RFD Issue 115 Fall 2003 by RFD Magazine Gay

FROM THE

Autumnal Equinox 1974 Here it is. \ No longer a fantasy, R .F .D . exists. As gay people living in the country we felt a need for things that urbanoriented gay publications and adamantly heterosexual country magazines could not provide. We attended gay meetings and scheduled conferences at gay conferences hoping to meet people who w ere also into country a lte rÂ natives . This spring at the Ann A rbo r Gay Conference the connecting link was Stevens McClave. He had left a too isolated rural lifestyle in Oregon to be again among city gays, and told us of other men still there. F rom our correspondence across 2000 miles, the enthusiasm for a publication grew. And grew as we began communicating with friends of friends, and with friends of friends of friends who, we discovered, shared much the same fantasy as we did. So the work for R .F .D . began. The death of Stevens a few months later prompted urgency and finally this first issue--R ustic Fairy D ream s--h as come true. We hope to break down the feeling of isolation from things gay that many of us experience in rural settings, to build some sense of community among rural gay people, and to provide the means of sharing with each other our thoughts, feelings and ideas about our unique experience as gay country people. R .F .D . is a reader-participatory venture. You w rite, sing, dance and are R .F .D . We need your contributions of material, energy and love to survive. No women have contributed material for this first issue, but we hope it is not so male-oriented/dominated to prevent Lesbians from using this magazine for communication with each othef. And perhaps, with the Earth as our common ground, we can begin a much needed dialogue between gay women and men. Responses to articles herein will be gladly forwarded to the w riters by the R .F .D . staff. Love, Allan, C arl, Don-Tevel, Olaf, O llie, Rick and Stewart RI D VOL 1, NO. 1 PAGE 1 Courtesy o f RFD Archives

Volume XXX, No.1 Fall 2003, Issue 115

R adical

Cm o

F aeries

m1T# t

mTI

COLUMNS Between the Lines Food Plant Profile Spirituality Spirit Medicine Fey Arts Community Coppicing

Develop

FEATURE

4 8 10 11 12 14 33 44

DEPARTMENTS Letters to RFD Poetry Retrospective In Review Prison Page Contact Letters aerie Connections

6 34 36 38 43 45 46

Growing & Unfolding

by Patrick and John

The Man Who Fell in Love with Faeries 18 by Sage Ricci

The Story I Tell Myself by Edge

A Tale of Green Misery by Mount aine

Archival 5,11,41

Fermenting the Harvest 28 by Sandorkraut

Dancing with the Gods On the Cover:

by Sassi

Cover photos courtesy of Cornelius Washington.

Drunk on Voodoo

by Medusa

Cover design by Wingheart (aka Braay J. Pearson) RFD XXX Logo by Louis

Feature layout and design by Wingheart & Firefly 3

B E T W E E N

T H E

L I N E S

H ere it is. N o longer a fantasy ; R F D exists.

I hese powerful words written thirty years ago reverberate still. KI D slill exists and continues its mis sion of sharing the stories o f a wildly diverse communi ty.

I hings have certainly changed since seven men in

Crinnell, Iowa typed, cut and pasted their Rustic Fairy Dreams into reality. loday KI D enjoys the benefit o f their work. We have a freestanding office stocked with computers, a scanner, and an Internet connection. We even have a nifty little website and a 501c3 rating. In the evolution ary nature of KI D, we also seek to go further and con tinue to aid the magazine on its journey as it continues to serve our growing Faerie community. This issue s theme Growth and Harvest exem plifies this mission.

Here we ask how we Faeries, as a

community and as individuals, have grown and what have we harvested or learned from our experiences, and where we go from there. The RFD collective has certainly grown from its beginnings and we seek to turn our knowledge to the future. As a collective, we see RFD as the forum that celebrates the who, what, why and

then-what

everyday Faerie life. It merges the urban with the rural, the sacred with the profane, images and words with meaning and magic, our history with our future; RFD salutes the spirit of the people, the uniqueness of creativ ity, and the rewards o f living in harmony. Over the next few issues you will see, if you ve not already, the magazine and the collective working to make these visions real. One thing that has not changed is that we still need you, the readers, writers, and sub

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scribers o f KI D to continue to send your stories, recipes, photos, love, energy, and support.

We literally cannot

Contact RFD

do this without you, your subscriptions, or your gener

RFD,

ous donations. I his is your KFI).

P . O . B o x

L i b e r t y ,

We would also like to take this opportunity to

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615-536-5176

thank the NashFae who combined their talent and time

w w w . r f d m a g . o r g

to making this issue possible. Most importantly we thank you, the readers, writers, artists and friends for thirty years of love

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for thirty years of KFI).

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D epending on the nature o f your correspondence, please use the appropriate address when sending yo ur e-mail.

May the light always shine before you.

subscriptions@rfdmag.org submissions@rfdmag.org faerieflnder@rfdmag.org

W’ingheart, for the KFI) Collective.

announcements@rfdmag.org

From T h e RFD A rc h iv e s WINTER 1989 RE ADDRESSING FAERIE DOCTRINES SPRING 1990 RAGING FOREIGN DIATRIBE SUMMER 1990 RANDY FAERIE'S DILEMMA FALL 1990 ROOSTER FOOSTER DOOSTER WINTER 1990 RELIGIOUSLY FLAVOURED DOGGEREL SPRING 1991 RUTTING FOR DISARMAMENT SUMMER 1991 RESOLVING FUNDAMENTAL DIFFERENCES FALL 1991 RAINBOW FAERY DANCERS RUSTIC FAIRYDREAMS WINTER 1991 REALITIES FROM A DISTANCE RECKLESS FRUIT DELIGHT SPRING 1992 RIMMING FOR DINGLEBERRIES REALLY FEELING DIVINE SUMMER 1992 RIOTS! FREEDOM? DISMAY RABBITS. FAGGOTS & DRAGONFLIES ^ FALL 1992 REUSABLE FLORAL DIAPERS RAVING FLAMERS' DIARY WINTER 1992 REFORMATTING FOR DISKS RED FIRE DANCERS SPRING '93 RALLY' FLAME!! DEMONSTRATE!!! RHODODENDRON FORSYTHIA DAFFODILS SUMMER '93 RECUPERATING FROM D C. RASPBERRIES. FRESH & DELICIOUS FALL '93 RECALLING FORMER DECADES REMEMBERING FORGOTTEN DREAMS WINTER '93 RELAX, FOLKS! DREAM! RAVENS FLEEING DARKNESS SPRING '94 RUSHED FOR DEADLINE ROTARY FLUFF DRYERS SUMMER '94 RESURRECT FIERCE DISOBEDIENCE RELIGIOUS FANATICS DESCEND FALL '94 RETROSPECTIVE FINALLY DONE RECRUITING FEMINIST DRAKES WINTER '94 RESIST FASCIST DEMAGOGUE NO ACRONYM SPRING '95 RELUCTANT FINANCIAL DECISIONS NO ACRONYM SUMMER '95 ROUGHING-IT FOR DIVINITY NO ACRONYM FALL '95 REJUVENATING FEROCIOUS DIALECTIX RAMBLINGS FROM DIXIE WINTER '95 RECIPES FROLICS DEVOTION REVOLUTIONARY FAGGOTS DESIRE SPRING'96 RUSTICATION FORNICATION DELECTATION NO ACRONYM SUMMER '96 REGENERATING FLEETING DHARMAS ROARING FRESH DECISIONS FALL '96 REEFER FRIED DIVAS RIGHTFULLY FEELING DELIRIOUS WINTER '96 REPAIRING FAMILIAR DYSFUNCTIONS RETURNING FOREST DARLINGS SPRING '97 REFLECTING FRATERNAL DIVERSITY NO ACRONYM SUMMER '97 ROCOCO FAYS DECORATE RHODODENDRON FIRE DISTRICT FALL '97 RAMBUNCTIOUS FASHION DISPLAYS 1980 NO ACRONYM WINTER '97 REFINED FOREIGN DRAGQUEENS NO ACRONYM S | j j SPRING '98 RURAL FAGS DECONSTRUCT RHYMING FOR DAZE SUMMER '98 RAISING FRISKY DICKS REALITY FINALLY DAWNS \ FALL '98 RAVISHING FURRY DUDES RELEVANT? FUNNY? DUMB! WINTER '98 RAD FAG DADS RALLYING FLOWERING DOGWOODS SPRING '99 ROUSING FLIRTATIOUS DADDIES RECLAIMING FORGOTTEN DESERTS SUMMER'99 ROBUST FRAGRANT DELICACIES RAPTUOUS FAGGOT DEBAUCHERY FALL '99 RUBBING FOLSOM DICKS RAPPORT FROM DOWNUNDER WINTER '99 ROUGH FEISTY DYKES ROOTS . FAERIES . DREAMS SPRING ’00 READERS FUEL DEBATE ROSEBURG FAGGOTS & DYKES SUMMER '00 RHUBARB & FRIED DRIVES RHYTHMIC FAGGOT DELIRIA FALL 00 ROWDY FRIENDS DAZZLE RADICAL FAIRY DIGEST-^; WINTER '00 REDEEMERS FOSTER DEVOTEES RE-FOCUSING DREAMS SPRING '01 RISQUE FANCY DISPLAY RETROSPECTIVE FOR A DECADE SUMMER '01 REKINDLING FRIENDLY DESIRES RE-SOUNDING FORGOTTEN DREAMS FALL '01 RECONSIDERING FINANCIAL DECISIONS RESPITE FROM DISCO H H WINTER '01 RAGING FIRES DESTROY PRESCRIPTION FOR DELIGHT SPRING '02 RECALLING FORGOTTEN DREAMS RELATIVE FORMS OF DESIRE SUMMER '02 RAUNCHY FUDGE-PACKING DUDES RIGHT-WING FASCISTS DESCEND FALL '02 RIVER FAERIES DEBUT RE-FORMING DIET WINTER '02 REALLY FABUI OUS DWELLINGS REALLY FABULOUS DISH SPRING '03 RADICAL FAERIE DIES RELISHING FRIENDLY DESIRES SUMMER 03 RADICALLY FINE DESIGNERS RISKING FEDERAL DISAPPROVAL FALL '03 RADICAL FAERIES DEVELOP REIMBURSED FOR DREAMING REJOICING IN FLAMBOYANT DIVERSITY From the Fall o f 1974 thru today the Radical Faerie Digest has REFLECTING A FORUM OF DREAMERS quietly collected and dispersed the ‘'messages” o f the (lay to the ROIKA: FROGSKINS DISCARDED Faerie community. The subtleties o f the years and decades REACHING FAR-AWAY DARLINGS have found themselves encapsulated in the acronyms used over RUMORS FOR DAYS NO ACRONYM the years for “ RFD” . War, social injustice, gender issues, glob RE-EVALUATING FOOD AND DRUGS al industrialization, education and political righK have and eon REBIRTH FROM THE DESERT tinue to be the thrust o f our communities’ lives We make REAMS OF FICTION DISPATCHED change because we believe in it. Read & Enjoy! RIOTOUS FAGS DESCEND

1974 FALL 1974 WINTER 1974 SPRING 1975 SUMMER 1975 FALL 1975 WINTER 1975 SPRING 1976 SUMMER 1976 FALL 1976 WINTER 1976 SPRING 1977 SUMMER 1977 FALL 1977 WINTER 1977 SPRING 1978 SUMMER 1978 FALL 1978 WINTER 1978 SPRING 1979 SUMMER 1979 FALL 1979 WINTER 1979 SPRING 1980 SUMMER 1980 FALL / WINTER SPRING 1981 SUMMER 1981 FALL 1981 WINTER 1981 SPRING 1982 SUMMER 1982 FALL 1982 WINTER 1982 SPRING 1983 SUMMER 1983 FALL 1983 WINTER 1983 SPRING 1984 SUMMER 1984 FALL 1984 WINTER 1984 SPRING 1985 SUMMER 1985 FALL 1985 WINTER 1985 SPRING 1986 SUMMER 1986 FALL 1986 WINTER 1986 SPRING 1987 SUMMER 1987 FALL 1987 WINTER 1987 SPRI/SUM1988 FALL 1988 WINTER 1988 SPRING 1989 SUMMER 1989 FALL 1989

2004

RFD READERS WRITE football, just as many male-born faeries don’t know what its like to be forced to wear pink, play with toy vacuum cleaners and sit quietly and ladylike, so many of us wanted so desperately to have what the "other" got. all of it was so wrapped up in people with different genitalia being "other”, and that sense of otherness was what ruled everything about how you got to play and interact, these dynamics shift with each new generation of children and of faeries, and have shifted radically since the advent of feminism and queer rights.

notes from a female-born faerie or who is sacred and profane? from wolfie recently, sandorkraut published a letter addressing the issue of women in the west coast faerie disorganization, nomenus, one of the reasons this issue came up for him was because i ran for president of nomenus, much debate ensued, seeing as how nomenus does not allow for "women" to be members.

there are patterns of socialization and enculturation that most maleborn faeries share that i can grasp intellectually, but don't quite grok, and the converse is also true, that's fine, what i do grok is that each of us has journeyed far to get here, to faerie, we are born male, female, or intersexed, and the world tries to make us one or the other, we who are faeries have escaped, and while we still struggle with all of the varying amounts of baggage we brought along on the trip, we did get out.

there are two separate issues at work here, one is the question of "women" and faerie identity, the other is "women" as members of nomenus, sandy read the raddish discussion as the former, while sap phire's response addresses the latter question. I’m going to address both questions, before going further, however, i should make some of my personal definitions very clear.

faeries and gend e r - i de n t i t y

t he n o me n u s q u e s t i o n

-.girl, as if there's any dearth of feminine energy in a flock of male-bom faeries!

i refer to faeries as female-born or male-born faeries, i do not consider us either women or men. it’s an analy sis born out of my old-school feminism, that the con cepts of "women" and "men” are constructed socio economic classes, just as i consider fags, dykes, and queers outlaws from those classes, i perceive faeries as also being out laws from the socially imposed binary gender system.(1)

i have been a left coast faerie since 1990. when i first came to the faeries, and to wolfcreek sanctu ary, i was pretty much alone as a female-born faerie, there were other women who would show up, but few to none would come back, i dealt with a lot of very upfront misogyny at that time, and indeed, the debate raging along then was "can women be faeries?”

a piece of nomenus history, just for people who don’t know, is that while nomenus formed in 1986, the decision to ban women as members was n’t until 1990-91. up until then there had been women involved to vary ing extents, not coming to meetings or circles, but offering opinions on matters certainly, and doing grunt work like typing up paperwork and accounting and such, there was a lot of debate about the ban, which was sparked by a couple of women from a black leather wings gather ing sending in money and membership forms, and it took two great-cir cles to finally reach consensus that nomenus would thenceforth be "gay men" only, (on a personal note, I object to the word "men" being used to describe faeries far more than I object to their limiting their membership to a specific strata of faerie.)

all of us have been enculturated in the pink and blue gender system, and an arduous journey it is to get out of, isn’t it? i certainly still find myself saying or thinking or doing things that appall me, on far more occasions than i'm comfy with. i was brought up as a fundy girl to be a good wife, good mother, and raise little soldiers for yhvh-1 and his son. according to my family and church, that was what my life as a woman was all about, pleasing and taking care of men, and teaching my daughters to do the same, it took a long time and lot of fighting, both with others and within myself to break those patterns.

nomenus’ official position is that there is much to be learned and accom plished from coming together to explore and celebrate male-born faerie magick. in their literature, they refer to it as “faggot-only space” but as I personally have identified as a faggot most of my adult life, I will use the phrasing that feels more accurate to me.

a good friend of mine was brought up to be a strong man, a strict father, and a productive breadwinner, according to his family, he needed to be tough, play sports, and expect that there would always be someone there for and beneath him, be it wife or girlfriend or mother, it took a long time and a lot of fighting, both with others and within himself to break those patterns.

ideally, powerful magick can happen in a separate space where people with the same set of socialization structures and language can com mune. given that we all carry damage from the gender enculturation battles, we experience both ease and terror at being without the "other" to either hide behind or blame.

as faeries, we have all been on a similar journey of finding out who we are outside of societal dictates, it’s not always easy, as any of us could tell the process of getting to this place i call faerie consciousness is very similar for many people the variables are in the starting points.

separatism has gotten a bad rap, because people keep conflating it with isolationism. I am a separatist, have been for years. I firmly believe that any group of common identity that wants to get together and explore

we all start from different points on our journey into faerie, i have no idea what its like to be pressured as a child to be strong, to not cry, to play 6

both the faerie ancestral intention and the participation and energy of female-born faeries, and about how valuable the summer gathering was with its focus on male-born faerie magick

and heal what that identity means, gets to. period.

I had a bunch of younger faes try and convince me to crash the nomenus summer gathering one year, because m their own words, 'it's so much safer with women around!’ my response was to tell them that they had just stated exactly why they needed to be at a gathering with no women, so that they could learn to be safe with their brothers

I have watched this debate for years. I have most of the circle notes from all the times it was discussed, and I have personally been honoured, damned, invalidated, dismissed and respected in quite a few of the con versations. to see the entire debate stay clear on the issue of femaleborn faeries and membership in one disorganization rather than devolv ing into the red herring of who is or isn't a faerie astounded me

now. while the ideal of healing and learning is very true and powerful, it is also true that quite a few nomenus faeries have used that ideal to comfortably hide their personal misogyny under, it’s something I've bat tled. cried over, raged about and faced continually, my attitude is that it is the responsibility of nomenus to make sure that its separatist gather ings are indeed about healing and exploration, and not just some sum mer camp for the gay male bourgeoisie, without the commitment to heal ing and educating each other, including calling each other out on misog yny. then it does indeed begin to resemble the “exclusive men's club’ that few faeries want it to be.

there's a vast difference between personal and cultural shift personal education and enlightenment can happen in relatively short spans of time, cultural shift usually takes generations a major cultural shift has happened, and in less than 13 years! that's fucking amazing! I, for my own part, have never desired membership in nomenus. I. for my own part, have helped prep and clean the land at wolfcreek both before and after the summer gathering, because I think that the kind of healing I’ve seen come out of those gatherings happens far too little in the world we live in. I have called out the misogyny that I’ve seen and experi enced. and I have honoured the struggle for intention I’ve witnessed.

its all in the intention, as far as I'm concerned, if male-born faeries want to gather together and create giant pink paper poodles in the name of the goddess, more power to them! if they are gathering together because they don’t like the way female-born faeries smell, or because I had a conversation with harry hay several years ago, speaking to him why should they have to socialize with people who they don't want to about my being a faerie, and feeling like here he was. this lovely and fuck, or they find "feminine energy" disturbing, then they’re misogynist brilliant man who articulated so much of who I was. and then denied that slime who’ll get no respect or support from me. (and please, girl, as if I could be such a thing because there’s any dearth of feminine of my biology, his response to me energy in a flock of male-born To The Editors. was to look at me deeply, hug faeries!) I really appreciate the direction the recent issues of RFD me. and tell me that of course I of course, years ago I got thrown have taken. I was involved with RFD in the days of literally cutting was a faerie, he said he also out of several ’’wimmin’s” events and pasting, and am very happy to see how the new electronic pro knew that it was not for him to for speaking out about the differ duction techniques continue to enhance the exciting, thought-pro speak for a female-born faeries’ ences between celebrating and voking and well written content. The most recent issue on the “ Fey experience, that any articulation exploring "womyn's" mysteries, needed to come from the faeries A rts” as well as the issue on “War” (#108) reminded me of previous and jingoisticaliy banding together who lived it. then he looked at thematic RFD’s: “ Faerie Primitives” and “Politics”. because ’’men were an evil plague me, and told me I needed to write I applaud your choice of subject matter and of the way you it. I guess I’ve begun. upon the body of our mother." in the not too distant past, intentional present it! Thanks again! Nettles, Short Mountain Sanctuary nomenus is but one part of the separate spaces dedicated to vastness of faeriedom. in tradi healing were few and far between, tional Celtic faerie lore, there and I honour the work and effort of the first people creating such spaces were many kingdoms of faerie, all with their own rules and mores, so are and beginning the healing and exploration that has led to the vast we today, each sanctuary, each faerie household our own domains and amount of faerie and alternative community available to us today. villages, each circle has its own focus, its own collective intent, and what all of this comes together in the whole cufuffle about the presidency of one circle or disorganization is or does belongs to its participants. nomenus , and the discussion of my offering to take on the job. yes, we are all part of the greater world that is faerie, and yes, we need the full info is that at the time I offered, there was no-one else interest to talk about all of these issues, more of us need to call out the misog ed. several people had given resounding "maybes", but nary a single fae yny we see, the classism, the racism, all of it. we also need to recognize on the west coast was enthusiastic about the job. and celebrate the amazing amount of progress we as a community and subculture have accomplished in the past 25 years. after reviewing the nomenus bylaws, and realizing that nothing in the bylaws stated that an officer had to be a member as well, I offered to we are no longer waiting for change to happen in the culture, we are cre take on the presidency for a year, mostly for love of the wolfcreek sanc ating it, with every discussion we have, with every heated debate and tuary, although there was the lovely irony of possibly being president of gleeful agreement, with every circle called, every tear shed, every hug an disorganization that barred me as a member. I knew that it would and epiphany recognized, every experience we carry with us. we have never get consensed on, but I also knew that several really good dia consciously changed our own subculture in less than 15 years, remem logues could spring from the discussion, much debate ensued, enough ber this, celebrate this, continue this! to fill two issues of the raddish, the wolfcreek newsletter.

1)my take on this stems from reading the collected writings of simone de beauvoir, monique wittig, harry hay. and "the faggots and their friends between the revolutions" by ned asta and tarry mitchell.

I read the debate carefully, being somewhat invested in the conversa tion. for me, reading those circle minutes felt really amazing, because in all the discussion, never once was it spoken that women are somehow not faeries, there was debate about what the original intent of nomenus was, about the importance of preserving male-born faerie space, about exploring how to be more inclusive, about figuring out how to honour

The interview with William Payne entitled “A Queer Peace-Keeper at the Front Lines of World Violence” (issue #114) is, in fact, mistitled. Payne seems like a sincere man, but he isn’t a peace keeper in the context of his work in Hebron. He’s a pro-Palestinian activist. He’s taken sides in a complex, bitter and violent conflict. He implies that this makes him a peace keeper because he casts Israel as “the oppressor” and thus the Palestinian as the innocent victim needing protection. Is that the whole story? How has he worked at keeping the peace inside Israel? How many suicide bombers has he con vinced to turn around and go back home? Payne has a perfect right to be a pro-Palestinian activist, but it’s not as roman tic-sounding as being a “peace-keeper.” And we RFD readers need to remind ourselves that not everything and every one Queer is above being questioned. L. Jurrist, Hollywood, FL

Food

Reaping a healthful harvest. Gr o wi n g a heal thy body.

By T anya

and grains, all of the foods that will prepare our bodies for the com ing winter. According to Chinese five element theory and Paul Pitchford in Healing with Whole Foods, the Autumn corresponds to the element of metal. "The forces of Autumn create dryness in Heaven and metal on Earth; they create the lung organ and the skin upon the body...and the nose, and the white color, and the pungent flavor...the emotion grief, and the ability to make a weeping sound." -In n e r Classic

R a w g ir l

Aloha' This is my first article for RFD, and I am honored to have been invited. I have kept the same title that Orchid has used for the last 2 issues, because I am also a kitchen witch. My intention for this column is to provide you with some of my favorite recipes, as well as to answer your questions about food and nutrition. So please feel free to contact me via email or snail mail, and I will respond to your inquiries!

As fall fills us with her multi-hued energy, focus on those foods that support the lungs and colon for both cleansing and protection. These include pungent foods such as hot peppers, and especially the white pungents, including onions and garlic, turnips, ginger, horseradish, cabbage, radish, and daikon. These foods help to move mucus out of the body. Another category of foods to focus on is those that are mucilagenous, or slimy textured. These will help to rejuvenate the mucous membranes, and include seaweeds' and flax seed. And as always, dark leafy greens are crucial to overall health, providing an abundance of vitamins and minerals, as well as chlorophyll, all of which can help provide immunity to the prevalent viruses at change of season time. So check out your local farmer’s market, and ask your favorite produce seller to support local organ ic farmers.

I have always loved to cook, and actually grew up reading my grandmother’s cookbooks for fun, late into the night. As I have grown older and learned much more about food and nutrition, my specialties have become vegan and vegetarian cuisine, and most recently, raw food. I have used food and yoga to heal myself of var ious ailments and illnesses including Lyme Disease and it’s resid ual arthritic symptoms, chronic fatague and the epstein-barr virus, and chronic depression and anxiety. By shifting first to a whole grain and vegetable based diet with high quality vegetable proteins and then to a raw food diet focused mainly on vegetables, I have increased my general health and immunity, stamina, and am gener ally able to maintain a positive and joyful outlook on life. I believe that our bodies have the power to heal themselves, if only we listen to what they are really saying. This listening takes practice, and isn't always easy; many times when you "clean up" your diet, you may experience detox reactions as built up toxins are flushed out of your system.

Please enjoy the following recipes. They are all perfect for the Fall energies of harvest and completion, the contemplation of Samhain and Day of the Dead and celebration of Fall Equinox. Let me know how it goes...Many Blessings!

B r a i s e d Cabba ge a nd L eeks Serves 4 as a side dish 1 yellow onion, cut into crescents 2 cloves garlic, minced 4 Tablespoons olive oil 2 teaspoons ground cumin seed 1 teaspoon ground fennel seed 1/2 teaspoon cayenne, or to taste 1 teaspoon sea salt, or to taste 1 head green cabbage, finely shredded 1 bottle dark beer 2 tablespoons maple syrup, or to taste

There are many ways of making the transition to a healthier lifestyle, and I believe the first step is to begin eating organic and locally grown food. Organic produce has a higher nutrient content than conventional food, and was grown without harming the farm ers or the planet. Some may argue that organic food is too expen sive; my response is that conventional food is actually far more expensive, relative to the toxic residue that most modern farming practices leave behind in the air that we breathe, the rivers that we drink and the food that we eat. By consuming locally grown food, you accomplish many feats simultaneously; the economic structure of your community is strengthened, and you ensure that mostly seasonal produce is used. This tennet of traditional macrobiotics makes sense to me, because it relies on trust in Mother Nature, that she will provide for you the medicine you need for a given climate and geographical region in any given season.

In a heavy bottomed skillet, heat oil on high and then add onions and garlic. Saute until golden brown,stirring constantly so they don’t burn, then add spices and salt, saute another minute Add cabbage and reduce heat to medium, continuing to stir occa sionally, cook for 5 minutes, until cabbage wilts.

For example, when you read this, Fall will be approaching, and the harvest will be bearing apples and pears, hard squashes, beans

Add your favorite dark beer and maple syrup, cover the pan, and 8

simmer for about 30 minutes, until cabbage is soft. Serve this with baked potatoes and broiled fish, or add crumbled tempeh and serve with a wild rice pilaf for a complete meal.

M i s o Mu_slS. r sLSJtlnLQn Serves 4 1 pound salmon fillet 1 Tablespoon unpasteurized miso 1 teaspoon dijon or stone ground mustard 1 teaspoon honey or maple syrup Cut salmon into 4 ounce pieces. Combine miso, mustard and honey together in a small bowl. Top each piece of salmon with miso mixture and bake at 375°F for 15 minutes, or until salmon is as well done as you like it. The miso mustard mixture is also great on marinated tofu or tem peh, or tossed with roasted vegetables.

Baked Stuffed

Apples

Serves 4 4 large apples, your favorite variety 2 Tablespoons melted butter 2 Tablespoons maple syrup 1/2 cup walnuts 1/2 cup raisins 1/2 cup fresh or dried cranberries 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon 1/2 teaspoon ground clove 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

HEALING WE ARE ALL HEALING. OURSELVES, EACH OTHER, THE PLANET. WE ALL HAVE OUR OWN PATHS AND METHODS. SHARING WHAT WE KNOW AND PROVIDING TECHN IQ UES FOR SELF-HEALING BOTH INSPIRES AND CON NECTS US. SHARE YOUR HEALING SPIRIT W ITH OTHERS.

DEADLINE FOR WINTER ISSUE: 10/15/03

QUEER MUSIC

Core each apple using an apple corer, and widen the hole a bit to make room for the stuffing. Combine the remaining ingredients in a bowl, and spoon into the center of each apple.

BE YOU A QUEER MUSICIAN, A MUSIC ENTHU SIAST, OR JUST KNOW A GOOD TUNE WHEN YOU HEAR ONE, CO NTRIBUTE YOUR FAVORITES, YOUR FEELINGS AND YOUR REVIEWS - FROM PUNK TO CLASSIC TO TECH NOROCK. AND A’ONE AN A’TWO!

Place apples in a baking dish and cover. Bake at 375°F for about an hour, or until the apples are soft and juicy, basting a few times with their own juices Serve hot from the oven with your favorite vanilla frozen dessert.

Tanya Rawgirl is the chef owner of Urban Forage, an organic juice bar and raw food cafe in San Francisco. She can be reached at rawgirl@urbanforage.com or 833 Fillmore Street, San Francisco, CA, 94117.

DEADLINE FOR SPRING ISSUE: 1/15/04

RFD+30 WHATS AHEAD IN 30 YEARS? HOW WILL WE BE DIFFERENT IF WE LIVE OUR DREAMS NOW? DEADLINE FOR SUMMER ISSUE: 4/15/04

1974 9

2004

by Buffy Aakaash

Illustration: By-The-Way

P la n t Profile

obacco has much to reveal. He has taught many for a long time. As a teenager conspiring with my siblings against my mother, an iron-willed, borderline chainsmoker, I was a passionate anti-smoker. My mother, now SO. smoked from age 15 to 79, when she was moved to a non smoking nursing home. I remember her, though, smoking in the car as she drove, preoccupied. Some other intelligence was with her when she smoked. A friend o f mine who is try ing to "cut back" his half pack a day habit, tells me he enjoys the smell of Tobacco smoke. The very smell can recall its sweet calming effects. Tobacco’s history o f use in our western material culture is well documented. Hut there are less documented aspects it wishes people to know. Similar to the people and cultures that were present when conquerors and settlers arrived to America, tobacco is indigenous to the Americas. The story of Tobacco and our people since that time, says 'Tobacco spirit, teaches us a lot about w hat happens to a culture that stops acknowledg ing the sacredness o f Nature as the source and ultimate provider of all that we are. And this is Tobacco's primary mes sage. When Tobacco (and other sacred plants) is consumed without this acknowledgment, then the connection is incom plete, the communication of Divine insight that Tobacco offers never reaches us. He knows this message must be delivered for the sake o f Nature itself and calls upon us again and again to "get it." This relentless beckoning from the spirit realm

becomes what we call "addiction," which, in the case o f Tobacco, is now a worldwide problem - interestingly, primari ly among cultures o f materialism that have lost connection to Nature as a whole. Today in the US, lines o f battle form between smokers and nonsmokers. Studies reveal the evils o f Tobacco, civil rights advocates lobby against laws restricting its use, and Tobacco companies resort to unsavory tactics to capitalize on addiction. I don’ t know any smoker who hasn’ t felt their use o f Tobacco to be a problem at some point in their lives. But. the plant is not to blame for this unrest and to cast it out as the villain w ill only do further harm. Through my years o f working with Tobacco, growing and harvesting, a relationship has developed, which has brought me out o f my anti-smoking crusade. 1 am aware o f his deep power and know' that if I should disrespect his one and only demand, he and I w ill struggle, as he calls me back to class over and over. He cares not if the beckoning for me to come before him so many times finally brings my physical body to death, for that is the ultimate teaching. But he has great compassion and is the most revered among other plants. Tobacco’s demand is simple: it calls us to prayer. If, when we smoke, we enter prayer, a communication with Divine, then we are in right relation with it. This way, we allow the teaching o f this great plant to reach us and we learn about the nature o f deep longing and the drive for Divine connection.

S p iritu a lity

fro m R FD A rc h iv e s

isters sisters

sistev. memory o f the 9 m illio n w im m in, many o f whom were lesbians who were executed on the charge o f w itchcraft, we invoke the names o f the Great Goddess. In memory o f the uncounted number o f gay men who were thrown into the fire as faggots to light the pyres o f their sisters, we invoke the names o f the Great Goddess, the M other o f all livin g things. We have been your priestesses and priests. We have danced together in celebration o f your seaÂ sons and the sensual, physical presence o f every human being. As sisters and brothers, we have come together in your honor, you w ho arc the flesh and breath and "being o f every person, animal, tree and stone. 17,()(M) years before the Hebrew people came out o f the desert into the land o f Caanan we knew you. 20.0(M) before the birth o f Christ we knew you in Paleolithic caves and grottos, in temples, shrines and groves throughout A natolia," the Mediterranean. Babylonia, the Aegean, the Near and M iddle East. Brittany, Egypt, Crete, Malta, A frica , Europe and the Americas. O ur temples and shrines were destroyed, our groves cut down but we remember. You have remained slumbering w ithin us. kept alive through pogroms and persecution, to reemerge again, the vital female force o f the universe, ready to reshape tnc w orld and return the balance that has been lost and destroyed over all these years. We call on you now. We ask you to reveal yourself to us in this hour o f great need. Return to us in your terrible beauty and give us the strength to continue our struggle w ith clear vision and compassion; give us the strength to extend ourselves to those who fear us and thereby hate us as myths o f their our creation, give us strength to continue through all that would oppress us, contain us, deny us until we can live in the world w ith freedom and d ig nity; give us the strength to connect our struggle w ith the struggles o f all people that this society labels unfit and outcast, all"people anywhere who are denied the right to live humanly. We invoke you, Great One, you whose names have been sung from time beyond time: You who are Inanni, Isis, Ishtar, Anath, Ashtcrofn, Amaterasu, N eilh, Sellct, Siting Moo. Turquoise Woman, W hite Shell Woman, Cihuaeoatl, Tonant/.in, Demeter, Artem is, Earthquake Mother, Kali, Diana, Temaya, Danu, Tara, B rig it, Rnadha, Eristikos, A lÂ i i z/a, Hecate. We welcome you w ith arms wide open. The time is now! We arc ready! Blessed Be.

This is an invocation delivered by Balya Podos at the Gay freedom Day Rally in San Francisco to 250,()(X) people. June 25. 1978. It appeared in RED #16. 1978.

S p irit M e d ic in e

by Bufffy Aakaash

BOLIHARI and the Magpie A Story nce there was a happy magpie named D illard. He was a playful bird, who hunted for food with Ins fam ily and friends, and who spent a lot o f time on his own as well, swooping and diving. One day, while he was out alone, exploring new territory, for the first time in his mem ory he felt lonely and wished for friends to keep him company. But there were none in sight. He (lew around a bend in a moun tain hollow he’d never noticed before. The sun was setting and had just sunk beneath the ridge behind the bend. There in front o f him was what he thought was the biggest, most magnificent bird he’d ever seen. Its wings seemed to flap with the wind, only it hovered like a butterfly, almost in place. And, in fact, it was in place. As he flew closer for a look, he began to chuckle at himself, for what he thought to be the wings o f a big bird in (light was only the branches o f a cedar tree. The cedar stood among other cedars, some smaller, some larger, but the light in the hollow at this time o f day had struck this particular tree in such a way as to give it a more animated look. That’s what Dillard decided, anyway. fired from a lull day. Dillard decided to land and rest in the comfort o f the cedar branches. As he sat, listening to the wind, he smelled deeply the sweet sap that leaked from where his toes clung to the deep green needles. "Hello there," said the cedar tree. Dillard was startled. Cedars normally had little to say unless formally asked for information. "D ili you say something. Cedar?" asked Dillard. "I was just saying hello and good day to you," said the cedar. "M y name is Bolihari. What's yours?" "D illard," replied the magpie. " I ’ ve never talked with a cedar before. Why so many words today?" "O h... w e ll...," he said, "I have my family here. M y mother, my father, my grandfather and his mother and father, and my children and their children, and my brothers and sisters and their ch il dren's children..." "They’re all here with you?" asked Dillard. "Yes.” said Bolihari. "A ll of my family that are still living are here with me." "Wow! So you must never be lonely." W e ll... that’s just it. you see. We're all awfully quiet with one another. We spend a great deal o f time in solitary pondering o f

it all. because that's what we cedar: do, but maybe I ’ m a little differen from the others. I ’ m a little more., sociable perhaps. Where is your family?" "O h... they're around." replied Dillard dolefully. "I don't real ly see them much. I prefer to be on my own mostly." "On your own?!! Really? I came out o f the ground right here fifty years ago and have been here ever since. M y father is 90 years old, my grandfather's a century and a half and his parents even older... and, you know, to the best o f my knowledge, none o f our family has ever been any farther than where we were born, right here in this very spot." Dillard looked around in wonder at the Cedar's family, nestled deep in the hollow o f the earth. "That’s incredible," he said. "M y grandparents are long passed on. And maybe even my parents, too. I haven't seen them for so long." "You don't know!?" exclaimed Bolihari in disbelief. "I'm afraid not. It’s not something we birds think about much." "It sounds terribly lonely." "W ell... Here you are," said Dillard as i f he’d been accused o f a crime, "with all your family close by, but no one really to talk to." "H m m n... True," said the tree. "Besides," he continued, " I ’ m hardly ever lonely. I have friends all over the land - bears and deer, all the other birds." "I see. W ell... i f you ever should find yourself lonely, you're always welcome to come and talk to me," said Bolihari. "I would love to know more about your kind o f life, i f you care to tell me." "O kay... w ell... thanks," said Dillard. " I 'll keep that in mind." "It's getting dark. now. Time for you to go, I suppose," knowing, as he knew so well, being a tree himself, birds w ill be birds. "Yes, you are right," said the bird, "I really must be on my way. Things to do, you know. Bird things." "I understand," said the tree. " I f you m ust... See you again I hope." And with the cedar’s parting words. Dillard the magpie, left, taking flight out o f this strange little cedar hollow he’d never seen before. He was feeling lonesome as ever now. Where were all his friends now he wondered. It was not like him to be lone ly like this. He thought fondly o f Bolihari. Even though Bolihari

didn't have anyone to talk with much, he at least had the com pany o f his family with him always. For days. D illard tried to find his friends and family hut they were always nowhere to be seen. He wanted to tell them about his strange unlikely acquaintance, a cedar tree o f all things' Finally, after several days, he saw his friend. Shula. "Shula!" he yelled. Howdy. D illard." said Shula. "What a surprise!" "Surprise!" complained Dillard. "I've been searching for someone - anyone! - for days." "Why." asked Shula, "is a bird like you searching for other birds? You know how we are. We are where we are until we aren't there anymore, and then we're somewhere else for a time until we move on from there and that's how it goes." "I met a new friend." said Dillard. "I wanted to introduce him to someone like us." "And who could be such a wonderful new friend that you'd want to introduce him to another one o f us." "W ell." replied Dillard, slightly embarrassed. "It's this won derful cedar tree..." "A cedar tree!?” cried Shula. "Cedar trees don’t care to talk, least o f all to a magpie." "Well this one does. W ill you come and meet him?" "I'm afraid I'm on my way somewhere else. D illard," replied Shula. And before he could finish speaking, he was already flying on. "Shula!" cried Dillard, but Shula was long gone. Dillard felt sadder and lonelier than ever now. He returned to Bolihari and sat sulking on his canopy o f branches. "W hat’s wrong?" asked Bolihari. "I don’t know." said Dillard. "D id you miss me?" "It seemed you were only gone a moment, my dear Dillard, but that moment, i must confess, seemed longer than most moments I remember o f the same length." "It seemed like a long time to me," said Dillard. "Why don't you stay a while this time then?" "Stay? A while? W ell... I'd like to stay... lo r... a w hile... How long could I stay?" "I'd be honored." said Bolihari. " if you'd stay as long as you would like." And so, Dillard stayed, barely leaving sight o f his beloved cedar, for a long time. They grew very fond o f each other, teach ing each other things they never could have learned from their own kind. But as years went by in the little hollow, Dillard began to miss his kind. He would see them from afar, but they would sneer at him for putting so much energy into this relation ship with a cedar tree, forsaking his life as a bird. Bolihari saw this new heaviness in Dillard and spoke to him one day. "I am a tree," he said, "And by nature I am born without the privelege o f flight. I must be content and trust that when you leave you w ill once again alight on my branches, eat the fruit I bear, and share with me your stories o f adventures that only birds may have. I trust that over all the other trees and all the other birds in this world, you w ill come back to me." "Shortly thereafter, Dillard embraced his bird nature and with promises o f a prompt return, he bid his beloved tree farewell and flew o ff to find his family and friends. Now, time for a tree is much different than it is for a bird. The entire lifetime o f a bird might only seem a period o f days or weeks to a tree. But as years went by and Dillard did not return,

Bolihari became long and drawn, a deep loneliness stirring within him. This loneliness turned to a powerful anger that was impervious to any counsel from his elders, even his wise old great grandfather. No one in his family undersuxxl the love he felt for a bird, a love that made him w ish he could spread w ings and fly off. to become the great bird Dillard once mistook him for. It only seemed natural to Bolihari's kin that the bird had flow n away. Bolihari’s family's inability to understand his pain served to increase his rage. The rage turned into a series o f curses at the earth, which held him rooted in that one place for ever. Thai morning a mist had settled on the little cedar hollow. Mist and trees, especially cedar trees, have a relationship that few under stand. Both dearly love the earth and that is their bond. It angered mist to hear the wisdom o f cedar tainted by such wretched curses. So, as the mist thickened and turned to rain in places, the mist whispered to the rain, "This Bolihari. you hear him. He really must stopped. He threat ens the life o f this whole forest with his cursed aspirations of birdhood." The rain agreed and promptly told the sky. And the sky so loved the earth he could not bear to hear Bolihari's curs es. He knew there were other forests, other cedars, so he ordered the rain to return to the mountain hollow. It rained hard for many days and nights. The water rushed out o f the hills and down into the hollow like it had never done before. There was a raging torrent that began to tear at the roots o f all the trees in the forest. Bolihari's family. First, it tore away his children, and then his beloved great grandfather, and then several o f his brothers and sisters, all washed away never to be seen again. When the rain finally stopped, and the river ceased its raging, Bolihari began to fall over in shame and exhaustion, until only one final root was left to support his life on earth. Some silent years went by, leaving Bolihari to heal and think o f many things, and ponder why he would never fly as a bird. His surviving family recovered, and his own roots began to grab hold o f the earth again, a saddening slouched curving upwards in pride and good health. Color came again to his faded green needles, and the deep red core in the center o f his trunk, the heart o f his being, deepened in color and vibrancy, increasing the flow o f love that sustained his vital connection to the earth. One day. Dillard the Magpie returned to the little cedar hol low. From far away, he could see how everything in the hollow had changed, how the rain had widened the hollow and washed away boulders and trees. Oh no! he thought, Could I be too late?He flew' faster and when he arrived to the spot he remem bered, he paused. "B olihari." he shouted. " I barely recognized you I’ m so glad to see you! Did you think I was never coming back?" "I always hoped you would come back. D illard." said Bolihari, "But I never knew for sure if you would. Tell me everything, all about your otherworldly adventures. And 1 w ill do the same." "I went to my family and friends. I tried to be around them more, like you and your beautiful family, but they weren’ t inter ested. Then I tried and tried to get them to come and live here with me, but they wouldn’ t. I so missed you." "1 missed you, too, my dear D illard." Bolihari told D illard the story o f his cursing and the great flood that followed. In remorse. D illa rd vowed to never leave Bolihari again, and together they stayed, through this life , and into others.

“ ...by nature I am born without the privelege of flight. I must be content and trust...."

Fey A rts

Was I five? 1 dug a hole in the backyard and filled it with water from the hose. The stuff from the bottom o f the hole became a syrupy goo. A family friend said 1 was making mud pies. Later when I became a scientist, 1 learned names for the stuff: B horizon, glaeid till, rock flour, clay. But 1 didn't mix mud pies anymore. Then 1 became a terrorist for a while, my ability to do science destroyed forever by excessive heat and lousy ventilation. On a visit to /.uni Mountain Sanctuary, Maqui taught me how to make mud pies out o f clay, and how to bake them in a red hot oven. I now make magic mud pies in Ashville, NC, where I live with Tribble Cat and an incredible supply o f dust and white powders.

â&#x20AC;&#x153; ...I live with Tribble Cat and an incredible supply o f dust and white powders.â&#x20AC;? 14

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/?FD writers for

30 years have ex life's experiences. This harvest of words, images and clever phrases reveals a continual committment to change — a sure sign of growth. Here's to 30 more years of even more bountiful harvests! f] 15

ROWING UNFOLDING NashFae Patrick and John share their views o f Faerieness, from the silly to the sublime. by Patrick row w ing . Be a fa iry. H ed on istic at a massive parly Be d iffe re n t.

a lity . We are e v o lv in g society through our chaos in fu sions. O f course people don't lik e us all the tim e- they are acting to impose th e ir brand o f order and chaos, w hich is co m p etin g w ith our brand o f order and chaos. I f anyone w ins, boredom ensues. You and I know how it is, but not everyone does, and that's good or it w o u ld n ’t w ork at all.

F ly away. Be an escapist and he w ild . Be free and abase yo urself before the Im pe rative and lose yo u r "in h ib itio n s " or the like . Be th o u g h tfu l, be organic.

Society does not p a rtic u la rly want you spending your tim e in ways it disapproves o f. It gives Us goosebumps and defies master Order. We are granted In h ib itio n by our O rg a n iza tio n , our structure, that w h ich makes us not just flo a ty bits o f m olecu lar flu ffin e s s and energy waves and p article s. We need that o rg an izatio n to process the w orld and make our m ark. B eing noth ing and e verythin g gets very d u ll fo r the universe, so it makes us to keep its e lf amused. 1 digress- Society does not p a rtic u la rly want you spend ing your tim e in ways, it disapproves o f. It's not supposed to- master Order, s o lita ry , is no more fu n ctio n a l than to ta l Chaos. I t ’s true at both the m icro cosm ic elem ental little bits level and the m acrocosm ic in te rp la n e ta ry s o c i etal level. S im ply, w ith o u t som ething to shake things up once in a w h ile no one is going to get anywhere fast- we require exposure to d iffe re n t things in order to find things that w ork. It is the math o f the universe- choice in the "tw o paths diverge in a w oods" sense.

So re a lly that's all there is to g ro w in g . By g ro w in g we are increasing our a b ility to a ffe ct the balance o f chaos and order in the universe. We become, in e ffe c t, little bubbles o f order poured, s q u is h y -lik e , in to skin and bones. Our inte rn a l order exists such that we may in flu e n ce the w o rld . It is inte re stin g to note that "g ro w in g " e ffe c tiv e ly increases the size o f a more ordered system (the human being) as opposed to a more ch ao tic system. I suppose that the gro w th o f O rder on the scale o f a human being is re a lly just m oving the displaced chaos to another planesocietal chaos fo r exam ple- but l haven't heard anything about preservation o f chaos and order. M aybe they can ju s t go away and come back w henever they w ant... and w hat is a ll that about p arallel universes? I d on 't know. It isn't re a lly good or bad, but it is more interestin g than n o th in g ... or being flu ffy m o le cu la r bits, eew!

------------------------------------- « ---------------------------------------It's the same as sexual re p ro d u ctio n , but on a societal level. J u s t as one needs to m ix up the genes in order to make a new human body w ith d iffe re n t features and q u a l itie s, one needs to m ix up ideas and behaviour to find neu ways o f so lv in g problem s and creating happiness. We are all part o f that m ix in g - c o n trib u tin g our in d iv id u 16

Short periods o f excitement and long periods o f dull snooziness have left Patrick with a desire to expand his horizons. Unfortunately, horizons are hut an aspect of the roundness o f the earth, and cannot he expanded so easily. Therefore, roundness.

by John gathering 2002. A fte r a jou rn e y that ended, g rip p in g ly, have a dock o f cards known as The Faeries' Oracle that along a mountain road -- the kind 1 associate w ith old 1 fo ol around w ith from tim e to time. 1 often draw a card movies in w hich a stagecoach is w obbling along on its big representing the Tads o f the Harvest. A nd w hile 1 like the autumnal colors used in the illu stra tio n on the card, thewooden wheels, inches from the edge o f a c liff, sm all rocks tum bling down into a ravine -- we fin a lly reached the lads herself seems almost accusatory. 1 always feel bad Sanctuary. when Ms. Harvest glares at me in her way, as i f to say. “ Okay, now what have you got to reap fo r y o u rs e lf!" I'm all M y first thought upon seeing the main house and the gar too aware o f what little I've harvested o f my own talents dens and the goats was that I'd wandered into a Bruegel and ideas, but 1 have taken a lot in. I'm a regular grain silo, painting. And during the course o f the day. as 1 spent tim e b rim m ing w ith all the tin y details I've gathered from just w ith people who had managed to create an alternative w orld paying attention during the course o f my life . that is both progressive and ancient, and touched by a p ri mal s p iritu Okay, s h ift a lity that metaphors. has alw ays My camera lived among started ro llin g the trees, I around 1969, realized 1 when I was had fin a lly four, and I've made it to stored up a lot the place 1 of images longed to along the way know as a that I s till sift boy. 1 con through from firm e d, in tim e to tim e. the s o ftly B efore I w o rn -d o w n moved to mo u nt ai ns Tennessee o f the south over tw o east. that, years ago, an i n d e e d , image that there are continued to people in com pel me this w o rld was one 1 try in g to gli mpsed make some every tim e I kind o f magic. rode in the car w ith my fa m ily on Sum m it Avenue in

Hackensack, New Jersey, where 1 lived until I was eight. This was the early seventies, when first-generation hippies still walked the earth w ith fu ll heads o f hair and the dusky voices o f Grace S lick, Jim M orrison and The Zom bies’ C olin Blunstone s till haunted popular radio. So w ith that soundtrack pla ying in my ears, rid ing in a car ju s t after sun set, I would look o ff into the distance (w ith my pow erful 20/20 c h ild ’s eyes) and glim pse what are essentially the fo o th ills o f the Appalachians. There, flo a tin g in the dark h ills, w'ould be isolated lights. And I always wondered. What is happening around those lights? W hat sort o f tw ilit magic? Are gentle and w ik i men and women conspiring by lam plight around a heavy wooden table? Dancing around a fire, perhaps? M y im agination was sparked. T h irty years later, alter I moved to Tennessee, I met Snap Dragon, who told me about the Radical Faeries and a place called Short M ountain. And he invited me to come to the M ountain the weekend before the o ffic ia l start o f spring

That night, at a home close by, there was a bonfire, and w ithin its circle, I met more people w ho had taken th e ir cre ative visions not to coastal cities, but into the gloam ing into an evening that clusters th ic k ly w ith p o ssib ility in the wooded hills. And I wondered i f somehow the light o f the fire could be seen from a road m iles away, where another child m ight be secretly filin g away the image, beginning to understand that life is a delicious m ystery in w hich the pleasure is not fin ding the answers, but witnessing the un folding.

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John lives and works in Nashville and still wants to know what it felt like to he a Jersey girl in the '70s, behind the wheel o f a Camara, lis tening to Heart and motoring down to the shore Jor some pizza and a date with a guy named Vinny.

om and I first met in 2(M)2 at the Wolf Creek Naraya. up lying to get a job waiting tables, and my whole world This article arises out of two interviews with him and an changed. The restaurant was a fancy place, for Idaho. A il the ongoing relationship. The first interview Hemingways went there. I was around good food took place December 2002 for Under a and people, and most importantly a lot o f gay Silver Sky, anthology of Northwest Poets, and people. We all hung out at this gay bar. the only “Being gay, has become a part o f the northwest w riter’s bar around you didn’t take your life in your being queer and archive of the Evergreen State College. The hands by going out and dancing. Everybody growing up in second interview took place July 7th 2(X)3 at who didn’ t fit into the categories o f straight Tom’s home in Portland Oregon. macho white guys... Idaho in the 50’s

W h e r e do you come from?

and 60's, I felt estranged from everything around me. I never really fit in anywhere.”

I was horn in Pocatello Idaho 1946 into a German Catholic farming family. I graduated Idaho State College in 1969 and went into the peace corp. Ended up in Kenya. In Kenya I worked with the Masai, lived in a mud hut, had a job that didn’ t exist on paper. Then I lived in a tent at the base of Kilimanjaro. Then I lived in Nairobi for a year and a half . Then 1 came back.

Cowboys? Cowboys. Anybody who didn't fit, black peo ple, mexicans, queers, cross-dressers. The humanity was wonderful. I started really ques tioning my own sexuality. I had been married

for seven years. I wanted to go live my life, so I divorced and ended up driving cross country. I lived in New England for a while. Followed a lover down to Key West. Then wound up back in New York for ten years. Now I'm in Oregon the last 13 years.

Cul tur e shock, huh? Wha t was Key West like?

Oh yeah. I was freaked out. I married my college sweetheart and we went off to live on a hippie commune in Oregon. Mostly it was speed freaks, a total mess. We went back to Boise. I ended

Key West in the ‘70s was a gay heaven. I moved there to be gay, to find out how to be gay. To feel a part o f something. When I 18

got there it w as a hunch o f people who weren’ t about am kind o f brotherhood or sisterhood. It was a lot o f drinking, a lot of drugs, a lot o f rage. 1 really got a negative essence o f being ga\. o f being an outcast, o f being the one who doesn’ t fit. There was a lot o f rage. 1 guess it comes front being queer. Not so much from me being queer, but how insensitive and how crass, how manipulative the real world is. Our politicians, our religions, our social structures, how unfair, unequal and selfserving they are.

It NiurtN about something that’s painful, usually in my chest. B \ investigating that. 1 draw a picture o f how I ’ m seeing the w orld and how I paint m yself into that world. B> w riting it. I can understand it. It seems confusing and close and d iffic u lt and bewildering. So i f I write about it 1 can push it away enough to look at it and see that it isn’ t me That’s an im por tant boundary to make.

I'd l ike to t a l k a b o u t i m a g e s in y o u r w o r k a n d t he p r o c e s s around your language. You c r e a t e a s er i es of i m a g e s and let us make connections b e t w e e n t h e m . Can y ou ta lk a b o u t that?

This w as b e f o r e AIDS. Key West in the 7()’s was very dark and deliberate. I would say it was the under belly o f C hristianity, really. A ll these men trying to work out their broken hearts through their dicks. We knew it was dark, but we d id n ’ t 1 know how dark it was.

I really try to talk about that in my workshops. To go onto the body and present an image. I ’ m a great fan o f James Hillman. He sass it wonderfully in his book |Blue FireJ that all we have to do is bring up the image, and the image is more than likely an arche type. Because it ’s an archetype, it has meaning. You set the archetypes next to each other, and the meanings tell the story. 1 know the things I want to talk about are racism, sexism, gen der. sex. and how people’s hearts are broken. So 1 just sit there and try to be open and find images that seem to fit. At first I think the journey is to find the archetypes, and once I ’ve got them going, just set them down next to each other. Pretty soon the story starts telling itself. * Press, 2002)

So y o u w e n t to N e w Y o r k to w r i t e a b o u t I d a h o . Y o u ' v e h a d to m o v e a w a y f r o m t he pl aces y o u r n o v e l s a r e a b ou t in o r d e r to w r i t e about them.

I didn’ t particularly plan it that way. but that’s the way it ’s hap pened. 1 was w riting about Idaho in New' York, then when I moved to Portland, 1 wrote about New York in Shy Hunters. Ten years. It kept New York o f the 8()’s alive in me, kept that whole time alive. In a way I got third lost in a big time warp. I ’ m so sur Tell me a b o u t y o u r n e w book. «in the City ...... . prised by all the changes now. I start ed really living in that other place more Now is the Hour. This book picks up where adolescence than this place. But here I am in Portland now w riting back on begins. Rigby John Kluesner is just becoming sexual in the Idaho again. context o f my family, and the Roman Catholic religion. Last May my Mother died, now I realize how much this book is So w h e r e does the w r i t i n g c o m e f r om ? about her. It’s an homage. Its also a story about racism and I think all good w riting comes from the sore place. M y inves gender, Mexican laborers and Native Americans. How my tigation o f the sore place in me is always an investigation of mother and father treated these people and how I came to an my childhood. Being gay, being queer and growing up in awareness o f those people not being other than m yse lf Anti I get to go back to Idaho. Idaho in the 50’s and 60’s, 1 felt estranged from everything around me. I never really fit in anywhere. That investigation o f how' my heart was broken takes place in great beauty. How did you find the Fa er i es? Golden poplars. The incredible blue sky behind a Lombardi poplar. Sometimes you could see the moon during the day. In 1968 I met Clyde Hall. He was one o f those long haired hip That’s incredible beauty to me. pies in the Indian Club at school. We became close friends, and later, blood brothers. We’ ve been brothers and dear friends So that l a n d s c a p e isn't just an o u t e r l a n d ever since. C’lyde started going to W o lf Creek for the Naraya scape. It's a w o u n d e d p l a ce i nside y ou that about the time 1 got AIDS. 95 or 96. He kept asking me to go. y o u r c h a r a c t e r s a nd the l a n d s c a p e r e f l e c t Last year I finally felt well enough to go and discovered the somehow. world o f the Faeries.

How has the Faer ie c o mm u n i t y affected you? Since Key West I've distrusted groups o f gay men. I had this belief that gay men would treat each other as brothers, not the hard edge I found there. There’s only so much you can talk about sun-tan and hard-ons. Meeting the Faeries I've found a group o f gay men who are real people, who have accepted me and treat me as a real person in a way that's spiritual with a sense o f real com munity. A ll these different ways o f being, a complex web. It's an amazingly layered system o f interaction that’s beautiful.

Wel l , the book ( M a n Who Fell In Love With The Moon) has i nfl uenced so m a n y of the Faeries, y o u 'v e a l r e a d y been in the cul tur e. I ’ve entered the I aeries as a baby, but I ’ve been treated as an elder. I ’ m always surprised when people are kind. I get a lot o f that from the Faeries. I feel at home.

What' s y o ur most f a v o r i t e thing y o u ' v e wri tten? Are you a bl e to a n s w e r that? And why? Oh yes. Shy Hunters. It was my opus. It’s not that I won’t or can’ t write as well. But I ’ve never given up so much, never risked so much, never went so far out on a limb as that book.

You al mos t didn't c ome back. It’s true. That book is a dark exotic lover that almost killed me and I ’ ll never get over it.

Is t he re a nyt hi ng else y ou' d like to say? Well I guess, just respect yourself. Come to trust your move ments and where your heart is leading you. Walk proud. Know that you’re not alone. Tom Spanbauer is the author of three novels: Faraway FUues, The Man Who Fell In Love With The Moon and In the City of Shy Hunters. He is currently working on a fourth novel, Sow Is The Hour. He is a legendary teacher in Portland. Oregon, facil itating a Saturday class caller! “ Dangerous W riters" at which the occasional faerie can be seen around the table.

W h e r e a r e you h e ad e d? Who is Tom S p a n b a u e r be comi ng? Oh jeez, I don’ t know. I’ m feeling healthier now, I have a lover (smiles). I still have to be careful because o f my health. I think I’ m just getting more satisfied. I’ m not so angry I ’ m not young and healthy anymore. It’s so personal. How I regard myself is changing. I’ m more at home in this body. I hope I ’ m moving towards health. Anil I guess the word is clarity. Just occupying the space o f being present in the moment.

(Grove/Atlantic, 2 0 0 1)

byT

_ T om S panbauer an e x c e r p t

---------------------------# ---------------------------Sage Ricci is a writer, editor and tattoo artist living in Portland, Oregon. He is working on bis first novel. The Resurrection of Aqua Boy.

Things start where you don’ t know and end up where you know. When you know is when you ask, How did this start? W olf .Swamp. That’s how this story started. When I crossed over the East River into the mystery, this city, the fuckyou city. W olf Swamp. Or. as you probably know it, Manhattan. Quite a story, this story, how the fog settles and Manhattan shape-shifts into W olf Swamp. Like all stories it’s a mystery. At the beginning you don’ t know and then at the end you know. But this mystery isn’t the Agatha Christie kind where there’s covering up all along and a big revelation at the end. In this mystery, everything is out there from the first hut you don’ t realize it. The revelation is when you’re going this way and then shit happens and then you’re going that way. and for some rea son this time you stop, you notice what was there all along, and because you notice, everything gets perfectly clear. Even myself, at the end o f this story, my bare feet on horseflesh galloping up Avenue A, I am the mystery: the Mystery o f the W ill o f Heaven. There's a couple o f suicides, a couple sacrifices, a betrayal. An ethical act. A famous movie star. An ancient Indian legend. A journey into the underworld to find a lost lover. There’s a greedy king and his evil queen. Vicious Totalitarian Assholes. A virus— an epidemic— thousands o f dead. A hero on a white stallion. It’s a tale lip-synced by a drag queen. So the ending is happy, sort of.

Torch songs forever. It's all drag. *

August 8.1988. This was the headline in The New York Times:T O M K IN S SQUARE PARK RIOT. THOUSANDS OF HOMELESS. BA R RICADE. But it's not the truth. The headline wasn't that big. And Tompkins Square Park w as no riot. It was war. the Dog Shit Park War. M y tasks were simple: K ill the monster, save the maiden. Fatum. The fates lead those who w ill, who won't they drag. For me it was all drag. M y first task was plain as day. I knew this was the monster, and I had to k ill him, and I did. The moment after that, you're different. D idn 't know my first task, not real ly. until that moment I pulled the trigger. Same way with my second task: did n't know. A ll at once, there I was, the hero on the white stallion, rescuing the maid en. But it’s not the truth. M y tasks were not to k ill the monster and save the maiden. The truth is, my task w'as to wake up, to notice. It's like Rose told me: the life I am trying to grasp is the me who is trying to grasp it. My task was not to abandon myself, to not confuse the con fusion with myself, to not turn into salt, into dust, charcoal, into purple bumps o f Karposi's sarcoma like the rest. No one can tell this story the way I know it but me. The characters— Rose. Fiona, True Shot, Ruby Prestigiacomo, Charlie2Moons, Bobbie, Harry O ’Conner, Fred, Mother, Father— are memories o f myself. Except for True Shot and Ruby, the closest any o f them got to each other was me. In the tw ilig h t o f what I remember o f the day, I am lying, cheating, stealing, but not to mislead you. I am lip-syncing here, so sometimes the words don’ t go with my mouth. Language is my second language. I ’ m just making it up where I don't know. Ergo: The story does not follow a consecutive hori

zontal plot line. Ergo: Time g et' lost Plus also, some o f this story, not much, is en Francois. so there’s some places you might get confused. It all comes round in the end, though. 1 promise. What else? I just got to say it: 1 can tell I ’ m already in love with you. W hich means I'm going to hurt you. *

On Avenue C w ith Ruby Prestigiacomo one evening, one tw ilight. Ruby stopped, hiked his pants up over his skinny ass, and pointed his finger. My eyes followed Ruby's point ing arm. down from his red polyester shirt rolled up to the elbow, down his fore arm. the yellow hair, over the tracks and purple bumps, to his finger point ing the way man points to the Sistine Chapel God. In the space in between Ruby's finger and God was the hierarchy o f hum ilia tions, plus the telephone booth. On the corner, the telephone booth, inside and outside painted all over with words. The cyclone fence behind it. the empty lot, bits o f broken glass shiny from the streetlamp light, tiny illum inations in the dust, sandy dirt, rocks, and dead grass. Beat to hell, the tele phone booth, receiver hang ing down. Like your lim p dick, Ruby said. Ruby smiled his famous smile. “ When all else fails,” Ruby said, “ When there’s no place left to go. when you're up Shit Creek. You can come here to talk. A special kind o f phone booth: Saint Jude phone booth. Direct line to God," Ruby said. “ Hopeless cases." Last call. That telephone booth got stuck in my head. I'he telephone booth was more like a Catholic statue, a shrine you could kneel down in front o f and pray, a broken shrine to all things broken, a shrine you could lift the receiver o il. pul your ear against, your lips against, and speak into, and you w ouldn’ t be alone. It’s like what Rose said once. We don’ t live on things, we live on the meaning o f things. That telephone booth, the thing. The meaning o f it. Not to be alone.

A S t o r y o f L o v e , F r i e n d s h i p a n d L o s s by E d g e met Regular Joe during my first gathering at Short Mountain Sanctuary (SMS) in the fall of 1996. One morning after he had driven through the night from his home in Greenville, SC, Joe appeared in the kitchen. I was immediately intrigued by this sweet-looking, soft-spoken man with his long silky hippy hair, sweet trickster's smile, gentle demeanor, quick wit, and unfailingly charming southern drawl Like so many of us, I fell in love with Joe immediately.

During the morning circle, Joe introduced himself by telling a story about hitting a 6-point buck on the road from Greenville and tying it to the front of his Miata. Suddenly, I found myself wondering if Joe wasn’t in fact a little crazy. That morning marked the beginning of a chariot ride with Joe in which I (and many others) found ourselves almost involuntarily sticking around just to see what would happen next, as Shed says about Dellwood Barker in Tom Spanbauer’s novel, The Man Who Fell In Love With the Moon, one of Joe’s favorites. At that gathering, Joe and I planted and nourished the seed of a connection that has thrived for the past seven years. When the time came for Joe to leave the gathering, I cried inconsolably - allowing my sadness at our parting to move through me unimpeded. As we walked together through the woods that day, Joe found a turkey vulture feather and gave it to me. I carried that feather - perhaps the first I ever cherished - with me always until I moved to New Mexico last year, where it suddenly disappeared. I never tired of being around Joe. Over time, I grew to appreciate many dimensions of Joe’s sweet medicine. In his name and his actions, Regular Joe embodied the archetype of the contrary trickster, coyote, heyoka, fool the sacred clown that always challenges the received truth,

thereby serving to upset complacency and conventionality. More than anything, perhaps, Joe was a storyteller. ‘ Did you ever hear about the day Mother Nature created mari juana?” he would ask. “Well, it was a very good day,” Joe would say in his characteristically dry fashion. “And [long pause] it was the last thing she did that day!” Early in our friendship, I can remember Joe saying, “Well, the story I'm telling myself is ...” before describing his view of things. Prefacing his story in that way, Joe implicitly acknowledged that he was making certain about the way he was perceiving, understanding, and interpreting the sit uations in his life. And - without ever making a big deal about it - he affirmed the verity that the stories we tell our selves go a long way toward shaping our reality. This approach was especially helpful to me last summer, when I was coming to terms with a recent break-up. I was mired in the depths of my sadness and grief when Joe asked me, “What story are you telling yourself that is caus ing you to feel so badly? And what story could you tell yourself that might help you feel better?” Those questions challenged me in a profoundly caring way to move beyond feeling like a victim and to claim the power I possess to define my reality. Last December Joe and I became roommates. Both of us initially expected the arrangement to be temporary, but we quickly learned that we were incredibly well suited to live together -- with similar approaches to aesthetics, order, cleanliness, space, and other aspects of daily living. To top it all off, we were both committed to making our home what we liked to call the School of Applied Mystical Arts (SOAMA). In the story Joe told, all SOAMA meetings were scheduled

serendipitously, and classwork happened around the kitchen table. That was where - each morning -- we shared and interpreted our dreams, beginning any inter pretation we offered with the phrase Joe had learned, “If it were my dream Together, we studied and sought to practice the ancient wisdom of the Tao Te Chmg and the I Ching Together, we explored letting go of our judgments and expectations -- the roots of suffering - choosing instead simply to engage with things as they are.

in the pounding waves of shallow water after he had been ashore and went back into the water to help his amigo -who survived It's sometimes said that we die as we lived; Joe was a boy scout to the end. If it were my dream, Clueless Joe s drowning in the ocean -- the very symbol of the inner world of emotions, intuitions, and the unconscious — would speak of the profound transformation that can result from the playful and delightful exploration of our inner world, our unconscious mind..

Having loved Regular Joe for six years, I was taken aback when - in the summer of 2002 - he chose for himself the name “Clueless Joe". At first, I simply could not accept that name - Joe was absolutely the least “clueless” person I knew! But, over time, as I heard him tell the story of his name, I recognized that this was not simply Joe’s contrary medicine but was instead a powerful honoring of important experiences that had profoundly transformed Joe’s inner world and his understanding of himself. Ultimately, I see his taking the name of "Clueless Joe" as a fruit of his study of the Tao Te Ching, which says;

I found out about Joe’s death at Short Mountain on the last night of the spring gathering, where I felt the immense sup port of being with so many others who love Joe. That night, despite the incredible loss of this beloved friend, I could only really focus on how grateful I felt for all we had shared And I heard Joe’s voice in my mind reminding us all that “Life is short. Anything can happen. Enjoy today!” In the spring of 1999, I visited Joe at his home in Greenville, SC, where he had lived for over a decade. Over that time, he had created his own little “Japalachian" refuge - complete with a Japanese-style porch, teahouse, and pond he had built with his own hands. In Joe’s garden, I see a metaphor for his legacy - the ability to both engage with the realities one faces and to transform them into manifes tations of beauty and divinity.

Not-knowing is true knowledge. Presuming to know is a disease. First realize that you are sick; then you can move toward health. The Master is her own physician. She has healed herself of all knowing. Thus she is truly whole. [Verse 71]

Like Joe’s cherished bamboo, the connection he and I shared seems to me almost indestructible - no matter how much it is cut back, it persists against all odds. As I reflect on all I shared with Joe, I feel inspired to continue to spread widely the seeds of my love - trusting that some of those will yet grow into strong, nourishing, beautiful con nections that enrich not only our lives but also Jj the lives of many around % us.

iving together and interpreting each others’ dreams as windows into our inner lives, Joe and I decided to start a business offering dream interpretation by phone and internet. Before we got to work, though, Joe decided to take a vacation in Mazatlan, a Mexican beach town on the Pacific coast. Once there, Joe began to meet (and charm) people and was soon offered a job running a bed and breakfast, La Jolla. Walking the path of the Tao, non-doing had effortlessly brought Joe to his soul’s desire - an easy job in a beautiful place, the jewel.

All the rich harvests of our connection are Joe’s greatest lega cies to me. As Joe taught me to pray, “Thank you very much for every thing. I have no complaints what soever.” Namaste.

At first when Joe decided to take the job, I was again taken aback. Weren’t we roommates? Weren’t we starting a business together? I missed interacting with Joe from day to day, yet I wanted to honor where following the Tao was leading him. One day I realized that Joe’s absence chal lenged me to access my Inner Joe - that part of me that approaches each day with wonder and awe. When I emailed him this, he responded that I had shown up in his dreams, “so I’m feeling good about things in general, if my leading edge is doing fine”. Accepting Joe’s absence and the reality that Joe might never return from Mexico also helped me to release many judgments and expectations about how I thought things were going to be.

Edge is a radical faerie writer, thinker, dream-teller, shaman-in-training, and eli gible bachelor who lives out side Santa Fe, New Mexico.

On May 3, 2003, Clueless Joe died in Mazatlan while swimming in the ocean. I’ve been told that Joe hit his head

How one Faerie found a positive end to a Bad Brownie day. ® knew the brownie was taking effect.

I found m yself

o f the road, and all the other minutiae involved in automotive

searching all over the house fo r my hooded sweatshirt.

propulsion, w hile my right brain fought to take me into more

Then 1 realized I ’d put it in my backpack only a few m in

etheric realms. This stu ff was pretty strong. And w ithin m in

utes earlier.

utes 1 became aware o f an overwhelm ing feeling o f sadness.

So I knew the brownie was taking effect,

hut I d id n't know how M U C H effect it was taking. Not yet.

1 tried to think o f somewhere nearby where we could park

Denise and I had been close friends fo r twenty years, and

and hang out in the woods. Com ing to a crossroads, 1 pulled

this was the first time she had come to visit me in the Carolina

over to the side o f the road. It was getting d iffic u lt to speak,

mountains. I had obtained the brownie as a special treat for

but somehow I managed to tell Denise how sad I was feeling.

the last day o f our visit. It was square, about four inches on a

She nodded in some sort o f agreement. A fte r a silent minute

side, and had been praised for its fine organic ingredients,

or two, Denise screwed up her face, opened the car door, and

most especially the high-quality Northern C alifornia m arijua

spilled the contents o f her stomach onto the ground!

na that gave it a punch way beyond its cocoa caffeine. Fudgey

Soon 1 was m aking m oaning sounds on every exhale,

and rich, it had a subtle but definite hint o f greenness, which

w ith exclam ations o f "O h m y” or "O h my goodness” or

added an exotic aftertaste to the flavor. Yum m y!

just “ O h h h h h ...”

I c o u ld n ’ t sit in the car any longer.

Having found the m agically missing sweatshirt, we finished

were parked on a somewhat grassy area o f d irt on the side

packing the car. and began a leisurely drive. The trees were

o f a road, and I fe lt an o verw h e lm in g need to connect w ith

beginning their Autum n look-at-mc extravaganza, and the

the Hartli.

farmland views were exquisite. We stopped for gas, and after

back, arms and legs spread out, breathing deeply, as

I'd pumped and paid for it. Denise expressed her amazement

Denise continued to puke.

that I was able to function!

So I got out o f the car and lay down on my

Yeah. I was definitely pushing

I knew it was only a matter o f tim e before someone stopped

myself, forcing my left brain to keep track o f the lines o f the

to see what was going on. So 1 visualized a strong “ bubble o f

road, the cars around me, the speed I was going, the curvature

protection” around us. In between her heaves, l knew Denise

by Mountaine 24

So I got out of the car and lay down on my back, arms and legs spread out, breathing deeply, as Denise continued to puke." ■%

mm.

l 8-

In K| frar pH&r. tj **£75 ■

was holding a sim ilar vision - surrounding our little roadside

and to a higher power.

pasioral in white light.

visualizing an easy ending to the adventure.

N o need to worry about us. w orld!

Prepared fo r any outcome, but still

A t some point an o ff-du ty sh eriff arrived, and he was pissed.

We’re line. We’re just resting... I heard a car door slam somewhere behind us. A young

“ I d on't know what's wrong w ith you people, but you can't

woman appeared, and w ith great concern in her eyes, asked i f

stay here. You’re a tra ffic hazard. There’s a hospital a mile

Denise d id n 't seem able to speak at that

up that road, and that’s where you have to go. And I'm not

point, but 1 managed to push m yself o ff the ground on my

gonna let you drive in your condition. We're just gonna have

elbows, wave in the friendliest way I could manage, and say

to gel the ambulance fo r ya.”

we were all right.

“ We’ ll be okay.

We must have eaten something bad, and

nodded weakly.

I d id n 't know what to do, so I

But Denise wasn't buying it - she pro

claimed that we D ID N 'T need an ambulance and we D ID N 'T

we’ re both needing to vom it it up.” “ What did you eat?” the woman asked.

need to go to a hospital, and all we needed w'as ten minutes,

"A piece o f cake.” I replied, and she responded, “ Oh, that

or fifteen, or maybe twenty, and then w e’d be fine. Even at the time, I was tickled by her lack o f

sounds terrible." M y mental stale was clear enough to

clarity about just how many minutes

realize that getting this sick from a

this was like ly to take. We w eren't in

piece o f cake m ight be a little hard to comprehend. 1 decided to find a better story i f anyone else stopped to inquire. “ I hope you feel better soon,” our v is i tor said, and once again I heard her car door slam, and she drove away.

occurred to me that we were really quite a sight - me on the ground and Denise halfway out o f the car with her head in her hands. It probably looked like I was dead and she was reacting. I know it d id n 't look pretty! W ith in the next few minutes, about six cars stopped to check on us. Someone

must

have

called

911,

because the local paramedics showed up. By then I had figured out a better story: “ We ate some old ch ili, and it must have been bad.” Everyone seemed to accept this story. Yep, it

The residue lasted in our mental land scapes for months. I found out that we had eaten much larg er portions of that brownie than we should have. But definitely there was more going on than that...

was totally feasible. O nly I knew that

a very clock-savvy frame o f m ind! But I kept my amusement to m yself, and went on moaning. Hey, I really could n’ t help it. The sh e riff became belligerent, grabbed me under my arms, and lifted me o ff the ground to get me back in the car. That made me feel much worse, and I was fin ally ready to vom it. When I opened my eyes just a bit to check out where the stu ff was falling, I saw that it was a few inches from tw o pairs o f o ffic ia l-lo o k in g boots. I never saw the paramedics’ faces, but Denise told me later that they were kind and compas sionate. Somehow they got the sheriff to back o ff, and told us o f a park near by where no one would bother us. Great news! Denise said she could drive us there, but she d id n 't move into the d river’s

the c h ili we'd eaten had been vegan,

seat.

and tasted line. But as I told the story. I felt like I believed it. and everyone else did too.

Maybe she thought she was

ready, but her body d id n ’ t seem to agree. Then one o f the paramedics offered to get in my car, and drive it to the park.

By then, Denise had vomited enough to be feeling better. I

Somehow I managed to put on my seatbelt and close the car

could no longer speak, and it was very d iffic u lt to open my

door. Denise got in the back seat. The car moved. Then it

eyes fo r more than a second. So Denise took o ve rco m m u n i

stopped. That’s what I was aware of.

W ithin a minute we

cating w ith the outside w orld w hile I moaned helplessly, lying

were in a little parking lot, surrounded by trees rustling in a

in the dirt.

m ild breeze. A ll alone. that

I couldn't stay in the car. I had to lay on the ground again.

sooner or later someone would suspect drugs, and that m ight

I remember thinking that we were in serious trouble

Now that the external drama was over, the internal drama o f

lead to the car being searched.

It was hard to imagine that

my despairing sadness was back in fu ll force.

scenario w ith a happy ending!

But at the same tim e, I felt

was an angel - w illin g to help me in any way to w ork through

m yself floating above and beyond any difficulties, being

the ordeal. She found a tarp in the back o f the car and put it

whole and supported through it all.

A stoned illusion?

And Denise

on the ground, on top o f soft grasses. I crawled onto it, and

knowing acknowledgment o f the “ good” that is the ultim ate

when I started to sob. she lay there and held me. I'm sure we

result o f all acts done in good faith? A confidence that we had

talked, but I don't remember much o f what was said. What

done real magick in creating our bubble o f protection?

was important was the unquestioning nurturing o f a dear

w ou ldn 't presume to say why, but I felt connected to Denise

friend through a d iffic u lt experience.

Then it was over. Just like that. O nly a hit queasy, we drove to town, ate dinner, and went to a concert. Denise Hew home.

The next day

The residue lasted in our mental landscapes to r months. 1 found out that we had eaten much larger portions o f that brownie than we should have. But definitely there w as more

Mountaine s for

Steps

D eeper

going on than that...

Most o f the time. I ’ m a pretty cheerful person. I like to have fun in a wide variety o f ways. I value focusing on the posi tive sides o f life, easily finding reasons to he grateful for any number o f wonderful gifts.

But there's more to life than

peaches and cream. 1 spent twelve years fo llo w in g a spiritual path in which one

Open the doors of perception, and step willingly into whatever room is revealed.

o f the tenets was "N ever leave room for doubt in your m ind." During that period, 1 saw no value in acknowledging the shad owy parts o f m yself, in allow ing them to be whatever they are. The only thing that made sense was transcendence: keeping my sights on the light side, on happiness, on eternal truth. Now I feel there is a place in the circle o f my life for light and dark, happy and sad, b lissfu lly simple and m urkily complex.

Acknowledge the experience as part of reality, and be willing to be with it for as long as necessary.

I f anything, my green experience w ith Denise reinforced the value o f accepting What Is. even i f What Is ain 't too pretty at the moment. I could give lots o f specific reasons why sadness came up that day. When I list them, and then read them back to m yself, it sounds like w hining. So-and-so said such-and-such about me. He and she don’ t seem to like me anymore.

1 haven’ t

succeeded in this or that aspect o f my life, and feel stuck in old patterns that seem to change but never really do. I'm get ting older, and no matter how much 1 exercise, my body sags,

Use every conceivable tool (including writing about the experience and seeing that writing in print) to penetrate past duality, through the realms where happi ness is the opposite o f sadness, where light is the opposite o f darkness, to reach the inner state in which it all just Is.

and when I look in the m irror, I don't recognize what I see, and my energy and health may already be in decline... Whine w'hinc whine. And then there’s the absurd political situation in the w orld I ’ m a part of, in the U SA and Iraq and Israel and Palestine and Afghanistan and Tibet and India and Pakistan and Nepal and

Be there as deeply and as profoundly as possible.

M exico and Peru and... Not to mention the increasing erosion o f every conceivable natural resource on the planet.

And

AIDS, and starvation, and poverty, and injustice and intoler ance o f every kind, and blah blah blah, and more whine whine whine. Parts o f reality, definitely. The whole picture - no way. Months later, Denise pointed out that the nature o f w hining is the same as seeing a glass o f water as half empty. Sometimes all it takes to gain perspective is to see the glass as

Find ways to use the experience o f inner Oneness to be part o f the upliftment of others, taking baby steps (and giant steps whenever possible) toward the kind o f world and the kind of life I'd prefer to live in if 1 had iny druthers.

half fu ll instead. M ost o f the time I see my life as way more than h a lf fu ll.

In fact, i t ’s damn near totally fu ll a lot o f the

time.

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From time to time, with awareness and care, start again at Step One.

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Mountaine is an actor, playing roles such as radicalfaerie, software train er/consultant, Playback Theatre performer, and Naraya dancer.

Fermenting theJJ2XV6St ..... *bj***** Before there was freezing, before there was canning, there was fermenting. Sandorkraut takes a page from this ancient art and adds his own Faerie flair. paste, is alive unless you boil it, and sauerkraut is unless you can it (though most o f what's commercially available is canned). The best way to get a regular supply o f live-culture foods in your diet is to ferment them yourself.

season I ain harvesting the Fruits o f a project I ’ve been sowing and cultivating for a very long time: My book. Wild Fermentation: The Flavor, Nutrition, and Craft of l.ive-Culture Foods, has been published by Chelsea Circen Publishing Company (available September 2003). Publishing a book is a very slow process, and it is a bit surreal to have this book which 1 have been envisioning and creating slowly for years manifest in reality and hit the shelves. For more information on the book, please visit my

Making Sauerkraut:

website www wiltHet ineiildlioiu oin. Read on to learn about fermenting the harvest. Before there was freezing, before there was canning, what peo ple did to extend the harvest was ferment it. We still do it. Whether or not we are aware o f it, most o f us consume fer mented foods and drinks every day. Coffee is fermented. So is lea. Bread is fermented, and cheese. And wine and beer. Even chocolate. What is fermentation? It is simply a transformation in organic matter by the action o f microorganisms. Though we talk about it most often in relation to delicious foods, it also describes what happens to compost, or how bodies decompose, or how the soil stays fertile. Fermentation happens inside our bodies, as well. It is an important part o f food digestion. Without our bac terial partners we would be unable to break down foods and absorb (harvest) their nutrients. By consuming “ live-culture” ferments, we repopulate and diver sify the m icroflora in our gut that do this important work for us. Live-culture ferments are those which have not been cooked after fermentation. Yogurt is the classic example, widely recog nized as an important food to eat following a course o f antibi otics. But not all yogurt is created equal. Some are pasteurized follow ing culturing, so you get the flavor and the texture, but not live cultures. The labels o f live-culture yogurt always say “ live-culture.” Yogurt isn’ t the only live-culture food. Miso, fermented bean 28

Sauerkraut is a particularly straightforward and easy ferment to prepare. Many other ferments can be made; fermentation is an element o f virtually all cuisines, and probably no raw food exists without some fermentation tradition. But it sure works great with humble cabbage. I ’ve earned the nickname Sandorkraut for my years o f non-stop sauerkraut-making. Freshly fermented sauerkraut is so alive and delicious. Here’s my method:

Timeframe: 1-4 Weeks

Equipment: Ceramic crock or food-grade plastic bucket, one-gallon capacity or greater. Plate that fits inside crock or bucket. One gallon jug filled with water (or scrubbed and boiled rock). Cloth cover (like a pillowcase or towel)

Ingredients (for one gallon): 5 pounds cabbage 3 tablespoons sea salt

Process: Chdp or grate cabbage, finely or coarsely, with or without hea*s, however you like it. 1 love to mix green and red cabbage to e ld up with bright pink kraut. Place cabbage in a large bowl as you chop it.

y. ; i* salt on the cabbage as The salt pulls water he cabbage (through osmosis), and this creates the brine in which the cabbage can ferment and sour w ithout rot ting. The salt also has the effect o f keeping the cabbage crunchy, by inhibiting organ isms and en/ymes that soften it. Three tablespoons o f salt is a rough average for five pounds o f cabbage. 1 never measure the salt: 1 just shake some on after I chop up each cabbage. 1 use more salt in the summer, less in the winter. It is possible to make kraut with less salt, or with no salt at all. Add other vegetables. Grate ca%ots for a cole slaw-like kraut. Other vegetables I've added include onions, garlic, seaweed, greens, hrussels sprouts, small whole heads o f cabbage, turnips, beets, and burdock roots. You can also add fruits (apples, whole or sliced, are classic), and herbs and spices (caraway seeds, dill seeds, celery seeds, and juniper berries are classic, but anything you like w ill work). Experiment.

unobtrusive corner o f the kjfchen. You can also store it uvacool basement i f you want a slower fermentation that w ill preserve for longer.

S a n ilo rk ra u t

Check the kraut every day or t|t% You w ill notice that the volume mysteriously reduces us the fermentation proceeds. Syjnetimes mold appears on the surface. Skim what you can o ff o f the surface; it w ill break up and you w ill proba bly not be able to remove all o f it. Don't worry about this. It's just a surface phenomenon, a result o f contact w ith the air. The kraut itself is under the anaerobic protection o f the brine. Rinse o ff the plate and the weight. Taste the kraut. Generally it starts to be tangv after a few days, and the taste gels stronger as time passes. In the cool temperatures o f a cel lar in w inter, kraut can keep improving for months and months. In the summer or in a healed room, its life cycle is more rapid. Eventually it becomes soft and the flavor

turns less pleasant.

Mix ingredients together and pack into crock. Pack just a bit into the crock at a time and tamp it down hard using your fists or any (other) sturdy kitchen implement. The tamping packs the kraut light in the crock and helps force w'ater out o f the cab bage. jyer kraut with a plate or some other lid that fits snugly inside (htic rock. Place a clean weight (a glass jug filled with water) on the cover. This weight w ill help force water out o f the cab bage and then keep the cabbage submerged under the brine. Cover the whole thing w ith a cloth to keep dust and flies out. Press down on the weight to add pressure to the cabbage and help force water out o f it. Continue doing this periodically (as Often as you think o f it, every few hours), until the brine rises above the cover. This can take up to about 24 hours, as the salt draws water out o f the cabbage slowly. Some cabbage, particu larly if it is old, simply contains less water. If the brine does not rise above the plate level by the next day. add enough salt water to bring the brine level above the plate. Add about a teaspoon of salt to a cup of water and stir until it's completely dissolved.

B ^py. I generally scoop out a big bowlful at a time and keep it in the fridge. 1 start when the kraut is young and enjoy its evolving flavor over the course o f a few weeks. Try the sauer kraut juice that w ill be left in the bowl after the kraut is eaten. Sauerkraut juice is a rare delicacy and unparalleled digestive tonic. Each time you scoop some kraut out o f the crock, you have to repack it carefully. Make sure the kraut is packed light in the crock, the surface is level, and the cover and weight are clean. Sometimes brine evaporates, so if the kraut is not sub merged below brine just add salted water as necessary. Some people preserve kraut by canning and heat-processing it. This can be done, Inn so much of the power of sauerkraut is its alive ness that I wonder: Why k ill it? Develop a rhythm. I try to start a new batch before the previous batch funs out. I take what remains in the crock out. pack the ofock with fresh salted cabbage, then pour the old kraut and its lUictrs over the new kraut. This gives the new' batch a boost with an active culture starter.

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Sarulorkniut is an herbalist, activist, writer, builder, crcifis/wrson, bicyclist and among other things, generalist, this Sew York native is a graduate of Hnrwn University and a retiredpolicy worker. He has been a resident of Short Mountain Sanctuaryfor 10years.

Leave the crock to ferment. 1 generally store the crock in an 29

WITH THE

G odS c hud been preparing for the 1st Annual NashFae Lammas Cotillion for weeks. It was an idea born back in the cold winter during Solstice at Short Mountain. It continued to grow and develop after some ol the NashFae circle participated in the amazing Brigid’s Ball in New Orleans. During Beltane, the circle continued debating what type of event we wanted, and what we thought wc could handle. It was to be an oppor tunity to share our wealth of talent and energy here in Music City with the greater circle of faeries and those who call us family.

August 1st in Nashville is the middle of summer, and as wc began decorating the venue Friday afternoon it was a good thing we had chosen “ In Heat” as the theme. The cooling system at Kung Fu was a bit outdated (much like the decor) and we were all working up good sweat sweeping, hanging yards of red fabric, and mounding bread up on tables. What started out as a grimy cinderblock building was transformed in a few hours with candles, tapestries, and cleansers, it was a joy to see so many from the faerie com munity come together under one roof. You could hear the laughter of voices echo thru the rooms as wc joked and leased each other. It was a family at work and at play. The ritual was the highlight of the evening. Dressed in black and smelling of sacramental rum. Medusa projected the call to circle from his altar on the stage. I had been asked to act a part in the ritual, and so I stood in the back of the group trying to stay out of sight until my time. The circle assembled to the beat of drums and soon enough faeries filled the room to cause there to be more than just a 30

NashFae's Empress and HighPriestess call the gods and bring down the house for the first annual NashFae Lam m as Cotillion. S T O R I E S SASSI

AND M EDUSA

clasping of hands. The fullness caused everyone to stand shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-lhigh. Over 75 people were a part of the NashFae’s first public circle. It was magical to look out on the diversity of the crowd. Tears welled in my eyes as I looked at my brothers and sisters of all ages and sexual orientations. Sissies, faggots and trannics, OH MY. The directions were then called in turn. Ribbon stepped forward in a headdress of flowers, a flame print vest, and a jock strap to call the direction East. His voice was calm and clear like the wind and rushing past my ears to be heard in a place only my spirit can understand. When he turned to make his way back to the circle, I felt my mind clear and my thoughts focused. B and Hippie Friend called South as a duo. One was tall, thick, with short gray hair and the other short, thin, and a mass of curly brown hair. The magic was electric as the two began to dance around each other, first one speaking, then the other. A handmade sun of sticks and paper hung above them faintly glowing, representing the energy they summoned. Anthros stepped forward calling to West. Flis eyes full of love, his voice sang of liquid, emotion, and feelings. I held still to feel the slippery touch of West as it passed around the circle, and I smiled thinking of all the water energy Anthros had contributed to the development of the cotil lion. Curt, with his long silver hair, and deep voice called to the North with all the energy of his being. It sounded like a

roar in the depths of a ea\e or the echo heard across the moun tain peaks. I could feel the tile floor beneath m\ feet, and the cool earth yet below that. I felt connected and at one with the earth and my family. Medusa then called to center and cast the circle. 1 don't know if anyone else fell the ripple that spread forth from the circle, but it seemed to grow upward and outward until it reached infinity. It stretched forth and touched our family that could n't be w ith us. and spread the love in the room to each. Tears dripped from my face, forming streams of red joy as they crossed my painted cheeks and fell silently to the ground. The circle cast. Medusa began to tell the Santerian myth of which the ritual was based. First. Wingheart stepped onto the floor to call Chango to the circle. His pale lithe body and blonde hair glowing like moonlight on water. He carried a giant blue phone of sequins and lights to “call” Chango. Suddenly a swath of red fabric at the stage edge began to flap as if in the wind. The twisting and billowing fabric grew stronger as drums tapped out a cadence in the background. Suddenly, the fabric was ripped away to reveal Grace on all fours, dressed as Chango in red vinyl pants, harness, feather Cotillion Organizer boa, horns and a mask of tribal red and black. The effect was breathtaking and the gasp could be heard above the beat of the drums. It was as if the god of w'ar and lightning had magically arrived in the room. Chango’s entrance complete. Snap Dragon, a vision of loveli ness in a w'hite dress, white beaded head wrap and eat eye glasses walked forward. Snap Dragon wore a smile as large as his heart and he held a giant pink phone of glitter and lights that he used like WingHcart to call forth Oshun. I had been asked to play the part of Oshun, and when called, I pulled my mask over my face and skipped gaily into the circle. I wore a skirl of gold, silver, and pink strips of metallic cloth, a gild ed mask of gold, a tiara of pink marabou and rhinestones, and carried long pink and gold feathers in my hand. I strode about the room, staring my blank, expressionless masked face at each person in the circle, bringing their energy and presence into the performance of the goddess of love and beauty. Grace and I then acted out the story that Medusa told. The

story gix.'N. Chango and Oshun met at a party. When she saw him. Oshun knew that she had to have him. She tried to get his attention but Chango ignored her. The goddess of honey and rivers was not discouraged. She proceeded to gain his favor by dancing far away, then moving in close, sprinkling honey on his lips. Then with a flirty twist, she moved far away again. This process was repeated, and with each sprin kle of honey, Chango became more and more intrigued. Finally, realizing she was teasing him. Chango, gave chase. Oshun ran, but with laugher, not fear. She allowed him to catch her and pull her to the ground. They then made love for d days grow ing increasingly more passionate as the pounding of drums enveloped the room. I don't remember much after walking into the circle. 1 remember the faces of the crowd, the sound of the drums, and a feeling of total presence. I finally pulled back my mask so that I might feel Grace put his lips on mine. Grace is my lover, partner, and friend and the kiss was neither rehearsed nor act ing. We kissed, let ting our true pas sion testify the evi dence of our com mitment until the crowd grew quiet. Rising from the floor we joined and Empress , Sassi Medusa in the center of the circle, and we fed each other bread dipped in honey. The bread and honey was then passed from each of the corners to symbol ize the joining of people in community and the sharing of wealth. The party didn't end with the ritual: it was just getting start ed. We had an art show, live entertainment, dancing, food and drink. It was a success. Not because we were able to pay all the bills (we did), or because of the attendance (almost 200). It was a success because the toil of summer was rewarded with a harvest large enough to share, and we did. Lammas was an abundant harvest.

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Sassi Fae is a member of the NashFae circle, shaman-in-trainin theater fag, and drag connoisseur. He lives with his partner (•race, and two extremly fat pussies.

sc rump for nine days. Now. from this point on, things become fuzzy, so this tale becomes split. On one hand we have what 1 remember. Mind you, I was leading a ritual with Santerian and Voodoo deities. So, yeah, I was ridden by the god Baron. Being ridden by a god means you are possessed by their divine spirit, and I was very, very drunk. And on the other hand, we have what people told me happened. What I remember: Lights! Bright Stage Lights! I was told to be on stage to lead ritual. Not only was 1on stage, but I was given a microphone. Then my memory fades to white.

aron Samedi will be the death of me. It is quite the task to represent Baron Samedi. He is Vodoun loa of all things dealing with death and burial. He is also keeper of cemeteries. A wild spirit, he is normally known to wear a top hat and skull face. He smokes like a chimney, tells dirty jokes, curses, and drinks. Oh. does he drink! Rum is his drink of choice ... cheap, nasty Rum. It can never be cheap or nasty enough for old Baron. This being known, how do you represent him? Well, you wear skulls and black. It’s good to be Goth. A beat-up, be-skulled, black cowboy hat can replace a top hat any day. Of course, you need Rum, at least half a bottle of cheap, nasty Rum. Yeah, I was Gothed out and drunk. What a way to gel ready to lead a ritual. Oh, what a ritual! I was asked to lead a Lammas ritual for the NashFae Lammas Cotillion. Lammas is the cel ebration of the first harvest. It’s a time to celebrate the rewards of hard work. It is the time to give thanks for all that you have manifested from your hard work. In other words, it is like the Pagan version of Thanksgiving. In our ritual, we celebrated the Santerian goddess of love. Oshun, and the sky-father, Chango. How they met at a ritual dance. Oshun saw Chango and had to have him. Mind you, he ignored her. He was too busy dancing or drumming or singing. So, being the vixen that she is, she sprinkled honey onto his lips. He was in awe of the sweetness and followed the taste to its source. Oshun then became his new Queen Bee and they do it! They

In a haze I recall my fellow faeries calling the quarters and Chango and Oshun. I can almost remember casting the circle and calling Ova, the Santerian goddess of winds and cemeter ies, and the god Baron. And what I'm told happened: So, I’m standing on stage with microphone in one hand and a riding crop (as a wand) in the other. I’m leading ritual, things are going smoothly, then ... "Cunt," comes flying out of my mouth. This opens the Hoodgates and a stream of curses issue forth. Baron Samedi is in the house. People laughed and cheered. Children were weaving through the circle. I said represent life to offset my representing death. People danced and played drums throughout the ritual. It was a grand time. We passed an offering of honey and bread to bless ourselves and to unify. Wonderful phrases about family, unity and being one flow from my tongue to be greeted by cheers. Quarters were dismissed, gods w'erc released, and the circle opened. Ritual was over, but the magick was just beginning. I stumbled off the stage, lost my hat, and was helped back to my feet. See what I mean about the Baron? I'd like to share the circle closing. It is an old closing from Serpent Stone. "As we leave this place between the worlds, and walk once more on the ordinary ground, let us remember what we have done here is ever a part of us. We are power, we are change. Our circle is open, but never broken. Merry meet, merry part, 'til merry meet again." So, until I die a voodoo death, merry meet again.

Medusa is the token witch, hot Katchiiui Debbie Hitch. Currently under the mind control of his cat, Aurora.

communi pages

San Francisco

Faeries pop party packs to celebrate RFD's Thirtieth Anniversary ■

the cold of February, wc put out the call for faeries to host RFD 30th anniversary parties ■ and subscription drives. Each host got an indi vidually created box decoupaged with “interesting" adult-themed pictures (OK —cheap porn) filled with skirts, glasses, makeup, candy, jewelry, noise makers, magnetic words, buttons, back issues of the magazine, subscription cards, a return envelope and a disposable camera. The envelopes were returned with the cameras and monies, along with games, notes, cards and wonder ful pieces of art. Now that the heat of August is upon us, we at RFD want to say a big “THANK YOU!" to all our hosts: Sapphire in Portland, Benji in San Fran, Owen in San Fran, Mohabee at Starland Retreat. Dragons wan in Denver, Eric in DC,

Marco in NoLa, Lumen in Pittsburg. Toby in Los Angeles and Patrick in Minneapolis. It is a blessing that our community has so much diversity and I feel blessed to gel a chance to be a part of circles I have never even attended (YET). The saying goes: "Ask five faeries to define what a Radical Faerie is and you get six answers." * Sassi Fae is a member of the Slash hoe circle, shaman-in-training, theater fag, and drag connoisseur. He lives with his partner ( irate, and two extremly fat pussies.

I f you would like to host tin RFD 30th Annivesary Party Pack event with your circle. send an entail to maii@rfdmag. org.

MOUNTAIN CLIMBING

4 4â&#x20AC;? IV

He flexes a muscle unintentionally as he raises the water bottle to such refined lips, lips that have explored all the ends of my body. We do this to stay in shape for each other. Where else but high above can you feel the purest breeze and talk dirty to your man? To sleep underneath the stars in the tent we propped together. A ,single sleeping bag. Feeling the depths of masculinity pump through my veinsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; the internal howling for his hand to rest upon my chest; make its way to my crotch. My face will flush as I rub torso to torso, create the only fire we will need. Joseph Veronneau

NECKLACE OF TOURMALINE You confuse me, in a choker of tourmaline. Square-cut gemstones in solid silver settings Encircling your neck . . . You are supposed to be a man. You were as attracted to that accessory as I was, aesthetically But I never desired wearing it, while you did. Not jade, and nothing as grand as emeralds. But still, green and reflective and a beauty on your neck. I am attracted to your manliness, Your beard, your other special thing that women have not. While you are attracted to a cropped necklace of tourmaline That makes you somewhat more pretty than handsome And yet . . . My bear-man, my soul-mate, MENART

You are a joy, if not perfect In a choker of tourmaline. Coke Brown Jr. 34

P R IS M S

Of course I brought champagne, nipple clamps, cock rings and condoms. Those who must part in only hours compose their touch, their time, in the most intense colors they can find. Pollen dust in charcoal beards. Bruises' plum. Red rope-chafe, the melt of pearls.

*■ !

A prism hangs in the window of your marriage, breaking light across your face. These refrac tions, all I get to keep.

"ELTON JOHN HOLDS BENEFIT CONCERT IN WYOMING W PROMOTE TOLERANCE^ AP Head line June 10, 1999

Jeff Mann

LARAMIE, WYO Pop singer Elton John appealed for more understanding and tolerance during a boneC fit c o n c ert. .. where a gay student was beatefn. tied to a fence and left to die. * **

SPHINCTER ANI It functions mechanically the way an eye’s iris does

Bill Goldstein’s dead. ! don't know what happened to Laity Rupe or Bill Smith. although Bill followed me to Stock tort and made my marriage even more baroque than it already was. 1 used to drive to Laramie occasionally. and four or five of us would go to some dusty, depressing, tacky bar for a few drinks. Sometimes l would spend the night with one of the Bills. I was hell bent on a permanent relationship and Smith wasn’t. Goldstein was a wimp then, but blossomed into a Harley daddy when he got to San Francisco, and why we always corresponded, 1 still don't know. I may be the only one left by now. If Smith’s alive, he’s probably selling lumber or electronics in Laramie. If Rupc’s alive, he's probably retired from teaching art in Green River. Bill G. was always moody. He got the virus and moved to Sacramento and I never heard from him again, although I briefly inherited one of his boyfriends. None of us was ever tied up or beaten. But. then, we were all the old guard, scared of everything. And very lucky. Jay Johnson

or a camera's shutter, closing and opening pupil, aperture (even scant light permits a picture). A floodgate, it keeps sludge in, lets it aptly go when it works well. It can be viewed as foul, unspeakable. It can be viewed as something to keep one’s hams tidy, a social necessity. It is simply an odd muscle one can look at, dear Horatio, in more ways than there are flower species in India. What backwater is it hasn't heard there are legions who think of their own as portals to pleasure grottoes, places not unlikemouths that love to get filled w'ith food? J.R. Kangas 35

R etro sp ective

by G l e n n S i t z m a n

G len n S itzm a n b e g a n s u b s c r ib in g to R F D tw e n ty e ig h t y e a r s a g o w hen w e w e re in O reg o n . H e v is ite d w ith us a t R u n n in g Water, N C in / 9R1 a n d h a s c o n tr ib u te d fr e q u e n tly o v e r th e y e a r s a r tic le s th a t h o n o r a n d c e le b r a te o u r g a y liv e s. eople have told each other stories as long as they have had language and as long as they have had campfires. And so in the prehistoric period o f the 1950s I began to hear and mentally collect humor ous or bizarre experiences o f my newfound gay friends.

£ °e £o

after our acquaintance, he talked with a good-looking younger man neatly dressed in suit and overcoat. Sex was not mentioned; nor were there innuendoes. As they were about to part, the younger man said something that affected the older man in such a way they he spontaneously threw his arms about the younger man in a bear hug. “ I'm a police officer,” said the man in the overcoat, “ and you are under arrest,” as he showed his badge. And so the dis traught older man was arrested and imprisoned in T he Tombs,’ a notorious jail on lower Manhattan, where he was put in a cell with out heat and no bunk. Or, if there were bunks, there was none for him. It pul a fear into me as he told about trying to sleep on the floor with mice running over his body. But one small bit o f good news for me came out o f that horrible tale: the friend had seen in the ja il a teenaged tough who had mugged me and afterwards ter rorized me some weeks previously on that same Riverside Drive.

denial student in Birmingham. Alabama told me one o f the earliest of these tales. He told me about an adventure in Mobile o f the sort that many gay men fantasi/e about— sex with a cop in uniform! He told me the story nearly fifty years ago, and some o f the details escape memory. How they met I do not recall, but during a weekend trip to Mobile he somehow found himself fellating an on duty policeman in a deserted parking lot late at night. When the student had brought the cop to a climax, they strolled back through a dark alley to the street, chatting like friends.

ust as (hey reached the street, a patrol car with two policemen pulled up to the curb and stopped. Apprehensive, the student said good night and sauntered off. But he had walked only a few steps before the policeman called him back. “ Hey, Mac, these o ffi cers w ill lake you to where you lost your wallet and help you look for it.“ When the student approached the patrol car, the cop he had blown told him the cops in the car wanted blow jobs. So he got into the back seat, and the three drove off.

oon after I arrived in New York I met Joe, a graduate student who had a room on the eighth floor of an apartment building that had been converted to a rooming house. One o f his favorite stories was about the night he took a trick to his room who told Joe tales o f how he had let ‘queers’ blow him and then beat them up. With each tale. Joe grew more nervous. The guest sat between Joe and the door and Joe worried about whether he might be beaten and then thrown out the open eighth-floor window. When the sus pense had become almost more than Joe could bear, the trick said. "Then one day I decided that since I enjoyed sex with men. I must be as queer as the guys who blew- me; so I stopped beating them up.” Whew! What a relief!

he driver parked in a dark, isolated spot; and the cop in the pas senger seat crawled into the back seat with the student. Alter the first policeman climaxed, the driver said he did not want a blow job. “ Uh oh,” thought the student, “ now I'm in for it; they’ ll run me in and charge me, and the driver w ill be the witness against me." But on the drive back to the city center the policemen contin ued to converse in a friendly manner with the student. At an allnight diner they bought him a hamburger and coffee. Then they drove him to the bus station ad gave him money for his ticket. Ihey gave him a friendly send-off and invited him to look them up any time he returned to Mobile.

y late friend Dan told me about an experience he had during our New York days in the 1950s. He went home to Long Island one afternoon with a trick and had an enjoyable time. He thought the long train ride from Manhattan was w'ell repaid and did not expect any extras. But when he made to leave, Dan was urged to stay. "M y brother w ill be home soon; he’s gay, and you w ill enjoy him.” Dan stayed on and he had been told truly; the

less agreeable experience w ith a policeman occurred to a mid dle aged friend I met in New York in 1953. This rather brash man cruised Riverside Drive every night o f the week, every week o f the month, and every month o f the year. One winter night, soon

brother was at least as fantastic as the first trick. But, when Dan again wanted to leave, both brothers urged him not to go. They told him their father was also gay and would be home soon; and they assured Dan he would really enjoy their father. But Dan decided he had enough pleasure for one afternoon and did not wait for the father. Dan had not been put o ff by the incest angle o f two brothers, but the father-son aspect o f the situation some how did. But such niceties did not stop a friend in Puerto Rico who boasted that he had sex with four generations o f males in one family.

spoke l.nglish; nor did Harry speak any Spanish. He managed, however, to select a youth, knowing the price from having it written on a pad o f paper. As Harry drew money from his wal let to pay, he was asked a question he did not understand. When a higher price was written on the pad, he thought that if it cost more it must be better and paid the additional money. In a cubi cle Harrv undressed w ith the youth. As Harry mounted and got into the spirit o f the occasion, he abruptly learned what that extra fee was for, as a husky third man tried to penetrate Harry from behind.

had heard legendary tales about the fun-loving Angelito well before 1 ever met him, and in one o f my very first encounters with him 1 witnessed one o f these very funny episodes. A m utu al friend gave a cookout during one o f my visits to Puerto Rico after a long absence. The event was held at a popular riverside picnic site high in the mountains and Angelito was also a guest. The location was beside a swimming hole in which a number o f boys and young men from the area took their baths. As my host cooked, 1 unabashedly watched the boys in the water and observed Angelito, at that time, a septuagenarian w ith a keen eye for teenage boys. As we watched, an athletic young man o f per haps twenty years came running. He quickly stripped and entered the water w ith a bar o f soap. Shamelessly we on the bank watched him perform his evening ablutions.

ana, a friend whose hair had turned prematurely white when he was about forty, narrated an embarrassing but amusing experience. Dana, who loved to fellate, took a young trick to his apartment. Now Dana was not just a cock sucker; he was an ‘artiste.’ The young trick had nothing to complain about on that score. Nevertheless, fooled by the white hair and mus tache, he surprised Dana by a request that illustrates the gay generation gap. “ Now take out your teeth and gum me,” he requested. To the trick's surprise, Dana did not have dentures.

o doubt there are lessons to be learned from these tales; but let me not draw any. Stories told around the campfire, in a bar, at the kitchen table, or wherever, may sometimes convey a lesson; but for the most part they are meant to entertain and so I tell mine. But 1 do have one other intent, which 1 hope is not insidious: I consider these stories a part o f our gay history and ngelito called to him , “ Have you heard o f Angelito?” “ Sure," wish that my telling these tales might encourage you to collect replied the runner, “ everybody’s heard o f Angelito.” “ Well, I’m Angelito.” “ Oh?” was the youth’s only response. After a your stories and thus preserve our history. pause, Angelito offered the runner a cold beer. “ No, thank you,” replied the youth, “ I ’m an athlete and alcohol is not good for athletes.” Persistent, Angelito offered a cigarette. Again he responded,“ No, thanks; I’m an athlete and smoking is not good either. Not to be discouraged, Angelito asked, “ Well, do you fuck?” “ Sure!” replied the athlete, “ Fucking is good for athletes.”

nother friend, a burly sort o f man, told me some humorous tales from his early experiences. One occurred while he was driving and got caught in a blizzard. As the storm worsened, he thankfully stopped when he came to a motel, only to be told by the proprietor that he had just rented the last room. Fortunately, the man who had just rented that room had not yet left the reception area. He said to Harry, “ I’m also alone; you can share my room if you want.” Doubly thankful, Harry accepted. In the room, when they had removed their heavy winter clothes, Harry found the other man to be‘a living d o ll’ and began to make sub tle overtures. After some time, the man said to Harry, “ I don’t want to insult you, but the way you are talking, you’re beginning to sound like you want to suck my cock.” A little taken aback, Harry still acknowledged that was exactly what he had in mind. To Harry’s delight, the other man said, “ Well, then what are we waiting for!” They quickly got down to what they both enjoyed.

N o t e

A » t h o r s

At RFD, wc are always excited to recieve submissions in hard copy format. However, if you want your submissions reviewed and returned, please enclosed an SASH. The best format for submis sions is as a .txt or .rtf file. Send your submissions by snail or to submissions@rfdmag.org. Indicate in the subject line the issue your work is for. Thanks!

arry had visited pre-Castro Cuba and told me about one experience there. He went to a male brothel where no one

B ook R e v ie w s

Damages______________ by Ba/ht* {Universe, Inc. (1-877-823-9235) ISBN: 0-595-23764-9 402 pages $21.95 Reviewed hy Steven LaVigne Ba/he’s memoir. Damages, arrived in the mail this past January, hut I only browsed the beginning chapters before early March when my father succumbed to cancer. I read most of it on the way to and from his funeral, so my feelings about this book may have been affected by that experience. If one were to judge by the handsome cover photo, we’d never guess that Ba/he has a vivid talent for powerhouse storytelling. Damages is a remarkable, compelling read. Now a I S. citizen, Ba/he is the adopt ed child of a Macedonian military man and political leader under General Tito. When his father dies, he returns to this homeland, only to learn that his mother is suffering from inoperable colon cancer. He arranges to care for her, leaving behind his lover in New Jersey. During this period, he connects with his birth mother and relates to her the hardships and abuse he faced growing up a child of privilege. Like Christina Crawford’s revelations of a Hollywood child who suf fered abuse in her book, Mommie Dearest, Ba/.hd reveals that the repressions and phobias (he has a fear of butterflies) he faced as a gay child aren’t so different in Eastern Europe than they are in any other part of the world. (Were a great convention of gay men held some where. we’d leant that we all share many of the same experiences.) The beginning of Ba/he's saga is background material, and he finally reveals himself as a gay man for the first time on page 64. 1 enjoyed reading about his insecurities, and I share similar traits. He bites his nails, as do I. He was a loner in elementary and high school, as was I, and gravitated toward British and American classics. (I’ m looking for ward to reacquainting myself with Melville’s short stories based on Ba/he's appreciation for them.) As Damages continues, however, with one word chapter titles like "Lather,” “ Mother,” “ Connection,” “ Phobia” “ Mila,” “ Childhood,” “Army,” "College,” “ Istanbul,” "Happiness,” "Psycho” “America,” and “Orphan," the author reveals horribly realistic experiences that had to be lived. No one could have made this up. Following his lonely child hood and schooling, he joined the Yugoslav Army, where he had his first gay encounter, followed by expulsion from the College of National Security when he displayed a little self-expression. In Turkey, a wealthy married man convinced him to live in drag, while he learned, upon his arrival in the United States, that this isn’t necessarily the land of the free or the home of the brave. Ba/he offers foreign perspectives and viewpoints toward the standard American citizen, and his commentary on the political and economic history of his homeland goes far too deep to relate in so short a space. While Ba/he has occasional trouble with syntax, nothing can overshad ow the final thought from his dying mother, who tells him "to live life and not let life live you." was, for me. an important and personal book, because it helped me through a very personal situation. My hope is that it can work a similar magic on you. Damages

Spiritual Teachings

He's The One: A Novel

ofKall’h WaMo Enwrs,m

By Richard Geldard Etndisfarne Books. Great Barrington. M A (2001) 181 pages $16.^5 (softcover)

by Timoih} James Black Kensington Publishing (2(X)3) 360 pages $23.00 (hardcover)

Reviewed b\ Naftoli Pickard Reviewed by Bluejay This book is a light philosophical work that summarizes the teachings of Ralph Waldo Emerson. It is apparently written for a general but edu cated and/or introspective audience. The author’s style -clear and accessible—beckons to the reader and draws him into the narrative Though Geldard ostensibly reviews the writings and concepts promul gated by Emerson, the reader is drawn into the discussion and begin' asking himself the same questions that Emerson would have us ponder.

While visiting Outwrile Bookstore and Coffeehouse in Atlanta (mv favorite place to hang out, read, and drink diet sodas), a friend and employee. Dennis, handed me a copy of He's The One. staling. “ You'll like this one." Was he ever RIGHT! This book is a definite keeper. It's one of those books you want to re read over and over again. It’s a love story, yet not a mushy one. It s a story of making amends, making a friend not an enemy, and unexpect edly making new and diverse friends. The wonderful thing is that “ boy (finally) gets boy,” —and it's believable. I'm hoping for a sequel to come out and continue the story of chief protagonist Adam and his wonderful friends.

At the beginning. Emerson's “ acts of reflection” are under considera tion. and Geldard expertly weaves in quotes from Socrates. Descartes, and Thoreau that help to make Emerson's points even more poignant. In chapter two he discusses Emerson's early years and his eventual break from the Unitarians, and alludes to the Transeendentalists of whom Emerson is often said to be a part.

Adam Wilson, a handsome teacher, athlete, and owner of a Web con sulting firm, is thirty-one. He is successful, yet lives alone in Eau Claire. Wisconsin. Everyone he's met to this point in his life is either too young, too coupled, too incompatible, or too invested up in being dysfunctional. His family is a loving, accepting one. Both parents are active in PFLAG. Brother Mike has no problem with his being gay. Agnes, his mom. is a force to be reckoned with in the face of discrim ination. And she always lends a sympathetic ear to troubled parents and their gay children. Adam is one lucky and happy, yet unfulfilled, guy. He has everything—except there’s no Mr. Right by his side to share his fears and dreams. Someone who would give him strength to face each new day with hope and love as they spend the rest of their lives together.

The text is chock full of useful details that help the reader to put Emerson's life in better perspective. For example (p. 24): “ ...the jour nals show an early concern with self-discipline as Emerson chastised himself for wasting time and indulging in wasteful fantasies. We in the self-indulgent late twentieth century react to this stern self-criticism by excusing it as excessively Puritan, but it was not. Emerson understood at some level that the mind had to rule the body and the emotional life before the whole man could develop." In focusing on Emerson's influences. Geldard notes Emerson's avoid ances as well as his attractions. Apparently Emerson did not choose "fully enlightened” figures such as Moses, Buddha, or Jesus as his guides. These personages are too removed from ordinary life, due to their elevated or mythic status. Rather. Emerson chose Plato. Swedenborg. Montaigne. Shakespeare, Napoleon, and Goethe as his beacons of light. Another fascinating aspect—which Geldard men tions repeatedly— is that Emerson carried the Bhagavad Gita with him as a personal companion. The philosophies of the East were becoming available to the West in translation during Emerson's time, and thus he became enamored w ith these new influences.

Because of business obligations, Adam finds himself in new York City. In Manhattan, he meets all kinds of people and makes fantastic and long-lasting friends. Blythe Mayfield, an artist, becomes his first new friend. Her hair, which constantly changes throughout the book, is shocking to Adam. Yet her lovable personality endears her to him immediately. .She becomes his sidekick for all of his further adven tures. She also becomes determined to find Adam a husband.

Without belaboring the next 50 pages— 1 hope you'll read it for your self—Geldard marvelously outlines dozens of themes on which Emerson wrote and philosophized. To mention only a few: discipline, idealism, spirit, “ history," self-reliance, compensation, spiritual laws, remorse, human will, dreams, revelation, etc. In Chapter Eight. "The Courage to Be What We Are,” Geldard beautifully presents aspects of Emerson's own writings— including his personal journals- that illu minate this theme. In describing “ completeness.” Geldard relates that. "The goal is integration, bringing the impulses and elements ol out nature into harmony." Eater in this chapter. Geldard brings forth inspi rational words perhaps even a battle cry? in quoting an Emerson credo: “ Courage with eyes, courage with conduct, self-possession at the cannon's mouth, cheerfulness in lonely adherence to the right, is the endowment of elevated characters.*’ These precious words leap out of the pages and address themselves to our lives.

While in Manhattan, Adam periodically runs into people from Eau Claire. Sheila Meyers, who has become a fashion model, is thrilled to see Adam again. Daniel Stephanson, on the other hand, was not so thrilled! He had been Eau Claire’s local “ gay boy.” Adam's group of friends had teased him unmercifully, calling him "faggot” and “ Spaniel Daniel.” At first, Daniel refuses to have anything to do with Adam until he remembers it was Adam's friends who had done the teasing, not Adam, who was guilty only by association. They eventually become fast friends. Daniel and Blythe introduce Adam to club owners Sister Amanda Prophet (a drag nun). Ethan White Crow (an American Indian mystic), Blaine Dun hill (another Eau Claire expatriate), and Jeremy Caprellian (Adam's “ Magnificent Obsession” ). And there are other wonderful characters throughout the book.

Geldard clearly is a master writer who offers his reader a succinct and insightful synthesis of Emerson’s prolific body ol literature. But the book is more than that. This book is a useful handbook to have on hand— within arm's reach for regular reference. Whereas Emerson's writings are extensive, this 181 page book is a manageable play by play treatise of Emerson s recurring themes, useful either for refresh ing the memory or for an occasional moment of spiritual guidance. You will not retire this book to the back ol the bookshelf after its first read!!

As I told Philip Rafshoon, the owner of Outwrite Bookstore, ‘This book better have a happy ending!” Thankfully, it does. Both happy AND believable. Unfortunately, when the end arrives you'll say to yourself. "Rats! Couldn't you have written one more chapter, Timothy?” Of course, Mr. Beck can always write that sequel I 'm wait ing for—and I sincerely hope he does!

M u s ic R e v ie w s

Heathen Harvest — esoteric and pagan music review Highlighting the many shades of music: light, between the worlds and darkness in sucessive issues

by Malahki Thorn ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■

l ig h t

wmimmmmmm*

Welcome once again to Heathen Harvest. This issue of Heathen Harvest is blazing a trail into new territory with its first ever electronic music review. Now I can hear many a dedicated and honorable pagan gasping out there. Fear not. This music is pure heathen irreverence.

This

Morn

Omina

Le Serpent Rouge - Le Serpent Blanc 2CD Ant Zen Records Our first album in this two part review is This Morn Omina’s recently released Le Serpent Blanc ~ Le Serpent Rouge. Phis Morn Omina is an electronic music outfit from Belgium. As the name applies this is a double CD full o f electronic excur sions into dual realms o f ritual. Both CDs break new ground with an eclectic mixing o f industrial, hardcore techno, ritual ambient, and ethnic ambient music styles. These diverse genres are successfully lorged into one pounding, blood rushing, foot stomping, euphoric dance explosion. I.e Serpent Blanc CD 1, is a hard hitting, uplifting, energetic explosion o f sound. The title actually reflects the music in a very intuitive way. Though the word serpent is whis pered in one song during the C l) the energy o f the serpent per vades every song. You can feel the ancient Kundalini stirring and threatening to rise w ith the w rithing rhythms. The first CD is all about rhythm and movement. I honestly could not keep up with the music when dancing. I kept finding myself out of breath and over extended. The music demanded too much from my body. Most songs are driven by complex rhythms both acoustic and synthetic. Any talk o f instrumentation is almost absurd when discussing electronic music though there are mentionable samples o f labia drums as well as other acousti cal rhythm ic accompaniment. B uilt on these intricate rhyth mic foundations are songs that seem to expand and evolve as you listen. There is an incredibly organic serpentine feel to the song structures. Disembodied voices are a common ele ment and range from the mystic and strange to the dark and sinister and that’s not m entioning the generous use o f M uslim prayers and tribal chanting. Overall its an amazing m ix o f pow erful and diverse elements. A sense o f ritual and spirituality pervades the music and gives llight to the imagination and soul. Repetitive tribal rhythms, primal chanting, incantations, and psychedelic elec tronics all contribute to a sense o f mysticism. The spirituality o f the album is refreshingly non specific. Pulling together eastern religion, western occultism, and tribalism. The one universal thread is the rhythm and the relentless sense o f power and strug

gle that unfolds through the CD. I could see this being the music people undulate to around bonfires in the future. Just when This M orn Om ina has taken you over the brink o f physical and spiritual exhaustion the throbbing beast settles. A respite is granted the listener as the music slows into mystical ambience. Tim e to comtemplate the feverish onslaught is granted the listener. I found these breaks both necessary and kind. Le Serpent Rouge CD 2 is the dark twin o f disc one. Le Serpent Rouge is o f course a contrast to Le Serpent Blanc. The white serpent -The red serpent. Bone and Blood. Virgin and Whore. Purity and Sacrifice. The Moon and The Sun. Le Serpent Rouge is notably darker and more ambient than its twin. It delves deeper into the underworld than the pre vious CD. This change from driving rhythmic beats to ambient excursions lends perspective to this nocturnal excursion. The music though slower and darker remains vital with occasional deviations into rhythm driven tracks. The sense o f spirituality in these tracks may be a bit dark for some listeners. Though a cou ple tracks lulled me the overall experience is a powerful one if you want to ride on the under belly o f the serpent. Le Serpent Rouge is definitely invoking the power o f the serpent in its most feared and scorned symbolism. In cultures throughout the world the serpent is revered as a symbol o f spiri tual power and reverence. In western Judeo-Christian belief the serpent is a symbol o f temptation betrayal and evil. Engrained in the human psyche is a fear o f these reptiles much like we fear spiders. This Morn Omina pays tribute to these dark mythos with respect and honor. Le Serpent Rouge does not communi cate a fear o f the serpent but rather an embracing o f its dark mys ticism. The music though ambient is very ritualistic. I f you seek communion with the serpent and wish to invoke its beauty both light and dark then don’ t miss this essential release. This Morn Omina - Le Serpent Rouge - Le Serpent Blanc is a must buy for anyone who wants to dance w ith the ser pent! Check out their web site for more info and to hear samples o f their music before you buy. This Morn Omina is also hosting an interactive image gallery that complements the album cover and the albums theme, http://www.hegira.be/fiash.hlm

Nymphomatriarc h The Sum m er 1978

Self titled Hymen Records Nymphomatriarch - Self Titled is the second title in this issue. Recently released on Hymen Records this album dares to go where few o f us do! Nymphomatriareh is the first true to life musical sex ritual. The album is a collaboration between Rachael Kozak o f pagan band Hekate fame and her lover Aaron Funk known for his break beat electronics as Venetian Snares. Together these two artists recorded their love making with specially engineered microphones. These m icro phones were inserted into orifices during oral, vaginal and anal sex. These recordings were made while the couple where on tour across Europe. Not to worry this is not simply an audio porno. With Rachael’s ambient influence and Aaron's break beat background the two set about synthesizing the sounds o f their copulation into a break beat/ambient hybrid. The result is a psychedelic experi ence o f twisted high speed electronics popping and oozing w ith moans, grunts and slaps. The music turns on a dime from slow groove to hundreds o f beats a seconds only to morph again into primordial ambience. Defying both the ambient and the break beat traditions this release is an experimental masterpiece. I f you

Published at Wolfe Creek in California, issue 16 of RFD appeared in the era of change for queer folks everywhere. Harvey Mlik was assassinated in San Francisco and queers would take to the streets. It was an era of consciousness raising and action plan ning. Thank god for Bic lighters!

are a sex magic practitioner or like kinky sex this would make great background music. Lesbians and bisexual women w ill especially find this title accessible since the majority o f the rec ognizable moaning is from Rachael. Thus the title Nymphomatriareh! The music is sexy and intelligent. Its not just repeti tious beats raining down on you. Rather it’s a mixture o f fluid ambient lucidity with generous additions o f deep bass rhythms and sharp break beat signatures. The break beats fioat nicely over the ambience and punches out to give the listener a focus through the stew o f the ambient mix down. The fact that every sound you hear was synthesized from one o f their sex sessions also gives interest to the music. This album is definitely an original and 1give both these artists credit for pushing the envelope and taking us along lor the ride. Become your own Nymphomatriareh! You can find this title as well as most titles reviewed in Heathen Harvest at http://middlepillar.com. 41

The Table o f Contents for issue #16 includes submis sions from all genders and features articles, photos, graphics and poems of all kinds. Here’s a sample. Pick up a copy (or order one from us) - you’ll find it a fascinating read. An Invocation to the Goddess Balya Podos Sissy-phus Tale Jeff Segal A fime Apart l.awanda Rose With Goddesses And Queens: A Poem Silvana Nova Westward Storm Tim Lewis Death Transfigured: A Poem Cleo Caminat Women On The Edge O f Time - C andor Smoothsione Double J: The Joy O f Sisterhood - Gary Lee Phillips Sissy / Butch Jack Childers Twilight Prayer : A Poem Aaron Shurin

W a tch T h is S p a c e for M ore!

F ilm R e v ie w

by E dge ndy Goldsworthy is an artist who intuitively cre ates sculptures out o f natural materials in dialogue with the landscape o f whatever place he works in. Because o f the ephemeral nature o f much Goldsworthy’s work, relatively few people have had the good fortune to actually view his sculptures in person. Most people are familiar with Goldsworthy’s work only through his photographs o f his sculptures.

ow there is a film that offers a rare glimpse o f many o f Goldsworthy’s fragile works, as w'ell as his cre ative process. Rivers and Tides follows the artist closely as he works on a stunning variety o f sculptural projects — in places ranging from the wilds o f Nova Scotia and his home in Scotland, to small towns in New' York State and the south o f France. The film documents Goldsworthy’s very personal, idiosyncratic, yet thoughtfully intuitive and integral approach to working with natural materials in their natural environment. In this way, Rivers and Tides provides surprising insights into Goldsworthy’s creative process as well as the thoughts, feelings, and experiences that inform and grow out o f that process.

ivers and Tides provides an unparalleled opportunity for the audience to witness Goldsworthy’s works tak ing shape (often very slowly and haltingly), continuing to evolve and change as they interact with the energy and forces o f their environment. Although many o f his sculp tures eventually are destroyed by the forces o f nature, Goldsworthy him self joins the audience in marveling at the ways in which the sculptures are transformed and even enhanced in the process o f ultimately being destroyed.

his film is o f particular interest to radical faeries because o f the deep respect evidenced by Goldsworthy’s interaction with natural materials in their natural environment. With a radical faerie-type sensibility, the artist even discusses his sculptures as "offerings" to their environments.

oldsworthy is an unassuming, introverted, middleaged man - not a typical celebrity or sex symbol by any standards - but I found the man, his work, and his cre ative process so inspiring and beautiful that I found myself falling in love over the course o f watching the film and returning to see it several times. The understated genius of this artist is so powerful that it is no wonder the film has been held over in Santa Fe for over six weeks. 1 encour age you not to miss it if it comes to a theater near you!

R I V E R S AN D TIDES Andy Goldsworthy Working With Time Roxic Releasing

"rison stocks are traded on Wall Street. For every individual behind bars, people are making big bucks. Inmates can no longer receive care packages but have to buy everything at the canteen. Telephone companies are charging $5.00 for the first minute plus 95 cents for each additional minute for collect calls

Prison Page_________________by Snuffy

IT HAPPENS JU ST LIKE THAT!

The Treme neighborhood is a predominantly black minority neigh borhood with a population much affected by the prison industrial complex. The statistics relative to the number of incarcerated young black men and women from the community in prison are staggering. The economics of the area are impacted by both the loss of family breadwinners and the drain on families trying to support their incar cerated sons, daughters, fathers and mothers assuring an ongoing supply of candidates for the prison industrial complex. It was heartening to see several thousand participants at the confer ence with such an exciting level of interest. There was a series of workshops, a performance series, a video series, an inmate art exhib it. and information of various groups involved in prison related issues. Other workshops included Wrongful Convictions m tj^ Deep South (about the work of the Innocence Project New Orleans), Prison Rc.c.prds, Puhlk Records, iimj 1low & Gel Them. Prison Masculinities and Male Prisoner Rape, and I peked Of T: l esbian. Gay, Bisexual, Trans & Queer Folks in LlK Prison Sy stem. Of the keynote addresses, including those by Robert King Wilkerson. (for mer political prisoner/Angola 3), and Angela Davis (former prison er. academic, activist), the fieriest speech was given by Jerome Smith, a Treme Community Activist. One comes away from such intensity empowered and committed to both the issues and the peo ple behind them, moving them forward.

FOCUS These pages are set aside to address issues relating to a group of peo ple who have been marginalized from society and who have, in effect, become second class citizens or, better, citizens without class. As such they are open to exploitation in various ways. Our gender identities have been similarly marginalized and it is only with the recent supreme court actions that our intimacies have been given acceptance in all slates. It wasn’t that long ago that we could be arrested and hauled off to jail simply for being in a gay bar or declared mentally unfit and institutionalized.

Of the workshops I attended, the one dealing with Inmate Rape was the most jarring, providing a grim picture of what often happens to young people coming into the system. Young people, gay or straight, are at the mercy of other inmates while the guards look the other way. It's a control issue: the toughest inmates run the joint and, to make it easier on the guards, they get perks (from all sides) to keep order among the inmates. We heard about a young guy coming into prison, walking down the cell block, and guys calling out that he was going to be "theirs". Then the most powerful guy tells the guards he wants the warden to put the dude in his cell. IT HAPPENS JUST LIKE THAT.

We feel it important to be aware of the human rights and civil rights issues that affect those who are so incarcerated. It is relevant for LGBT folk to be informed about these issues, to become involved in groups and organizations desiring to affect change in the prison sys tem. Indeed, with the increasing number of youthful offenders being sent to adult prisons and the growing number of transexual and gayidentified inmates in the system, we should be concerned that some one close to us may well enter a prison during our lifetime. As a result. RFD Magazine will use these pages to present issues and provide information as to ways that LGBT persons can become involved. RFD will continue to publish a listing of gay/bi-identified inmates seeking pen pals. Brothers Behind Bars**. In turn, inmates are encouraged to submit art work, poetry and other literary pieces for inclusion in RFD.

The conference ended with a full scale parade around the edges of the Treme, with police escort. It was thrilling to walk with so many wonderful people including Angela Davis right along with us. Critical Resistance is a broad reaching organization, well-informed and service-based located at 1904 Franklin Street. Suite 504, Oakland CA 94612. Their phone is 510-444-0484, e-mail is ernational@criticalresistance.org. and their website is www.criticalresistance.org.

CRITICAL RESISTANCE beyond the prison industrial complex

Additonal resources can he found on the web by searching under prisoner advocacy, outreach or prison reform, abolition, and civil rights.

“ Raymond went joy riding in an all terrain vehicle ai the age o f 14 and received a 12-year sentence. During sentencing the judge told him that there were adults in prison who loved playing sex games with tough young hoys and they would have 12 years to enjoy them selves. Statistics tell us that more young hoys are raped behind bars than ladies on the street and the boys experience the emotional trau ma o f knowing that it is going to happen daily.”

FEEDBACK Please let us know if there are other issues you would be interested in having us cover in future editions of Prison Pages. And if you know of other relevant conferences or events please gives us a heads up. You may e-mail us at bbb@rfdmag.org.

From : Turning C hildren into C rim in a ls " by Dennis Segall as appearing in N orth Coast Xpress: F a ll I99H

These words leapt out from a handout I received at a conference, "Critical Resistance, beyond the prison industrial complex." held at the Treme Center in New Orleans in April. On the backs of the poor and marginalized, big business and the States are making lots of money. I learned that prisons have become BIG BUSINESS and

* To defray costs of corresponding with inmates in preparing the list ami related printing costs, a suggested donation of $3.00 to $10.00 per list is requested 43

Coppicing our Trees for Firewood

By Leopard

Wood is a beautilul and ancient resource. It is said to warm three times, once when it is cut and taken from the forest, once when it is chopped and once when it is fired Each stage of dealing with wood, from searching out dead or fallen trees, cutting them safely, finding the easiest way to axe them, stacking and then creating a good quick yet long lasting fire constitutes an art that can take several seasons to fully understand. Wood as fuel for those wishing to live close to the land is one of the better options. It is cheap and readily available; even free, seemingly, if there is the wooded land around the homestead to supply enough fallen and dead trees. However, as more folks come to live with the land, relying solely on fall en trees is bound to become less reliable. Up on Short Mountain there seems at first to be an unlimited amount of wood available, having to think about shortage may seem absurd. Wood is certainly a self-renewing resource, yet land that has remained uninhabited for decades is now becoming populated. This land, that has supplied the sanctuary with wood that has died or was discarded after commercial log ging, is now expected to heat more wood stoves. The sanctuary itself also has grown, by size of dwelling as well as by numbers of people residing there dur ing winter. The question of possibly exploring more proactive forest management must be considered. Certain species of tree which are prime materials, both for burning for heat, and for building, furniture making etc., are being lost. The early succession hardwoods, having re-claimed the land from the fields that sat here for a hundred years, are now being shaded out by larger secondary and tertiary successional species. Within the thousand or so acres that have come to be in tree-friendly, conservationist ownership on Short Mountain, the cedas, locust, sassafras and black walnut are the four most precious that remain only in pockets. It may be time to address how these earlier species may be preserved as the land moves on to become primarily poplars, maples, beech, ash and some hickory and oaks. Any piece of wooded land, however small and in which ever region, can be viewed as in transition from one stage of development to the next. Few acres of this enormous continent were not logged completely within the last two hundred years. Where once thousand year old trees stood, now the oldest is often no more than 100 years growth. There are many aspects of sustainable and regener ative forestry that can be addressed by the landown er or long-term land-steward. Selective logging, by

choosing the lesser specimens to harvest and leaving the tallest and strongest to seed and regenerate is one example; halting forest-succession to preserve certain species or a certain eco-system, even preserving a field, are also examples conscious wood lot management. Coppicing is another. It is an ancient technique that can provide as much firewood as a community needs using a relatively small area of closely managed land. It relies upon the natual “magic" of certain trees to be able to grow completely anew from a well established root system, once the living tree has been felled and harvested. Cedars, pines, spruces and several other trees are simply killed when they are felled. However, the long- and hot-burning locust that gifts the wood-stove operator an almost guaranteed overnight pile of warm embers, the quick-burning, excellent fire-starting, oily and fragrant sassafras, and the deep luxurious dark black walnut, that is a beau tiful burner and an excellent crafting and outdoor wood, all create an "immortal stump". When felled these trees are merely cut in half, their mighty roots remain gen erative and seem to loose hardly a season before sending up suckers which continue to grow into new trees. At its most basic, coppicing is the art of selecting these suckers each year, choosing the healthiest and most upright looking trunks, and cutting away the others. Depending on the size of the initial tree that was cut, four to six suckers, or more, can be allowed to develop for several years. A quick growing hardwood like locust will provide sever al fence-posts, or smaller fire wood logs, in less than years. The two or three healthi est trunks are left to mature until they are ready to harvest as burnable logs. This should take around fifteen years from the initial cutting. Some trees even in optimal condition will only last a few decades, others look to cli max in several hundred and can live several hundred more. Many will crowd each other out and are best thinned, others need shade to thrive, some will grow no more than a few feet high. Relatively few have any particular use to the woods-dweller, and while most of the others are beautiful for their diversity, some non-natives are best dis couraged for they will hog the light or disrupt the natural succession. It may take several years of relying on fallen and dead wood for heating and building before one new to the land becomes intimate with the selection of trees, knowing their suitable uses and understanding their growing patterns and feeling confident enough to begin even a small size coppice. Coppicing is an investment of time and planning that may not start paying off in warm fires for a decade. Based upon the amount of wood needed each winter to stay comfortably warm, and how many trees would need to be managed to yield this amount, it could be an acre or two that would need to be established as a continually managed plot. Yet once established this could provide yearly fire wood for the rest of ones time and in these days of increasing numbers returning to live close to the land it is certainly a wise approach to preserving and ben efiting from and working with the land's resources. Listening to locals, observing tree growth, getting to know the species will make deci sions easier as will further research into this technique of working with the trees. Then recognizing each tree felled not just for the fire it will produce this winter, but for its potential yield in winters to come, will not only soon make coppicing possible but that it is already happening! Coppicing in Europe was necessary for survival due to the shortage of wood in Europe for centuries, and is ancient knowledge. In the States the seeming endless supply of trees available meant the techniques were not brought over to this continent. The advent of gas, coal and electric heating, as well as industrial timbering, has made coppicing all but obsolete. The more sophisticated techniques of coppicing have almost been lost. As we come to steward the land coppicing is a simple technique worth considering, learning and beginning to put into practice.

t ir t r m i h /

Examples of coppicing techniques: do’s and don’ts! (Must, from coevolution quarterly summer ‘81)

Contact Letters

...Some of my interests are: camping, hiking, naturism, photography, massage, gardening, Feng Shui, movies, travel, dream work and 1value good friendships. - Marc. Arizona Silver Bear/Daddy (57yo. 6'T \ 255lhs). full salt (V pepper beard. nondrinker/-smoker. vegetarian, academically trained with MA in Oriental Studies and Languages, is looking for very submissive, masochistic men of an equal slant to be my opposite number. I have no ethnic prefer ences. but. please no brothers behind bars (very sorry!). Ideally I like men between 21 and 69 years of age w ho would like to satisfy my very dominant, sometimes quite sadistic urges. But I also like cuddles, hugs and wet kisses a lot! I come to the USA at irregular intervals; next time in 03/2004 to LA and Long Beach. I prefer men with cultural interests and hobbies: real artists would be a big bonus! For right person might consider 24/7/365! But I like also to host over here, if you give me advance notice. I live in a medium-sized Northern German town with its own Opera House, Concert Hall & Philharmonic Orchestra and a big university. For hobbies I like: reading avantgarde poetry, good Science Fiction, and collecting international Railway Timetables. If you are interested in meeting me send your letter with facial picture to: M aster. Wol f- Bear @gmx .de.

GWM Young, athletic, honest. Wants to relocate to start a new life with a professional, loving man who is understanding. Need some assistance. Write Tim Murphy PO Box 19425 Louisville, KY 40259 WANTED: Two queer men for neighbors, friends to share a site and build home together at Earthaven Ecovillage, N.C. Blue Ridge Mtns. Rural living and community skills important: gardening, building, tool care, woods w'ork. mechanical, plus communications, empathy, discern ment. Must be healthy, emotionally mature, non-smokers, 30-60 years of age. Must have some cash assets or reliable near-term transportable income equivalent to $30k each/$60k couple over three years plus enough for own sustenance. We have beautiful land, good neighbors, housing and infrastructure, established gardens, small cash savings, no debt, steady income, and strong community standing. Our existing pub lishing business and other w'ork yields our household approx. $3035k/year. but keeps us too busy to build the home we desire. We are two queer men, together 6 yrs. 51 yrs. old. healthy, trim, omnivorous, nonsmokers. One. an accomplished gardener, seed-saver, horticulturist, and mason has wide range of practical skills plus web design and various arts; the other, a business manager, teacher, and editor is also experianced engineer, landscaper, and tree feller. We have successfully built one small passive-solar, natural house together, with hand tools, for under $Kk. Write with detailed letter of introduction and we will reply with more about ourselves, our situation, and our vision. Peter Bane & Keith Johnson PO Box 1209 Black Mountain, NC 28711 keithdj@mindspring.com

Looking for long-lasting partner or long lost love? I am an ultimate, genuine, hot . homy, nice-looking, non-scene, sincere, well-built, com mitted, bottom/passive. GSOH. no time-waster, versatile in bed guy, seriously looking for partner (gay man) or friendship ol any age or race who understands commitment. Interested man should send photo, con tact address and telephone number to explore my sexual possibilities of meeting. Write: Eric Kwaku Boakye-Andor P.O. Box 2291 SYI. BRONG AHAFO REGION GHANA. W. AFRICA Why Be Alone? Are you handicapped? Maybe you are hearing or vision impaired. Maybe you are missing a limb or are paraplegic. Are you between the ages of 20 and 42. extremely slim or weight proportionate? I'm a retired special needs educator who took early retirement and under stands. I'm 6'3” . 240 lbs. brown hair and eyes, bear type body and Fm caring. You can contact me by writing: RS. PO Box 13413. Macon. GA 31208 Why be alone when there's a possibility for happiness with a caring guy in his 50Y.\ Come and visit me if you want to see a beautiful place and share some conversation, wine, a kiss or hug and maybe even an erotic massage in the sun or shade. If we connect, we may become good friends, compan ions or sharers of the adventure of life. Fm looking for a long-term rela tionship. Some qualities Fm looking for are: good health, emotionally stable, no extra baggage - physically or emotionally, a spirit of adven ture in one who appreciates super sex tantric style, loves to kiss, play and travel. I am a healthy German/Greek, masculine, strong, sensual, great sense of humor, intelligent, 5()’s 5'8". 142. creative and erotic. 1 have lived in Arizona for 20 yrs. Some of my interests are: camping, hiking, naturism, photography, massage, gardening. Feng Shui, movies, travel, dream work and I value good friendships. I am a graphic artist and a professional in the healing arts specializing in Feng Shui design. Other words that describe me are: passionate, mystic, pure, gentle, naked nature boy. a brother, intense, eclectic spiritually, French, honest, magikal and one who believes that there are no accidents. Fm looking for someone who is not looking for a hand-out nor incarcerated. If you would like to meet, email me at: hleu5("cox.nol. or il you wish to meet soon, you can call me on my mobile at (520) 870-8970 I look forward to hearing from you. Marc THEY DO WORK!!! Thank you RI D. I received a wonderful response to the contact letter which ran in the Spring Issue #113 I have run ixusonal ads in various gay publications for years in the past w ith no success. But the RFI) con tact letter connected me with a beautiful long-haired, bearded hippy dude. Thanks again. Nature

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If you’re a new or renewed subscription with a note claim ing “Yes I want a T-shirt” you will not only have the queer est little art rag in the nation delivered to your door four times a year... but also a beautiful t-shirt to advertise the fact.

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For the past year our long-running Brothers Behind Bars Penpal pages have been printed separately from the mag azine. The handful of profiles and addresses we may print on the prison page is a tiny fraction of the resource that is compiled each quarter by our Prison Page editor. He is directly contacting queer prisoners and encouraging their particpation in the magazine. We feel this service is impor tant and increasingly rare in these times, and Snuffy’s enthusiasm in organizing these pages is deeply appreci ated. Please consider sending for the latest list.

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Regular subscription (2nd Class).............$25-75 Two year subscription (bargain ra te )............$45 First Class (Includes Canada & M ex)................$37-75 Foreign Surface (Oustide U S ) ............................ $30-75 Airmail E urope.................................................... $47-75 Airmail Asia & A u stralia.................................... $55-75 PWA & Prisoner Rate .............................................. $10 Library Subscription Service .................................. $30 Your su b scrip tion k eep s RFD alive! If you can afford to send more than the regular $25 please consider doing so. If you are a working couple, may we suggest a $50 rate for one year. Perhaps a collective household could renew at $75? Su b scrib e by mail or on -lin e at rfdm ag.org Gift su b scr ip tio n s are available. We will send a greeting card with your personal message. RFD is mailed in a sealed envelope.

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Post Office Box 68, Liberty, Tennessee 37095 www.rfdmag.org 50

isseue:Healing How, . x/ Do

Heal?

Magic

Reiki

Sweat

Music

Herbs

Touch #

Photo Credit: Dhandi

Massage

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Story

Send your words, graphics or photos to: submissions@rfdm ag.org. Please include the word "Healing" in the subject line.

D U E O C T O B E R 15

CELEBRATING OUR STORIES FOR THIRTY YEARS