinkle of black in an all-white space?” Four hours later, another bus arrived with black and brown Africans. Seeing them was like heaven, and it brought me such joy to see that second bus roll in with faces similar to my own.

A

t the gathering, we all had our own creative freedom. I was told, “Give to the gathering exactly what I see as fit,” so I created a healing space for the black and brown African Faeries.

It was a great success. There were so many tears from people in the healing circles thanking me for bringing us together and creating the safety these unique circles could bring. The black and brown African Faeries and I felt like we were moving mountains of trauma, gathering to talk about similar issues but also how we overcame them. We not only wanted to talk about problems, we were focused on coming up with solutions for ourselves and the group. We wanted to reclaim our healing and move past trauma.

After the second healing circle, I got a message from a fellow American Faerie (white male), who said my creation of the healing circles had segregated the gathering. Interesting, that 48 hours of separation in his mind equated to a word—segregation—that black and brown people in America had lived through for years, an experience that caused them to lose many of their human rights. I was heartbroken. The excitement of hearing the voices of people whose faces mirrored mine, in Africa, was powerful and remarkable. To be told the special act was somehow wrong made me understand how much those healing circles were needed. I felt defeated, but I also felt essential.

Not knowing how to move forward, I let go of the healing circles. I couldn’t figure out how to keep going without creating discomfort for me or the person who was against what I was doing.

This taught me a lesson: There is no way you can please your heart’s desire and please everyone else at the same time. In life we must pick one.

Uncertain if I was loved or hated, I allowed the rest of the gathering to bring me peace. Even without finishing what I started, I was constantly

“Rudolphe,” photograph by Kwai Lam.

reminded by the black and brown Africans that what I did was needed and asked when the next healing circle would be held. I accepted defeat this time, but I also held on to the love I’d received from every individual, both African and white men alike.

This gathering changed my life. It gave me a sense of understanding and allowed me to see where the lines of love and hate exist. I’m happy to be a man of color in a Faerie space, but I feel that in the future, there should be a person who can advocate for me, who looks like me. It may help turn organizers’ dreams of inclusion into reality. The gathering caused me to seek a bond with Africans who saw my need to learn more about myself through them. They taught me dances, showed me how to make local food and shared music with me I’ll never forget.

I was healed from this event—but it came from folks who look like me. I felt the opposite from a few non-black Faeries who struggle to advocate for something they don’t experience themselves. This is why we need more inclusive advocacy in the Faerie world. I see it as a great opportunity to do better in a radical place with radical people where radical things can happen.

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Recollections from GG 3: Third Global Gathering in South Africa, February 2020

by Theoklymenos (from the Black Forest, Germany)

“T

hose were the days, my friend, we thought they’d never end...”—but, all of a sudden everything stopped: The coronavirus changed our lives dramatically in no time, in and outside of Faerie Space, as we all know. Because of that I am looking back a bit melancholically and sing a hymn of praise.

I am so glad and thankful that I’ve had the opportunity to join the Third Global Gathering in South Africa from 15th to 24th February 2020, which was one of the last Faerie gatherings in the whole world happening before the corona-crises stopped the way we Faeries use to connect in real Life. By joining literally in the flesh. GG 3 was a great gift from heaven (or MotherEarth or Universe or God, whatever you may call it) for me and over eighty other Faeries from around the globe who just happened to be there. We attendees can keep and cherish in our mind those still fresh memories about the amazing, fabulous, healing Faerie energy that we co-created and enjoyed all together during this wonderful ten days in sacred Faerie Space. Each time you recall a memory, it’s rewritten the moment

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you think of it. It is the rewriting that you remember next time.

Warmwaterberg Spa: to begin with—(a selfcatering resort between Barrydale and Ladismith in the Province Western Cape) is a perfect place for Faeries to come together. Located in the middle of nowhere with mineral hot springs and a scenic view to the mountains around, it is a beautiful piece of nature. Peacocks and turtles were some of our permanent guests in the sanctuary, OK, a few uninvited mosquitos after sunset as well. Who cares?!

We had a big, longtime heart circle every morning under a big open tent with deeply heart- and soul-touching sharings by Faeries of all ages, mainly from Africa, Europe and Northern America. I can hardly remember when I’ve had such intense heart circle experiences in my former Faerie gatherings.

Our big timetable on the wall in the main hall was filled up quickly with lots of meaningful rituals and interesting workshops of different types: Opening ceremony, regular Faerie history talks, nature ritual, international queer-freedom workshop, love temple

“Shady Love,” photograph by Kwai Lam.

opening ritual, two documentaries (“Hope along the Wind” about Harry Hay, and “Big Joy” about James Broughton), portrait photo shootings, HIV-positive workshop, info-talk about Sex Magick, financial empowerment workshop, auction and fashion show, Enneagramm workshop, Faerie discos, closing ceremony—and many more events in smaller or bigger groups. Not to forget a wedding ceremony for a binational, lovely male couple. And, last but not least, an extraordinary, amazing, fabulous No-Talent-Show with twenty-four performances.

What can hardly be described properly by words is—of course!—the emerging and spreading Faerie energy and magic, the deep love and bright-light, all the sweet sudden moments: Faeries flying around with imaginary wings like butterflies with or without beautiful drag and glittery makeup, hugging each other tightly, moving their bodies on the dance floor or playing billiards together, teaching others how to swim in the warm water pool, looking deep into one others eyes and souls, laughing out loud, having serious conversations about the struggles and challenges in life, crying in the arms of another, embracing the inner and outer beauty and contributions of everyone, cooking delicious meals and washing dishes while singing together joyfully, sharing their bodily love inside and outside the wonderfully decorated love temple. This literal “Big Joy” needs to be experienced by oneself.

“Fireside Dancing,” photograph by Kerfuffle / mikekear.com.

What about drama? Well, I’ve seen lots of drama in former Faerie gatherings by many Faeries. But in the “GG3”it was different. There was no drama in that kind of meaning. What we had were very intense and heart-touching ways, especially by African Faeries to express their deep love, great joy and playful happiness. One may call it drama, but I wouldn’t call it that.

I am very pleased, thankful and joyful that I did join this wonderful gathering. It felt to me like climbing the highest, brightest Faerie mountain (after falling into the deepest, darkest Faerie valley only two months before—but that’s another story).

What an incredible journey for me! Looking back I realize what (besides the experienced organizing skills of the organizers) the main reason for the success of our powerful gathering was: The strong bond of brother-/sisterhood that the Portland (and other Northern American) Faeries have built during the last forty years! This deep heart connection in their Faerie communities and the strong will and power to make it happen was the basis on which the co-creative fabulous Faerie magic of all attendees could blossom and rise up to the highest point, where all new and longtime Faeries from different backgrounds and cultures could enjoy a wonderful, challenging, changing and healing experience, especially those from Africa (for most of them it was the first Faerie gathering ever). This shows us what is

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possible when we put all our Faerie energy together and push it in the same direction to fulfill a vision.

By the way: Soon after the gathering Faerie magic started spreading, some enthusiastic attendees invented a Faerie Café in Cape Town. And recently an attendee from Benin dedicated his hairdresser’s salon to the Faeries by naming it “Féerie Coiffure

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Salon de Beauty,” pointing out: “I am not the same person anymore. I love you and you will always stay in my heart.”

I am so longing for and looking forward to experiencing the next “real life” Faerie gathering—hopefully soon after corona shutdown will be history!

Photograph by Kerfuffle / mikekear.com

Photograph by Theoklymenos

Photograph by Kerfuffle / mikekear.com

“Shokti and Kam,” photograph by Kerfuffle / mikekear.com

Photograph by Theoklymenos

“Bilquisss and Afrohomo,” photograph by Kerfuffle / mikekear.com

“Leo Sunshine, Nateur, Rain and robin hood,” photograph by Kerfuffle / mikekear.com

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“Rudolphe,” at the GG3, South Africa, photography by Kwai Lam.

“Mammy’s Boy,” at the GG3, South Africa, photography by Kwai Lam.

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“robin hood and Afrohomo,” at the GG3, South Africa, photograph by Kerfuffle / mikekear.com

“Bilquisss,” at the GG3, South Africa, photograph by Kerfuffle / mikekear.com

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Back to Africa and the Mother City

By Miqhey Miqxtja

Returning to the land of my birth, after over sixtyfive years since I left at the age of seven—yes, that is major.

Even more so, when I consider that in one line of my ancestry through my father, I am the first person in that line ever to leave Africa since the very dawn of humanity.

And now, in this year of 2020, I return to these rocks, these sands, these seas.

Even more so, to these plants, this herb, this bush, this silver tree: all unique in the world, an ecosystem like no other.

They truly spoke to me as a child and they speak to me again.

Words cannot hope to bring this sense of reconnection to another human that has not lived it.

And yet, after less than a month I have to leave again.

Do we ever dare to forget our long line of being that brings us here?

Where we will travel, in the timeline to come, will still hold in heart and spirit the story of the ancestors, the travelling cells of our being.

I bring these from my past into our present.

I cast them into our future.

Not through the seed of children; But through our collective heart and spirit.

As I ask for respect today, I ask may all this be honored tomorrow.

I gift who I am to this risky community.

I entrust my history, my memory, my treasure to you and to those to come.

I pass these on in the relay race of time.

Maybe never to return? Maybe always to yearn?

But still, I belong to the whole earth, mixing bloodlines from across all the lands of Africa, Asia, Europe, even ancient Australasia.

Don’t erase my race.

Don’t drop me in the passing.

Folk talk of primary identity. Folk talk of culture and creed. Folk talk of mixed and blended.

Here I talk of race and Fae; of queer and POC. Does radical Fae, does queer spirit transcend all, as I step onward into this journey into current community?

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On returning from the 3rd Global Gathering of Radical Faeries, held in South Africa, February 2020

“Miqxtja,” at the GG3, South Africa, photograph by Kwai Lam.

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“Boys In The Band” by Artboydancing

medicine for white witch madness let go of me so i may grow do what needs do at times your ideas match the whips, shackles and bonds of your grandfathers. flow them to yemaya support allowance of upward mobility of all people within common consciousness is the goal we can, will, breathe for a future we may achieve, thrive and make love bliss within 8.28.10

—Lapis Luxxxury

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A Letter to My 18 Year Old Self

by Isaac Tommson

Dear Me, You are actually eighteen years old. You think you are useless, numb, silly, poor, dazed.

You are stressed out : you think about next year, the next months, next September, the bachelor, your studies, the entrance exam, your practice, your ID, your housing, COVID-19, quarantine, money, scholarships, testosterone, failure.

You are not a failure, darling. You are just an undecided diamond.

You might think that you didn’t have good enough lessons, good school, good teachers, good education.

That you didn’t go to universities open days, to music schools open days last year.

But during the last year of high school, you weren’t living, you were just trying to pass the days. You were just trying to not kill yourself.

You couldn’t go to open days when you were in a racist, transphobic and biphobic environment, when you were living trauma after trauma, when you hated yourself so much.

Do you know another eighteen year old person who lives through racism, who lives transphobia, who is a child of immigration and who is not straight?

Do you remember that non-cis youth of colour has the highest risk of kill themselves?

Do you realize, darling, that you are a gift?

Do you understand that you are a champion?

Do you realize that nearly everyone pushed you to death?

Do you understand that your situation is so logical according to the system?

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I know that you are sometimes upset that you didn’t go to music academy earlier, that you were doubting between music and writing, that your parents never guided you, that you feel left behind.

It is normal to feel late in a world that doesn’t care about you. In a society that doesn’t respect you. In a context that forgets you.

You see all these young white cis people going to uni, going to art schools, etc. You might envy them, you might have grief about your teenage years, you might hate them.

But, they were expected to be there, they were expected to do high-er education. There were so many expectations for them to succeed.

Everything was made this way. They never experience racism, they never experience transphobia: it is already so easy. The whole society was built for them.

They were always ready.

But you are going to be there as well. You are going to succeed too.

You are going to study what you want, you are going to practice and to play their game even better than them.

You are already a soldier and a strategist: don’t be so hard on yourself.

You are the new generation.

You will get a bachelor, you will get a master, double masters, masters abroad.

You will learn many languages. You will speak English, Dutch, French, Italian, Russian.

You are breaking the cycle of poverty and despair that oppressors force you to be trapped in.

Just keep going, darling.

Don’t be too hard on yourself.

I know you are scared to make “bad decisions”, to get outed, to be visible, to be rejected, to stay single, to lose, to be unemployed.

But you have the right to be young. You have the right to make mistakes, to change, to move on, to laugh, to have friends, to be listened, to be accepted, to belong.

You have the right to be eighteen and experience eighteen.

You have the right to be yourself.

You fought for that, you fight for that, you lived for that.

You earned your place.

Always remember that you earned your place. While they were trying to kill you.

Do your things, do your steps, learn your tutorials, know the theory, trust the software, be confident and always keep going.

Whatever you are going to do : it is already a victory.

You being alive is already a victory.

You are one of the people who are viscerally free, strong, real, powerful and beautiful.

You will always survive.

You have resilience by your side.

You have power by your side.

I love you.

All the best.

“Kiss Me” by Artboydancing.

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“Untitled” by Jombi.

Black Men Who Love White Men

By Pioneer

As a black man who loves white men, I can’t think of a time when I wasn’t fetishized for my race. Not even with my partners. I just don’t know what that looks like.

Heck, I didn’t even recognize fetishization until I had moved to San Francisco and talked to other young black men who loved white men. Only then did I realize that this was not normal. Common, but not normal.

I don’t want to say that any of my partners are bad people. However, I have benefited from playing the role in the narrative of “a poor, young, naive little black boy who has promising talent and just needs a little help and encouragement from a privileged white male to push him forward towards success.” White men are drawn to that. Especially the liberal white men, because they feel the need to do something in order to compensate for their “white guilt.” That said, these actions are still based on a sense of superiority. Not equality.

Fetishization has its benefits and its detriments.

I can easily get sex with white men, but their connection with me is always going to be based on fantasy. Not reality. I’ve gotten a lot of help with school, cars, food, homes, work, and travel. But, for the white man, it all comes down to sex with a hot black man and the pride that comes with having him. Then I’m just a trophy.

How do I escape it? Am I forever doomed to be tied to the chain of fetishization in my love life? It’s just become an accepted reality for me, without even knowing it.

What does a relationship between a black man and a white man look like without the white man fetishizing the black man?

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My Ashes When my ashes are silently laid to rest Would like to know that I tried my best And when the owl finally calls my name Want to lay in rest without guilt or shame When I am at last returned to Mother Earth For the all of answers I will no longer search Give me a new home in the painted sky Up beyond where the sacred eagle flies For my lonely soul I hope that you will pray Upon the dawning of each brand new day For there were many I was happy just to know And just like a tree I hope you continue to grow In your memory I hope that I will always stay And I thank you for all our joyous yesterdays You have given me so much to be grateful for And in a friend I could not have asked for more Forever Life goes on like the earth and the sea And now God has set my restless spirit free Now and forever I will say my final goodbye Scattered on the winds are where my ashes lie

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—Gary Edward Allen 2020

“Hawthorne Faerie” by Eugene Salandra.

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“Looking Good” by Artboydancing.

Bromancing the Rookie Roofer

By Wes Hartley

G

eneric clichés in the biased persuasion of queerdom are legion. There are likely on-line glossaries itemizing the most notorious (I haven’t checked) but these ones seem to be the most proverbial. Flawless beauties tend to consort (and do other stuff ) with flawless beauties and ugly ducklings sidelined with other unlucky ducklings have to make do with the slim pickings. Boys with big ones attract boys with little ones and prettyboys with pretty butts attract all comers. Older guys chase young guys, silver spoons appreciate blue collars (“feasting with panthers” Oscar Wilde always called it), jocks work out with jocks, femmy sissies compare outfits and camp it up with sister sissies, and teens and closet cases whip it a lot. The list goes on and on same as we do.

All clichés are true, that’s why they’re clichés. Of course there are always the exceptions. Boys with big ones who like little ones, the fabled one-in-athousand teenage gerontophile, and the macho allstar looking to get boned by the skinny towel boy, and so forth. Exceptions to the usual tend to jumpstart my roving gaydar. That was what I thought was happening one morning early last summer.

Over the past twenty or thirty years nearly all the old single-family housing in the neighborhood where I live had been morphed into one-and-twobedroom apartments. The exception is the huge old Victorian four-storey mansion next to the two-storey I occupy. Last summer it was getting a new roof.

The rowdy crew of hard hat roofers (none wearing a hard hat since there was only blue sky overhead) had spent three days getting things ready, offloading equipment and supplies, and yesterday, flaying the old cedar shingles from the now bald rooftop. The old useless shakes had been trundled to the huge portable catch-all blockading the alleyway around back. Today the extended porta-crane on wheels was hoisting bundles of fresh shingles up to the job site on top.

Attentive Yours Truly was taking it all in, idly watering the rose bushes out front, and pretending to look occupied. The spell being cast by the breath of the Rugosa roses, the sunshiny morning, and the birdsong couldn’t match that of young Mister Unlikely grooming the front lawn next door, the edgy hyper-masculine obvious rookie of the crew whose roving eye kept hitting on mine.

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he macho recruit was dragging this huge black vinyl sack around the big yard picking up wayward cedar shakes and scraps of old tar paper and stuffing them into the bag. It was easy to see that clean-up duty irked The Rookie, but being the gopher and the youngest there was nobody lower down the totem pole he could pass the buck to, so he was toughing it out. Since I was the only eyewitness, he had singled me out (I was thinking) as he prowled around the yard bagging the cedar trash.

He was keeping his eye on me for whatever reason as I was keeping mine on him for an obvious one.

As he bent over to pick up stray scraps, his extra humpy denim-upholstered boy bulges aimed in my direction captivated the all-surveilling glad-eye of the appreciative Mr. Rosewaterer. The Rookie’s bulging power peaches were Olympic gold medal same as he was. I couldn’t stop imagining that he must be feeling my eager eyes roving all over them and that was the reason he was keeping them aimed toward the rose bushes in appreciation.

How queer-cliché is that?

Interminable long story seriously shortened, after thinking that the unlikely might be possible (that there could be such a species as a macho roofer queer boy) The Hose-handler concluded that the back-and-forth checking-out and non-stop eyeballing that was going down could only be mutual gaydar. The numero uno queer cliché is “The eyes have it.”

Mister Unlikely was short and stocky, maybe five foot four or five with the build and bulk of a miniature football linebacker or rugby hunk. A compact sport model with all the extras. He looked to be maybe nineteen or so, three or four years younger than Yours Truly. He was disguised as a regulation blue collar working stiff, decked out in a red and black checkerboard macshirt tucked into tight black 501’s packed with masculine bugles up front and around back. His toes were shielded by black steel toe work boots, and on top he sported a dark blue turned-around-backwards ball cap in lieu of a hard hat, which he kept pulled down in front over his low forehead. The logo perched above the bill of his ball cap was a stark contrast to the rest of his generic roofer uniformity. It advertized the rearing stallion Ferrari logo, the fillet mignon of corporate logos, instead of a standard RFD 182 Summer 2020 55

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“Before and After” by Artboydancing.

blue collar cheeseburger one. Young Mister Perfect obviously had big plans.

A

so as not to wet him down.

“You and me need to talk.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I can tell, you’re into what I got goin’, right?”

“Could be.”

lthough our eyes kept connecting and disconnecting in a speechless gaydar duet, our respective mugs gave nothing away (how queer is that?) mine in lockdown just in case, and his equally blank and incommunicado. ’m thinkin’ it’s for sure.” He grinned another Good Looking’s alpha mug was pugilist, more knowing confident grin. “It’s cool. I appreciate round than oval, flat pug nose (maybe broken) tellthe attention. You got a name?” tale brow ridge and black eyebrows, deep dark eyes “Wes.” shrouded by sleepy lids, little rose petal mouth, and “I’m Bud, the guys call me Buddy. You can too.” a rounded chin with a dimple. I was guessing there “Thanks Buddy, I will. I appreciate friendly guys was a buzzcut under the Ferrari lid (I was right). His like you who come on strong and personal from the thick bull neck, rounded shoulders, jutting chest, get-go. What you got goin’ rocks. Totally.” cinched waist, and sturdy “You and me need to thighs broadcast hyperhook up later, like tonight masculinity all the way down at the beach. You down to his boot soles. I know that pile of big He took off his work gloves, just kept gazing and hosboulders down at the dropped them on top of the ing the roses and he just far end of the beach that big trash bag, and zapped kept bending over and keeps the high tide from gaydar signaling. Somewashing the sand away?” me with his unflinching thing for sure had to give “Yeah, I know those power gaydar. I thought I one way or another. rocks.” saw an almost-smile tilt the When the final deck “Meet me there at ten corners of his for sure kissof shingles had been o’clock sharp, okay? And stacked four storeys up, don’t keep me waiting. I’ll worthy lips as he booted-it and the two roofers on bring brews and tokes. across the grass toward top had climbed down You and me gonna party.” me, keeping his steady gaze the ladder to ground “Sounds good. I’ll locked on mine. level, the crane pilot be there at exactly ten. shut down the big engine Count on it.” and called across to The And the rest as they Rookie, “We’re heading say is homo history. The up the street for coffees, you wanna come too?” imagined exception overcame the mismatched in“I’ll catch up with you later. I’m not done here surmountables that otherwise would have made the yet. I wanna finish this.” two of us ships passing in the fog at night.

When the three had vanished up the street, MisHardscrabble Blue Collar High School Drop ter Responsible on the far side of the yard straightOut Minimum Wage Workingstiff Buddy The ened up and aimed his daunting full-frontal toward Rookie Roofer still going strong with Upper Crust the waterlogged rose bushes. He took off his work Silver Spoon College Grad Deep Pockets Wes The gloves, dropped them on top of the big trash bag, Freelancer. and zapped me with his unflinching power gaydar. I Bud’s got his own place, I’ve got mine. He drives thought I saw an almost-smile tilt the corners of his a beater pickup, I drive a Beemer, and so forth. Our for sure kiss-worthy lips as he booted-it across the generic cliché differences somehow seem to be grass toward me, keeping his steady gaze locked on perfectly compatible. Go figger. When we party out, mine. He stopped not four feet away on the opposite the lightning flashes and the thunder rumbles. We side of the chest-high rosy sticker bush hedge. appreciate what we got goin’.

He grinned at last, a confident alpha power grin If you were to ask, “Who’s on top?” I’d never tell. full of perfect teeth with a wee gap between the If you were to make the mistake of asking Buddy top front chompers, the cute chipmunk hallmark. I that question, he’d for sure sucker-punch your nosy smiled back and aimed the hose nozzle to one side fucken lights out. Right on, Bud, you rock. Totally.

“I

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Against Social Distancing: A Call for Social Solidarity in this Time of Physical Distancing

by Seth Holmes

I

n this time of apocalyptic “shelter in place” orders, school closures with impromptu home-schooling, and toilet paper shortages, everyone is asked and admonished to practice “social distancing”. By this, public health professionals mean people should stay home except for essential tasks, keep six feet distance from each other, wash hands frequently, and cover coughs. These measures can slow the spread of COVID-19 and help keep our underfunded health system from collapsing.

Yet, these calls are not really for “social distancing”, but rather “physical distancing”—as pointed out by a medical student in my newly-online class last week.

In fact, while society must take “physical distancing” extremely seriously, we need the opposite of “social distancing” to survive this pandemic. We need social solidarity in this time of physical distancing.

We need social solidarity for our mental health.

Some in our society are home alone, feeling lonely or depressed. Some can’t be home with loved ones due to travel restrictions, border closures. Some avoid home to protect loved ones at high risk. In this time of physical distancing, we need to practice alternative forms of connection. Perhaps that means using social media—or avoiding it. Perhaps that means sending letters, setting up virtual hangouts, or talking by phone. Perhaps that means sharing a kind word or smile with neighbors and strangers—from a distance.

We need social solidarity to avoid stigmatization and division. Despite the fact that China had more concerted, effective, early responses to COVID-19 than the U.S., some blame the virus on China and anyone perceived in any way to be related to the entire (diverse) continent of Asia. While leaders use language signaling racism and xenophobia, others perpetrate increasing numbers of hate crimes. Some politicians imply or state that we must protect ourselves from all of Europe and Mexico—despite the fact that the epidemic in the U.S. is more out-of-control, lacking testing kits and basic protective equipment. This illogic, in the midst of misinformation, stokes xenophobia while the U.S. ramps up violations of U.N. conventions and the basic human rights of immigrants, asylum-seekers and refugees. In this pandemic, we need to avoid division, come together, and learn to see ourselves and our health in relation to one another.

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We need social solidarity to protect frontline health professionals. As one physician colleague told me this week, “at home with family, things feel fine. But in the hospital, shit is hitting the fan.” What scares many physicians and nurses is not so much the virus itself or even the severe respiratory syndrome it causes, but rather the lack of essential equipment—protective N95 masks, COVID-19 test kits, negative pressure rooms, ventilators. Clinicians and public health professionals are critical to how our society will weather this pandemic. In the words of another colleague, “I did not sign up to die because of a lack of Personal Protective Equipment!” Yet, the Trump administration forced the closure of critical epidemic response teams in the CDC, the National Security Council and the US Agency for International Development. And Trump’s 2021 budget released last month includes $3 billion further cuts to core federal agencies including global health response programs. This de-funding of basic public health in the U.S. risks fueling the flame of this pandemic, leading to numerous avoidable exposures, infections and deaths. In painful irony, the federal government gave ICE officers N95 protective masks as they raided immigrant communities the first day of the California lockdown, but does not give this basic protective equipment to frontline health workers we all need to save our lives. If we want to survive this and future pandemics, we must understand how critical our public systems are for everyone in our society. We must fund health and social services to have necessary staff, stuff, space and systems.

We need social solidarity to protect our neighbors and ourselves. To slow the pandemic caused by the COVID-19 virus in a dangerously de-funded health system, we close schools, bars, gyms, farms, and more. Most hope this will be temporary. Some small businesses have already shuttered completely and laid off all employees. Others have laid off front desk staff while continuing to pay administrators working from home. Some hourly workers, including those who provide us with food by harvesting fruits and vegetables or preparing and serving in restaurants, are now out of work and unable to buy enough food for themselves and their families. One migrant farmworker mother told me yesterday, “how can I pay rent for my family when I can’t work?” While we are

urged—even ordered—to keep physical distance, some in our society are kept locked in detention facilities, prisons and jails in conditions dangerous for the spread of COVID-19. If we want to eat during and after this pandemic, we must support—and not raid, detain or deport—those who harvest, prepare, serve and deliver our food. And while many of us are told to “stay home”, an unprecedented number of people in this country live houseless, with nowhere to “shelter in place”. While the Senate plans to stimulate the economy by sending money to some, those below the threshold for filing taxes—the working poor—are explicitly excluded in this plan. Those who need support most would receive nothing.

COVID-19 is a wake-up call.

It is most dangerous for those advanced in age, those with chronic illnesses, and those in crowded living conditions. At the same time, for any of us to be healthy in a pandemic, we must make sure all are healthy. As a colleague said today, “the logic of this virus is not the same as the logic of our system.”

If we learn anything right now, we must learn that we are all in this together. We must stay connected. We must confront racism, xenophobia and division. We must fund and value our public health and social systems. We must support those most marginalized. Stop raiding, detaining and deporting immigrant communities.

Avoid causing chaos for those on whom our system relies— including those who provide us all with food. Instead of bailing out only banks and businesses without batting an eye, we must provide shelter, health care, financial support, and student debt forgiveness for all our neighbors, especially those who need it most. The virus will not change its logic. We must change our system and the assumptions that reproduce it.

“Horns” by Artboydancing.

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Finisia Medrano November 7, 1956–April 3, 2020

By Seda, Amara, Spider, Sighmoon and Jim

“But if it pleases you, oh God, That I walk alone.

Make that walk be a shortened one that my heart doesn’t turn to stone.”1 Well damn, the infamous “Tranny Granny” finally kicked the seed bucket. Finisia Medrano, one of the craziest mother-loving fuckers you’d ever meet died on April third of natural causes in Caliente, Nevada at the Shady Motel. She passed away amongst two friends while ‘peacefully’ trolling Facebook. Her last days were spent planting a magnificent ancestral garden. She was planting nuts and other stone fruits, cutting up logs with her chainsaw, and teaching rabbit hunting when she had a heart attack on April Fool’s day. “She is already buried in her garden by those lilies. Her heart is feeding them there.”2 Though many have wished her dead at some point, now that this root-digging, seed-planting, shit-talking, cop-tricking, scripture-spitting Auntie-Christ trickster is dead, lord knows we’ll still miss her. Cuz damn she was epic and poured her fuckedup heart and her tears and her cunt into healing the earth and now that she’s dead we all get to pretend it was only ever super sacred special magic and nothing else, right?! Just kidding!

So here’s to one of the most prolific and problematic hard-ass, hotmesses we’ve ever known. Glad you gave us enough to laugh about, roots to eat, and seeds to plant for the rest of our lives to get us through all the trauma you’ve inflicted. “I suppose if you were to plant your trails in bread for your children and everywhere you went you pooped berries and they grew, and everywhere behind you in ten years the thing was just more abundant with just every kind of food. And I’d suppose if you could live in a symbiotic way in this last existing ribbon of the opportunity, and live like a snake or maybe a coyote and eat these rats and dig these roots 60 RFD 182 Summer 2020

and walk in beauty, walking in beauty would be your trails, all the time coming back, with biscuits and berries. Every step you make, planting your trails behind you, walking in beauty.”3 For more of Finisia’s writings check out her book Growing Up in Occupied America (available to order on www.lulu.com) and her videos on youtube: https://www.youtube.com/user/Finisiamedrano.

From “A Lonely Lily in the Snow”

by Finisia Medrano 2 . From “The Lily is a Lady” by Finisia Medrano.

3 . From a video Finisia made of herself.

1

“Finisia and Pup” by Timothy White Eagle and Adrian Chesser.

Steve W. Whitlock September 26, 1945–December 5, 2019

By Sister Soami

Steve W. Whitlock, 74, of Indianapolis, died December 5, 2019 at his home. He was born September 26, 1945 in Harvey, Illinois to the late Walter Wendell and Lois Lorraine (Williams) Whitlock.

He married Rex A. Camp on July 19, 2014 and he survives.

gymnastics team that won the NCAA Gymnastic Championship for 3 years. He attended graduate school at Wayne State University, leaving there to start the first private gymnastics program in the state of Michigan. He served 1000 children a week in 3 gym locations. Steve moved to Indianapolis in 1988, to create the first coaches & judges training program for USA Gymnastics. In 2011, he escorted 400 gymnasts to Lucerne, Switzerland Quadrennial Gymnaestrada, with 24,000 gymnasts. He received a lifetime achievement award for his work with USA Gymnastics Steve was a member of the LifeJourney Church in Indianapolis, where he sang in the choir, a member of the Indianapolis Men’s Chorus for 8 years and an avid member of the Indianapolis Sailing Club. He was a part of the Art Bank Art Gallery in Indianapolis, as a visual artist, specializing in pen and ink drawings and acrylic paintings. He also enjoyed downhill skiing and golf.

Visitation and Services A memorial service was held December 17, 2019 at LifeJourney Church, 2950 E. 55th Place, Indianapolis, IN 46220. Memorial donations may be made to LifeJourney Church.

Survived by:

Steve grew up in Harvey, IL. He graduated Thornton High School in 1963 and was a 1967 graduate of Southern Illinois University. While at Southern Illinois University, he was on the

Photograph courtesy author.

Husband: Rex A. Camp of Indianapolis, Brother: Michael (Diane) Whitlock of Morrison, Colorado, Sister: Donna (Warren) Letzsch of Ellicott City, Maryland, Step Mother: Doris Whitlock of Peoria, Illinois. Several nieces and nephews also survive.

—in sisterspirit all ways, Soami

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RFD’s Legacy Now Online www.rfdmag.org/back-issues.php or www.issuu.com/rfdmag

W

ell we’ve finally been able to complete most of the scanning of the back issues of RFD dating back to our founding in 1974. Thanks to everyone who donated back issues which we were either lacking or had a poor condition copy of, so you’ll all be seeing the best scans possible of issues which are extremely rare and only a few copies are in our collection.

We used a book scanning company in New Jersey to scan the back issues and our beloved production/art editor delivered them and picked them. All of this took place in 2018! But we had a few snafus and delays—hello summer, other projects, personal events.

Well over the last few weeks we’ve dusted off the scans and uploaded them to our website! You can find the issues at www.issuu.com/rfdmag or from our website at www.rfmag.org/back-issues.php.

We’ve uploaded 148 out of 181 issues. That’s 8,400 pages of RFD that were scanned. Many of these issues are still available for sale so please feel free to explore an issue online and help us out by buying your favorites.

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Now that we’ve scanned the bulk of the back issues except for thirty-three stragglers which had a page missing or other issues which require us to rescan them, we’re committed to making these issues available for free but we’re hoping you’ll consider making a donation to help cover our fixed costs of making these available. Give what you can and do help spread the news about this vital document of our history with friends.

We’re undertaking a project to reach out to various libraries and archives which have RFD in their collections to attempt to make as many complete sets as possible. If you have early issues of RFD which you’d like to gift to us for this project we’d appreciate it. We’re especially looking for issues 1 through 25.

We’re working on an indexing project for the back issues as well and hope to be able to get your help in crowd tasking this work. Stay tuned for details about this but in the meanwhile, we have an paper index which covers issues 1 through 40 and you can find it here—www.rfdmag.org/issue-index.

Again, here is the URL to the back issues—www. rfdmag.org/back-issues.php. Enjoy!

READ RFD ONLINE www.issuu.com/rfdmag Most Issues from 1 to 182

Advertise in RFD It really helps keep this magazine in production! We offer affordable rates and a growing subscriber base. If you have questions about advertising, please contact Bambi at submissions@rfdmag.org or visit our website at www.rfdmag.org/advertise.php.

Back Issue Sale!

20% off for Five or More

www.rfdmag.org

Given current circumstances, Blue Heron will decide in early July if the gathering will continue. So please check in with them in early July as they will likely host an online “No Talent Show” instead.”

Come Celebrate With US! 40th Blue Heron Faerie Gathering

Welcoming all queer people.

Come out Come Out Where ever you are.

August 31 to September 7, 2020 Information: thompsbs@tds.net

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Announcing a New Book from White Crane Books:

The Evans Symposium The long awaited sequel to Witchcraft and the Gay Counterculture.

In 1975 Arthur Evans presented a series of lectures based on his research into LGBT history and cultural roots in European societies of the medieval era. The ground-breaking work was subsequently collected into the 1978 publication of his book Witchcraft and the Gay Counterculture.Working with Arthur at the end of his life, White Crane Books convinced Evans to gather the remaining materials—that had been edited from the original book or simply hadn’t made the cut—into a sequel of sorts to that book. Arthur did so and called it Moon Lady Rising. We present the entirety of Arthur Evans work for his symposium material here.

“White Crane Books, once again, reminds us of the important works of our time by renewing the essential writing of our elders. Arthur Evans’ original work in Witchcraft and the Gay Counterculture is a seminal piece of lost LGBT history; and the added, new material of Moon Lady Rising stakes a further claim to our shared, birthright history. We will not be erased.” —Mark Thompson, author, activist, Radical Faerie “No book was of greater importance than Witchcraft and the Gay Counterculture as the modern gay liberation movement was forging our identity as a people.” —Robert Croonquist, activist, first generation Radical Faerie and Founder of Youth Arts New York/Hibakusha Stories, a member organization of ICAN (the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons), 2017 Nobel Peace Laureate.

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Available at www.whitecraneinstitute.org/books Hardcover $29.95 • Cloth cover $19.95 Or mail a check payable to “White Crane Institute” to: Bo Young White Crane Institute 22 County Route 27 Granville, NY 12832

Issue 184 / Winter 2020

COVID-19 AND COMMUNITY Submission Deadline: October 21, 2020 www.rfdmag.org/upload

The novel coronavirus and its disease, commonly abbreviated COVID-19, has swept across the globe. It’s impact will likely be felt for years in terms of the loss of life, livelihood and reshaping how we come together as people, communities and as change-makers in the culture.

How has COVID-19 affected your life and the lives of people around you?

What have you done to reclaim social space while still keeping personal distance from others? How has it impacted your personal or sexual relationships?

Have you had to reach into your experiences with HIV/AIDS prevention to create safe ways of seeing other people?

We’re also interested in how it’s shaped community responses. How has your town, church, gathering community, farm-share or any other space you typically visit and participate in shaped a positive response to this crisis? What

steps do you think are needed to make spaces safer? Have you been confronted like so many of us have by the “Sorry we’re closed because it’s safer for us and it’s safer for you” response?

How do we come to terms with how systems, which have typically worked for us, might have failed or need to reassess how to “be there?”

We’re also very interested in documenting how people have used creative ways to connect with others – using online meetings, writing letters, clanging pots and pans in your neighborhood, posting a sign or notice. We also want to know how you’ve kept busy, through cooking, crafts or being in nature. Share your recipes, tell us about the things you’ve created or tell us about your recent solo hike in the woods. We’re also, of course, very interested in COVID-19 fashion statements! How have you been modeling the best masks!

Masks by Granite (@granite_trudeaux on Instagram)

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a reader created gay quarterly celebrating queer diversity

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