FAGGO - PUNK & QUEER

Pulished 1999, 500 copies xerox

Fuck Yer Rainbow - Faggo
Intro - Faggo
In Touch - by Faggo
Henry Rollins - by Jim Yousling
Really Easy To Waste Time - Jason Roe
Demon Seed - Alex McClelland
George Washington - Travis Jeppesen
Ya Ever Had A Faggot Kick Your Ass, You Fuck? - Eric Boehme
Bread & Circuits - Paul (aka Starfag)
Punk @ the Fag Bar - Rufus Poser
What's Punk Got To Do With It - Paul Dalton
I Remember When We First Met - Sam
Rob & Me - Faggo
A While Ago... - Sean Capone
Fever - Faggo
On The Verge Of Coming Out - Paul Kane
Daryl Loves David - Daryl Vocat
To Party With Pansy Division - Grant Lawrence
Ode To Surfers (to Conan Hayes) - Peter Bird
Heart Core - Sascha Is Queer
It's A Small World After All! - Faggo
Reviews - by Faggo & Rufus
You Fucking Dick - Dagnir
Heat Wave - Mitch Fury

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Fuck Yer Rainbow (a rant) - by Faggo

Not because it doesn't have merit - but because you don't honor it's intention when you sip your coffee from your rainbow colored cup. Fuck your rainbow because you gave-up on defending 'diversity' once you co-opted the politically gay conservative mainstream 'ideal'. (S)Lip service on the bumper of your sporty car - you wouldn't even think twice to lend a ride to the 'freak' who selling his/her ass on the street. You feel secure in your GAY 'A' status and unabashedly still celebrate the previous gay achievements that you weren't even a part of. You think that the youth of today don't appreciate what 'your' generation did - only because we won't stroke your ego any longer. You hate 'Queer' because of what it meant to you - but what about us? Maybe we're onto something better - maybe your comfort is worth sacrificing. You're so stuck in the past but you've somehow forgotten the details - like the trannies who fought the fight, took the risk - the ones you now laugh at and call 'freak', the ones you think are wasting government money when they get sex changes. FUCK YOU - your rainbow should be white because that's all you'd fuck. And god, aren't you 'normal' because you want a family, 2.2 kids and a brand new car - you want family 'values' because you're still buying into the system of 'ideals'. You make anonymous sex easy - i wouldn't want to get to know you any better - you're like Marky Mark, a fantasy fuck if your mouth is shut. What separates 'you' from 'them' anyways? What personality do you have besides the one you bought at Little Sister's? I wouldn't want to know you because I'm tired of arguing against your ignorant points. Read a book or something. Learn about yourself, educate yourself. Wipe that smug smile off of your face! Fuck your rainbow - because it deserves to be worn by someone who means it.

(continuation that wasn't printed)

Love your rainbow - because you know that it represents more than just you - it represents everyone. Love that rainbow because the struggle continues this very day, in your country, in your city and in your work place. That rainbow is silent without your words to defend it's meaning - without your persistence to continuously question yourself about what 'diversity' means. Love your rainbow because - 'it's been a long time coming, but change is gonna come' (is that Ottis Reading?) - Color your rainbow with different colors because you're a rebel with a cause - color your rainbow because 7 colors is just the tip of the iceberg. Fly that rainbow flag high because you're not proud (you haven't done anything) but because you are not ashamed. Wave it higher because you aren't a 'role model', you're a 'real model' - someone who understands that your time may have past and that you've had enough pats on your back - time to honor the young. You don't own anyone's 'pride' - so you help celebrate 'her' and 'him' for being 'him' or 'her' whether or not they love 'her' or 'him'. You see youth as strong, creative and a step ahead - not as a sexual conquest. You realize that you didn't have it all - so you're honored to 'give back' to your chosen community - to help give what you wish you got (rather than complain about how hard you had it). Love your rainbow because it's about a lot more than just 'an easy way to spot someone you want to lay'. Love your use it's about a lot more than just 'an easy way to spot someone you want to lay'. Love your rainbow and remember - it's but a part of who you are. Love yourself.

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WELCOME TO FAGGO!

What you have in your hands is just the beginning of what will go downn in history as the FAGGO assembly - a gathering of minds that cross the worlds of Punk and Queer. Admittedly - not a 'new' idea - more so, fuel to add to the fire. FAGGO is definitely a response to
"WHERE ARE THE BOYS?"
Thus, the focus is on the boys - and the men - and anyone who identifies or fantasizes as such.
All opinions expressed herein are solely those of the writers (DUH!) No limitations have been placed on the writers - FAGGO does not set out to create a new 'ideology', 'bellief' or 'chosen voice' - just a venue to express them.

Don't like what you read?
Fucken make your own 'zine - i'd love to see it
'nuff said

Kim

Thanx: to all the contributors and those that tried but were unable to. BIG THANX to: FAGGO Posse Vancouver - Brian, John, Rufus, Mitch, Chris, (sic), Brenan, Greg, Ken, Kelly, Kevin & Grant

music listened to while putting this together
black flag, coc, fugazi, gang of four, judas priest, by a thread, undertow, boy sets fire, pj harvey, hüsker dü, minutemen, scrawl, minor threat, imperial teen, unrest, SNFU, bob mould, pegboy, firehose, stereolab, propelor heads, manic street preachers & chemical brothers

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IN TOUCH - by Faggo

First off, a big thanks to John for letting me see his collection of In Touch so I could write about it and so I would know what he was talking about for so long.

OK, for a period of time in the early 80's ('82, '83) - In Touch magazine, an LA gay-porn mag - had an editor by the name of Jim Yousling who basically loved rock'n'roll and wanted to document what was happening in LA at the time, most notably, the punk scene. You've go to try and imagine a fag-mag that was 1/2 porn and half entertainment editorial. Almost like People magazine meets Inches or something like that.

So what occurred during this time of maybe a couple of years or so was this cross section of Punk & Queer in one mag. This is quite possibly the earliest melding of the two worlds - and if not, then at least the first on a grand scale (though the CRUISING soundtrack with the Germs and Rough Trade was released in '78 - thanks again to John for showing me that gem!) Pictures of punk rockers AND naked men - a dream come true! Albeit, the commentary on the punk stuff was from an outsiders point of view, sexualizing the seemingly straight world of punk to a gay readership. Each issue a began with a feature called Touch & Go (I have no idea if there was any relation to the record label, though they must have known about it because Tesco Vee was in a couple of issues being VERY naughty - shit? & dogs!) which would mention things about Flipside, the Buthole Surfers, Rodney on the ROQ and other musical ramblings or tid bits - interesting, weird, gay or punk.

Almost every issue during this time had a photo of Henry Rollins (usually a live pic) from Black Flag, as well as photos or advertisements for the Red Hot Chili Peppers (of course, how could IT resist, they played wearing socks on their penis's). It's weird because for this one brief period in time - In Touch was very cool and very funny.   I mean it's nothing like contemporary porn magazines or mainstream gay publications - it's a bit of both really - but way better. You can find used copies in gay bookstores like Little Sister's (in Vancouver) or the like - if you are lucky for 1 or 2 bucks! Issues 70 - 80 are a good bet, look for Jim as the publishers name, though when he first came on board it wasn't quite so rock'n'roll, probably a transitional period.

I was of course most delighted to find the issue with an interview with Henry Rollins himself. I've reprinted parts of the interview here as well as photos and stuff - all   from the fag-mag IN TOUCH. I find it quite exciting because it's definitely one of the oldest interviews I could find with a punk band where gay stuff is even mentioned - though I remember something in an old Flipside about a gay punk band called the Clit Boys that I've never heard of anywhere else. Clit Boys or Black Flag? Hmmm ... with so many sexy photos of Henry, how could I resist?

Oh, I guess Jim Yousling retired or was fired, once he was gone IT just blended in with all the other porn mags. No more Sex & Men & Rock'n'roll articles, no more Sexiest Men in Rock, no more Off The Record (sexy/racy album covers) or snibblings of what's up in the world of music, and most notably, punk rock. Too bad!!!

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Henry Rollins - excerpts from an IN TOUCH interview (circa 1983) - by Jim Yousling

Do you encounter many guys who want to pick you up?
I've had offers.

You're so perfect for IN TOUCH, because I'm doing a skin magazine andyet I'm really interested in rock and roll - so you give me tht sexual excuse I need to write about you.
I like your magazine. I was really hoping that we would do an interview, that it would come through.

Thanks. Well, I really like you. I've wanted todo this interview for a long time. For a while there , you were in IN TOUCH almost every month.
Keep it up! I Like it. Every month I get an I.T. and I go "There's fuckin' Rollins again!" That's cool. Some of those guys must be getting tired of it. They're going "Fuck this guy, man." (laughs)

I've only gotten one or two negative letters about the punk stuff - from guys who say "Punks hate homosexuals. They want to kill you, so why print pictures of them?" But for the most part they seem to like it - even sixty-year-old men in the Midwest. They don't complain.
(the bass guitar gets loud downstairs.)

Sounds like you guys are ready to rehearse.
We don't go on till ten. We have all kinds of bands practice here, all our friends.

I guess we'll head on out.
Did I do okay on this?

Yeah! Can we take some pictures?
Yeah!
(My lover and I shoot some photos of Henry, he shoots one of us, and we decide to go across the street for coffee at the Seven Eleven.)
Hey, this is what I call payole! The big payoff.
(As we walk to our car, Henry tells us about a party Black Flag will be playing in Hawthorne on Saturday afternoon.)
I don't want a nighttime gig in Hawthorne. You may never hear from me again. This could be the last interview. (laughs) We play parties all the time. We just like to play. You should come. And if you want to throw another party, we'll play.

Thanks! We'd love it. (arriving at our car) This is us. So... thanks a bunch.
Oh, sure. Um, I'll call you tomorow. It'll be easier for me to call you 'cause I'm like everywhere. I run around. Come to the party. It'l be around here - in Hawthorne. I was hoping for Mmalibu. (laughs)

Okay. Before I shut this off, is there anything you'd like to say to thousands of gay guys?
Hi! Get on our mailing list! Tell 'em to come and see us.

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Really Easy To Waste Time - by Jason Roe

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Demon Seed - by Alex McClelland

THE BODY IS BEING WRITTEN INTO LAW
RESTRICTED, CRIMINALIZED AND POLICED
OUR SEXUAL SELVES HAVE BECOME SITES OF
TERROR, DEEMED POISONOUS, VIOLENT, DEADLY.
AM I THE CRIMINAL, DEVIANT,
DEMON THAT I HAVE BEEN NAMED?
HOW CAN I EXIST AND COMMUNICATE N DAILY
LIFE WITH THIS POISON IN MY VEINS, MY
BODY READY TO EXPLODE AT ANY MOMENT?
UNDER THE LAW MY BODY IS A WEAPON
UNDER THE LAW MY BODILY
FLUIDS ARE "NOCIOUS SUBSTANCES"
AND I AM BEING CHARGED,
CHARGED FOR BEING POSITIVE, CHARGED FOR
CONSENSUAL FUCKING.
SAFER, SAFE OR UNSAFE IS NOT THE LAWS BUSINESS. MY LOVE
I WHISPER TO MY LOVE
TO MY LOVE - I AM
TOXIC/NOXIOUS/POISON/EXPLOSIVE
MY BLOODCUMTEARS FATAL.
THIS IS A WAR GOIN' DOWN AN WE ARE NO
LONGER FIGHTINGJUST FOR FUNDING, DRUGS,
RESEARCH, AND OUR LIVES. THE NEWEST
ENEMY IS THIS BATTLE IS THE LAW INOUR
BODIES, IN OUR
BEDROOMS, IN OUR VEINS
WE ARE NO LONGER FIGHTING OFF JUST A
VIRUS, WE ARE FIGHTING OFF ASSAULT CHARGES
ATTEMPTED MURDER CONVICTIONS, AND CRIMINAL
TRANSMISSION OF HIV CHARGES.

"AM I TO BELIEVE I AM
THE DELINQUENT YOU SAY
IAM OR DO I
THROW IT BACK IN YOUR FACE?" DERK JARMAN

UNDER THE LAW MY GODY IS A WEAPON
AND I AM READY FOR THIS WAR. I SAY WATCH OUT
CAUSE I'VE GOT A NEEDLE FULL OF   MY +
BLOOD IN ONE HAND AND MY COCK IN THE OTHER.
I AM READY FOR THIS BATTLE.
I SAY WATCH OUT TO THE FUZZ.
WATCH OUT SUPREME COURT DADDIES.
WATCH OUT MONTEL WILLIAMS.

DEMON SEED IS A MEMORIAL
A WAIL/SHOUT/CRY/SCREAM FOR
COMPASSION, AND A FUCK YOU TO ALL THOSE
WHO ARE TRYING TO BRING US DOWN.

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George Washington - by Travis Jeppesen

"coherence in contradiction expresses the force of a desire."
- Jacques Derrida, Writing and Difference

George Washington was born on February 22, 1732 in West Moreland County.  His dad was Augustine Washington and had been married once before.  His mom was the former Mary Ball of Epping Forest.  When George was 3, his family moved to Little Hunting Creek on the Potomac.  Then they moved to Ferry Farm opposite Fredericksburg in King George County.

Last week, I started my new job.  I basically take my clothes off for old men in a bar and they shove dollar bills down my undies.  After my first night, I asked my boss if he had any advice for me, for my future.  Wear something tighter next time, he said.

Last night was my second time stripping.  I made more money than I did the first time.  Fat old fuck kept coming up and shoving dollar bills down there, would fondle my cock each time.  I told my friend later that I deserved Andrew Jackson if he was constantly going to be touching my cock.  Andrew Jackson and I grew up in the same united state.

My boss threw another one of my grandpas out of the bar cos he took off his belt and was trying to whip me.  He flashed me 4 times and never tipped.  I'm glad grandpa got evicted.

One guy is fat and not that old and an artist.  He always tips me and he tips well and he's never tried to flash me.  Or touch my cock.  He's my favorite customer.

The bartenders all wanna fuck me.  At the end of the night, I always have to think of an excuse for why I have to go home.  Last night, I talked to M about how I feel weird up on that stage dancing cos I have body issues and I can't dance and all that.  "You're beautiful dahling" he replied.  I'm 12.

As part of my routine, when I really want money, I take the dollar bills I've earned and rub them all over my body.  I feel least sexual when I'm onstage doing my routine, sometimes, for fun, I'll rub a dollar bill against the head of my cock to try and give myself a hard-on; it never works.  But my forefathers who give me money like it; I will be like them one day.

Afterwards, I peel the dollar bills off of me and begin walking towards breakfast.  My hands, my cock, and my bod smell like dollar bills and my dollar bills, with all their sweated sticky and pubic hair, smell like me.  This is how people can tell that they're my dollar bills.  They stink and're wrinkled, I go up to the counter to pay my bill, there's a pubic hair stuck to George Washington's eye.  George Washington was once giving a speech and he said "Gentlemen, you will permit me to put on my spectacles, for I have not only grown gray, but almost blind, in the service of my country."

My forefathers at work seldom wear spectacles.  I wonder if I'm a blind illusion to them, they're not seeing me up there on the stage, they're seeing a blurred piece of flesh.  One that gyrates, touches itself softly, tries to locate that place where its body and the music'll meet and live happily ever after.

Sometimes my friends come in to watch me dance and I'm usually drunk enough to have a conversation with them on my breaks.  Sometimes the old creeps'll follow me around thinking I wanna talk to them and do their drugs.  They usually have nothing to say, which means I get to make up fake autobiographies as a substitute for selling them what probably lies beyond this body.

Before he died, George wrote: "I have not only retired from all public employments, but I am retiring within myself...Envious of none, I am determined to be pleased with all; and this, my dear friend, being the order for my march, I will move gently down the stream of life, until I sleep with my fathers."  I sympathize with these old farts who come to drool over me, in all their misappropriations of the whole narcissistic dilemma.  They want what they don't have, what some of them never possessed, it's all tied up in that sex they see that I'm writing for them.  I sometimes feel like this is some sort of an end, these nights of the week that I sleep with my fathers.  These histories are a part of what I do, where I go, I wish I could get past myself so I could feel by seeing, or at least see what I feel.

The morning after my first night stripping, I was alone in a room for the first time.I began peeling my clothes off, layer after endless layer. I opened up my underwear to look down and discover the mystery everyone was out to solve. The dollars had all been removed, but one thing remained. The face of George Washington had been sweated on to the shaft of my cock at some point during the night. I stared down there like a child seeing its first misery. I stared directly into the eyes of the miracle. And the eyes of my father stared right back at me.

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Ya Ever Had A Faggot Kick Your Ass, You Fuck? - by Eric Boehme

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Bread and Circuits - interview with Paul (conducted thru the mail)

How old are you? Where did you grow-up? Where do you live now?
I'm 23. I was born in Texas and my dad was in the military and I grew up overseas. I moved from Turkey to go to high school in Delaware and hated it and as soon as I could I moved far away from the east coast. I finally made it out to san francisco and this is where I am staying.

How do you define yourself sexualy
Queer. queer=fag=dyke=trans=bi=queer , That is usually a problem with alot of people. I like men and womyn and I tend to call myself a fag and alot of queers get angry or um, irritated? when I don't identify as bi or they feel like I am not validating "real" fags cause I am intimate with both sexes. I feel like everybody is queer. I have know tons of fags who will like out of nowhere, "OHMIGAWD I totally had sex with a womyn for the first time in decades!" and Dykes who will totally pursue boys all over the place. Sex is rad, intimacy is rad. I realise it is all about comfort levels and what you can handle but I also feel like why shut yourself off to any kind of real emotion. Gay or straight?

How do you define your sexual actions
Fuckin queer! I Don't think I can engage in any straight sexual "actions"!

Are you 'out', to whom, for how long?
FUCK YEAH! I am out to whomever I can be out to. It is the big thing. Ok like I really am sick of getting fucked with fer being gay in the workplace, on the street, by people you thought were friends, and just about fucking anywhere! I make it a big point in my life to be out everywhere. Everybody should know! I have had conversations like, "well paul some people just don't need to know." FUCK THAT!! People will stop needing to know when we are treated like fucking human beings and not like this long running inside joke that is secretly whispered under the table and in the sheets! I live in fucking San Francisco, possibly the Queer mecca of the world, and I still get fucking insulted every day by fucked up actions and words and intentions and ignorance. I feel like by saving yourself a little bit of a hassle or by not being out during the interview and getting that shit job, you are creating a safe fucking space for straight fucked up culture and ideals to thirve and feel comfortable. I want to fucking turn up the heat and make them squirm. Whoa. Oh yeah I have really been out fer like 3 or 4 years. As far as I know, everybody knows. And if they don't yet, They will.

When did you know or realize your sexuality?
Fuck. I had no concept of gay or queer till I started playing music with this queer womyn and even then I totally had no idea or fears about am I or am I not. And then we played these shows with Bikini kill and Team Dresch like four or five years ago and and it just kinda hit me like wow this is a fucking real part of me. And I moved out to california and realised I was in love with my best friend and we lived together and I was like super fag for a couple of years and then found out I could have queer sex with womyn and wow, I think my sexuality is still exploding.

How have your experiences been with relationships? were your boyfriends ever into punk? was it monogomous?
Ok I have not ever kissed a boy who can kiss. Serious. I have had boyfriends but they never lasted to long, I cant handle party boys. And there are so few rad queercore boys! And being sober and only really able to handle dating other sober people makes it hard to get dates. Most of my relationships have been monagamous(sadly). I have really just come to terms with the fact that I get into momagamous relationships fer the wrong reasons (fear, insecuritys, lonliness) and I am NOT going to be having any monagamous relationships in the forseeable future. I do date womyn and require that they have a dick. And make the first move.

How has your experience been with other queers in punk?
Hmm. Kinda hit or miss. I try to look for something real in other people, like intentions and energy and actions. And I have not met that many queers in punk or hard core that hold true. I could name names and give examples but I think I just feel let down by alot of queers I have met in the past and recently. Every body has thier own shit going on and I am not gonna clown people for not living up to my expectations but I feel like especially since I have lived here in sf, so close to alot of rad queer shit going on, I reach out a lot to meet and communicate and hang out with and talk to and play music with and try to start something real with ALOT of punk queers. And almost ALL have been let downs. Like I said before I don't feel any real community, I feel like they are similar people with only enough energy and time for thier own agendas. But the fucking thing is I get more support and fucking help and inspiration from alot of straight punk kids, pushing me along and helping me with resources and being fucking supportive. I get more queer networking through straight punk kids telling me about this friend of thiers that has so much in common with me and who I should totally get in touch with! I put my self out alot so that I can meet people like that and I don't want to turn into a jaded fuck! And all the queers I meet that are doing bands or any kind of radical shit act like they dont have fucking time fer me!

Is your identity in the 'music community' reflective of your identity in the 'queer community'  (and what ever community means to you)
It is hard for me to call anything I have seen any kind of community. I feel like in reality it is a bunch of people with similar interests or identitys but with thier own personal agendas and goals. I don't consider that real community. I am sober and don't relate to most of the queer community here in sf. I would say they same thing goes for myself in straight or just music or whatever scene. I dont like the direction queer culture or "community" around here is going so I am supporting radical lifestyles and other stuff and trying not to support non-radical, washed out mainstream gay party life. With gay music and culture I feel betrayed by the lack of any rad gay male role models for young punk or hardcore kids. The same goes fer straight culture but really, there were never ever any fags I looked up to. I would love to try and find lots of rad queer kids and try to build a community and become a fucking vocal, out, radical fucking support gang for queer kids. There is not enough of us and we need somewhere to go!

What music inspires you, anybody you looked up to (role models) growing-up queer or not?
Ok, when I was younger(oh what like three years ago?!) I really looked up to dykes who were out in bands and playing rock! Serious, fucking Team Dresch has been on my fucking turntable for like four years! I could list old shit list Heavens to Betsey, Bikini Kill, Ruby Falls, Rodan, Unwound, Harriet the Spy... Music I have seen lately that is inspiring would be like To dream of autumn(ohmigawd total dreamboats) um, Former member of alphonsin(OK like REALLY total dream boats!!), Soophie nun-squad(ok wait, I can't explain my fucking love for those kids, total dream boats um what the fuck is a dream boat anyways?) Oh and I missed seeing Saetia when we played with them at the pickle patch but I got the record and after it survived 5weeks in the van and a basement flood and being dropped around and anyways I fucking really, REALLY love that record. I cant get it off my turntable. Ok Chip from the Hundred years war, love him!, the band is sooo good!

How do you define your self in punk?
As a fucking geek! I Don't know the names of the bands, I don't collect records, I dont know the names of "the members of", I have not been involved in a scene. I feel like when I was younger I was surrounded by hardcore and punk and straightedge men/boys and I was really pushed away by all of them. I'm not into being "cool" and I really do think I am a fucking nerd. I fear the fuck out of most men and don't feel comfortable in most social or intimate settings with most men/boys, so I can't really identify with most male artists/musicians/punk kids/hardcore kids what have you. All I am really, honestly interested in is being fucking human. And identifying my self as some one who is just trying to be real.

Which do you enjoy more - music or sex
You had to fucking ask that. Hmmm. I like bicycles more! HA!

Where it seems to me that music is more easily available and accessable (especially nowadays) - queer culture seems more hidden (but growing) to the untrained eye. How did you discover and or learn about 'queer culture'?
I discovered it going to shows. There was no fucking queer culture evident on the east coast to me in small ass delaware(home of the body-bag). I think that queer culture is on the fucking rise but as this fucking sick christain white-washed yuppie beer drinking non-radical fucking thing where "oh we have gays for friends!" and oh "honey lets go eat in the queer part of town." That shit is acceptable to white straight americans who pretty obviously hold onto the media and power. I learned about gay culture from experience and my experince was fucking sad. I want to make something more. Something positive.

In your opinion, are gay politics and/or HIV/AIDS politics as important as say in the 70's or the 80's?
As being gay becomes more and more "normal", well fuck I cant speak from experience cause I was born in 76 and did not experience any of that! I have so much respect for the fucking older queers who fought for, fuck just to BE gay! But I feel like where did it get us? If those 30 years of war is just going to allow us to hold hands in public and have our own queer version of straight society then I am dissapointed. Actually I don't want much to do with that! But if something happens and mutherfuckers wake up and overthrow the government and elect a fucking trans-fag president of our new supportive fucking community and fucking do something real then fuck yeah!(I realise that is far-fetched but I don't like america as it is running as a nation, society, and political system so why would I want the samething but just "gay"?)

Describe your ideal man
Ok, hmmm he would look like a dykey grrrl looking like a tom-boy. He would be his fucking self and want to go on byke rides and blow up cars and stare into my eyes alot and KISS GOOD fer christsake! My ideal man would fucking have alot of respect and admiration fer me and who I am. And I would hold the same fer him.

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Punk @ The Fag Bar - by Rufus Poser

In June of 1992 I was having a shitty vacation in that wacky queer tourist trap Provincetown, MASS - P-Town! The town was lousy with New York fashion fags who didn't know what to make of me. Maybe it was because I wore combat boots on the beach, or maybe it was the car I drove around in that had paintings of cigar smoking cows all over it.   Whatever the reason I was not popular with the boys and actually spent one or two nights alone (unheard of at this gay ghetto) because I wanted to see who would have the guts to pick me up.

One day I was out at the beach watching everyone else around me having a good time when the boy I've dreamed of my whole life just walked up and stood in front of me. It was like my fairy godmother had answered my prayers. He was in his late 20's, dark complexion, lean and muscly, and he was carrying a skateboard! I just sat there a moment, dumbfounded, when, he asked me if he could sit down.   He talks?   I tried to think of something to say, anything, to keep things moving.   I asked him about skating and he told me how he used to be a pro skater in the 80's, had been in "Gleaming The Cube" and all over the pages of Thrasher.   I literally pinched myself.

He then told me how he'd been traveling around the Cape and was surprised that a place like P-Town even existed.   Just my luck: HE WAS STRAIGHT! 

This was all too much for me at once and I had to recover my senses and not let the disappointment show on my face. I just sat there, nodding at him vacantly as he told me about his girlfriend. I made up my mind to suck it all up - so what if he was straight? He was the best thing to walk my way in four long days, and i had more in common with this het than any of the hundreds of republi-fags that surrounded us.

What followed was three days of hanging out, skateboard lessons, and nights playing pool at the dyke bar.   After last call we wandered over (with everyone else in town) to Spiritus Pizza.   It's like a gym-bunny cotillion: boys line both sides of the narrow main street and wait until someone taps them on the shoulder and takes them back to their guest house to fuck.  

Because we were on queer turf it was interesting watching this straight boy have to deal with the weird customs.   I was showing off and after we'd spent most of the day and evening together, he'd smile, wish me luck and leave me as I plunged into the rowd to take home the boy we'd picked out together. Back at the tricks b&b I'd close my eyes and imagine I was making love with my Thrasher boy.

On his last night in town we had a late dinner and walked along the beach.   He asked me to come hang out at his place before heading off to Spiritus.   I felt a bit weird.   I was hurting for him pretty bad and I didn't want to ruin what had been the highlight of my decade by losing control and throwing myself at him. I vowed long ago to never again torture myself over straight boys who are disgusted by my desires.

But as soon as we were sitting on his couch I couldn't stop looking over at his bed.   I started to get awkward and I keep repeating the mantra, "he's straight, he's straight, he's straight, he's straight..." My mouth was dry, my palms were sweaty, it felt too much like the first time I ever pounced on another boy. Remembering what a disaster that affair had been I jumped up, put my boots on and said I had to get going. At the door he just looked confused and maybe a bit hurt as we said our goodbyes.

It wasn't until the next morning over breakfast that it dawned on me that I wasn't the only one who felt the intense sexual tension the night before. He'd invited me to his place on his last night in (P!)town but he hadn't planned on my leaving. That's why he looked so surprised and hurt at the door when I ran away. He wanted to exchange skateboard lessons for blowjob instruction. I spilled coffee all over my lame trick of the night. I still wake up screaming.

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What's Punk Got To Do With It - by Paul Dalton  

Like many, many people I love music. My first solid memories of ecstasy had nothing to do with touching my dick- they were dancing unselfconsciously to Stevie Wonder's 'Songs in the Key of Life' in third grade music/dance class. Our teacher- Mr. Stetzer- would sometimes just put the record on quite loud, and tell us to do whatever we felt like. Some kids just sat and listened. Others- like me - ran around uncontrollably for the entire class period.

All my life music has done this for me. For a while it was Elvis, then Fleetwood Mac, then the Bee Gees, then Elton John, then Billy Joel, then AC/DC, and then, of course, Punk.

I remember the first time I really heard Punk. A friend, who I had subjected to hours upon hours of awful prog-rock during our shared free period freshman year in high school, demanded one week of control over the tape player. He was my school's first punk- spiky hair, bad attitude, the whole nine yards. I scoffed at him - punks couldn't play, and they dressed weird.

First it was the Ramones- fucking great. Then the Sex Pistols- even better.. Then it happened- he brought in a split tape with Crass on one side and Conflict on the other. I was sold.

The thing was, that even at 14 years old, politics was what really drove me. Here was this music that had politics, and was loud like the metal I had recently sworn off for being hopelessly reactionary and bigoted. I was in heaven. Loud guitars and politics - this was for me.

Over time, I have come to the conclusion that my punk epiphany was illusory- wishful thinking. Punk never really had any politics. Sure many punks talked a lot about politics, and some of us became activists. All in all however, it never amounted to anything other than some good tunes, and good times.

The great political punk cliché is DIY. We were going to buck the system, make our own records, sell them to each other, make our own zines, sell them to each other, put on our own shows, and sell them to each other. Big fucking deal. All we really managed to do was replicate the unequal economic relationships of the dominant economy on a smaller, and admittedly more human, scale. It might have seemed radical to sell your records dirt cheap, but, in reality it wasn't any more radical than McDonalds selling hamburgers for 39cents. That is just economics 101.

The problem is that most punks had nothing real at stake. Sure they had ideas and ideals, but that will only get you so far. When push comes to shove, and it always does, cold, hard reality will always prevail. So, while I looked in vain to punk for politics, I found it where I never wanted to go-in a disease. You see, when you have AIDS - like I do - just living becomes political - you have something at stake.

In terms of DIY, the AIDS movement kicks punk's ass. Rather than a bunch of liberal middle class suburban kids shouting about war, the AIDS movement fought, and continues to fight a war- our war.

AIDS is largely a disease of the marginalized. First it was gay men, then gay men and IV drug users. Now it is mostly third world people. Yet, it has been people with AIDS that have fought on our own behalf. We made the first powerful social/political movement centered around a disease. We formed action groups, we fought the cops when we had to, we made music and art, we did our own research, we fought the corporations who either tried to ignore or gouge us, we forced the governments hand.

Can punk say all of that? No it can't, because it never really had to. People with AIDS- and before that Queers, and before that Women, people of color, the third world- fought the battles we had to fight. We fought for our lives, not on behalf of others- and that is the secret to our successes...

So, as much as music rocks my world, I no longer look for it to sustain me politically. I now take it for what it is- just good music and good times- the stuff you need to get through the day, to cheat death and fight another day.

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I Remember When We First Met - by Sam

I remember when we first met, I was seven. I was at my grandparents' place in Oslo. He made me so cute - I sipped him up from everyone's glasses. He made me feel so good, until the next day when I felt how much he abused me. There was something cute, funny, grown-up, indeed special about me due to him. I remember when my sister introduced him to me again - she loved him and wa indeed special about me due

  to him. I remember when my sister introduced him to me again - she loved him and wanted to share him with me. Janicke gave me a handful of him - it was neat experimenting with him - I quickly began to fall in love. He took me away from my world of fear and embraced me, he made me feel good or at least not feel bad.

We kept seeing each other more and more frequently. He was always there for me - he always took me away. Of course he always dropped me off back where I d took me away. Of course he always dropped me off back where I day. Of course he always dropped me off back where I didn't want to be but all I had to do was just be with him again.

He brought me closer with my immediate family and friends, so I thought.  

Even though he was abusing me I still loved him - I couldn't live without him.

I could rely on him to be there, we had a ritual that offered me stability. He made me think I was in control because I was making all the decisions. At first and for many years I didn't even know we were having this monumental relationship.

I've been so loyal to him, again knowing he'll always be there for me. Never realizing the harm he was inflicting on me, the control over me - because I was in control, so I thought. He was there for my pleasure - my pleasure!

How could I know - that pleasure for him, was to manipulate me and slowly, slyly destroy me. He always knew what he was doing, not me. He got off on me thinking I was in control. He was chameleon-like, he changed colours (Alcohol, Marijuana, Cocaine, Extacy, Acid...) he was still always the same lizard though. He changed colours for himself, not for me - how could I not see this?

This is insane, why can't I walk away, fuck, run away from him. Or even to be more like myself, kick the shit out of him? I know now he's much stronger than I and he will always wait for me. He's so patient it makes me sick.

He knows that as I'm writing this, I want him even now. And with every word of anger that somewhere inside of me I want him and that he has the power. This is insane because he carries on the same relationship with so many others. He killed my mother slowly, yet brutally. He's killing my brother blatantly. Fuck he is killing me. KILLING me - why can't I really see it for what it is.

How can I have any truly fulfilling relationships with others when my true loyalty lies with him. It is like having an affair with someone & there's no way my lover can compete, how can anyone compete.

What is wrong with me that I want to be with him, knowing what he's doing. He is a total control freak, he's jealous & possessive, he's manipulative and abusive (physically, mentally & emotionally)

When I'm away from him and happy on all counts, I eventually feel like something is missing. I have to get back to him to help him destroy me, yet I don't always see it that way. Even when I do see it for what it is, I still don't seem to have the will-power. I have trouble asking for help - even just asking out to the universe. I guess by asking for help it means I must follow through myself.

When I left him before, my life became a lot more free. things seem ed so much better to deal with. I feared him and not people or anything else for that matter. Like I said before, he is so patient and he waited for me to slip and always tries to hold me down, not embrace me - Take me down, hold me down, keep me down. Why can't my hate for him, my love (what's left) of myself inspire me to fight him and accessing the help I need...

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ROB & ME - by Faggo

It was the spring of grade 7 - it stuck out with such an impression that it's hard to find the right words to describe it now. I was only 13 - I had to leave my softball game early - it might have been a game to some sort of mini-playoffs or something that important, I dunno, I didn't care. I know my team-mates felt let-down that I ditched them for a rock concert - they didn't understand how I could sacrifice a game of good'ol baseball for an evening of maniacal metal. And they didn't know how much this rock concert would change my life. Neither did I.

I wasn't prepared for the concert that would lead me not just into a world of underground musical mayhem but also into a world of underground sensual sex.

ROB HALFORD MADE ME INTO THE FAG I AM TODAY!!!

And I can't thank him nearly enough. You see, the first concert of my life wasn't just any concert. It was JUDAS PRIEST, a band lead by a (closeted) faggot front-man - Rob Halford. Destiny was in effect and I was wrapped so tightly around its finger that I was unaware of its powerful and long-term impact for years yet to come.

Everyone at elementary school was quite flabbergasted that my parents even let me go (so was I, but divorce chaos left me with a lot of liberties.) This wasn't just any rock band, this was a heavy metal band, and not just any heavy metal band - but JUDAS PRIEST. I mean really - the toughest, loudest and most brutal band at that time. Everyone heard the rumors of the bikers that went to JUDAS PRIEST shows - the fights, the drugs and... of course... the leather!

I can still remember being scared shitless as I walked into the Pacific Coliseum with my best-friend Danny (where is he now? Did Judas Priest have the same impact on him?) - the mood was soooooo strong - I didn't even look at anyone for fear of what might happen if I looked at someone wrong. And yes, the bikers were there in full effect, the biggest, toughest mother-fuckers I'd ever seen - and it was the eighties, hordes of young head-bangers (myself included) filled what seats the biker-dudes and babes had left for us to sit in.

When the lights dimmed, the crowd cheered, slowly the smell of pot filled the coliseum even more than previously, so thick that even I felt stoned. Within a few minutes a dull drone began echoing through the stacks upon stacks upon stacks of amplifiers - it was the eerie intro to the song 'Love Bites.' Upon recognizing it, the crowd instantly became quiet, their attention focused, locked in anticipation and suspense. Then, with a blast of light and burst of sound, the riff-raging metal sliced mercilessly through the air and into our ears. The crowd screamed louder than ever before. I was in complete awe.

JUDAS PRIEST had taken the stage - and the man of all mans, Mr. Halford, in full leather dear and studs, was the front-man - screaming so tough that even the meanest of the biker boys paid attention. Oh yes I remember still - how could I forget? The world of metal and S&M had just entered my life? Song after song of macho and metal, denim and leather, sex and satisfaction - Rob was force feeding heavy metal to the audience with a subliminal sexual twist - it was tough, it was raw, it was heavy - and he was gay. And the Harley Davidson he later drove out and onto the stage with sweat glistening from his muscular chest and arms - was I the only closeted fag screaming when he revved the engine? I think not.

You know, the day I actually read a quote from Rob Halford declaring his faggotry on MTV ('...as a gay man myself...') I was on cloud-nine. To know I had subconsciously followed his footsteps into the delights and merriments of man-love was a moment of blissful enlightenment - I felt complete. My two worlds of man-sex and metal had finally collided!

Rob, if you're reading this (and I'll try my hardest to make sure you do,) thank-you - outing yourself to world of metal was exactly what was needed - not all fags listen to Madonna or sing to George Michael (though he's in my good-books too, the public sex video rules!) - you dared where most wouldn't even consider; I hold so much respect for you. And by the way Rob... you can be my 'daddy' any day.

Judas Priest,... the leather, the studs, the Harley Davidson, the short cropped hair, the muscle, the hairy chest - ahh, ...I can still sing the lyrics that now hold even more meaning than before...

"...Then I descend, Close to you lips, Across you I bend, You smile as I sip... Softly you stir, Gently you moan, Lust's in the air, Wake as I groan... In the dead of night, love bites"

"Love Bites" from the album 'Defenders of the Faith' - oh yeah, you know I did, and I'll defend the faith to my grave. You know, for years I never understood why I was called to an early teenage world of heavy metal, what purpose it had in making me who I am today. Now it is in focus - it all seems so clear.

HEAVY METAL MADE ME GAY AND I AM PROUD!!!

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A While Ago... - by Sean Capone

A while ago I was driving back from Santa Cruz after seeing a show. It was spooky and misty and anyone who's driven that route can tell you how treacherous it is. Very peaceful, though... cool and fragrant, purely California. It was also pitch black, exceptingmy headlight glare, which was why I didn't see the carcassy pile of meat which was splotched out on the narrow freeway like a Jackson Pollack painting. Probably a deer, judging by the size of the mess, and hit pretty hard by the looks of it...but who cares? It happens all the time, a necessary sacrifice for our fuel-driven economy, yes? The phrase 'like a deer caught in the headlights' is common enough parlance, and who could guess what's going through the poor beast's brain in those few seconds before impact? Is it fear? Amazement? Anger? Or maybe it's just acquiescence to the instinctual realization that death is imminent and unavoidable, that one's idiotic, blundering decision can haveno other consequence, like when Jeff Daniels burst into Dennis Hopper's house in Speed. Just one split second to curse yourself, grit your teeth and make your peace.

At the show that evening one of the musicians in Bread&Circuits delivered a monologue before a song--actually every song had some explanatory opening spoken word segment--which expressed how he, as a young, black American male, recently had whole new unexplored chunks of his history exposed to him, if I remember correctly, by a written anthology of personal accounts delivered by actual plantation era slaves. Now, it's no secret that the history we are taught in school is sanitized and biased, and the history of this century in particular has been subject to heavy blunting under the assumed empiricism offered by 'objective' media and the unassailability of our 'witness' technologies--video & film, photography, etc. However, the continuance and passing down of oral traditions, mythologies, 'true' lies and indeed the power of the spoken word itself has perhaps more currency now than ever in the culture-producing efforts of our society. 'History' doesn't just give us a look back, it's another, perhaps the most important, method culture has of reproducing itself. The emergence and strength of the 'spoken word' undermines the pessimism that history is written by the victors.   The examples are too numerous to go into. It is a popular view to look at the history of jazz, blues, hip-hop etc. as a continuation of traditions within black culture that goes all the way back to America's plantation era; the film 'Slam' that's out now deals explicitly with the art of language as a tool, a weapon, or the only way to make sense out of a hostile, fucked-up oppressive environment.

Even closer to home, for me at least, has been the use of language and the exposure of unacknowledged histories in the struggle to claim some sort of a past, as well as affirm a living presence, of gays, lesbians, and queers of various permutations. There is 'outing.' There is Silence Equals Death. And just about every day I find out about some famous brilliant person who was also, incidentally, gay (just recently, for example...the filmmaker behind several classic Universal classic horror flicks and subject of a recent film). The result of this has been dramatic changes in our position within popular and political culture, even during the 10 or so years that I've been out myself. These changes make a big difference in how the gay & lesbian culture evolves, as younger gay people growing into their sexuality have more language and popular support at their disposal, and how the positivity of that recognition affects their perception of themselves. This is what writes history and insures us against disappearance.

Unfortunately this isn't true in a lot of cases and for some it's not even an option. On October 8th of last year, as you may or may not have heard, young, gay Matthew Shepherd, a student in Laramie, Wyoming, was lured, beaten and tortured by a couple of local yahoos. He later died, but not before being tied to a fencepost by his attackers, unconscious and bleeding for something like 12 hours, later slipping away from within a coma he never awoke from. The public and media response has been, to say the least, provocative and demanding, especially when it came to light that this was a possible hate-inspired incident, and not just a 'robbery' as was originally, weakly proposed. For a full account of the entire stomach-turning spectacle, I recommend you to check out www.datalounge.com or www.wiredstrategies.com/shepherdx.html. The media, in particular, has been overly fond of repeating Matthew's height (5'2") and weight (105 pounds) like some sort ghoulish personal ad, hoping to emphasize the brutality of the crime and the defenseless of the victim.

According to the accounts of the perpetrators, they clearly set out to beat him because of his gayness (or, his 'effeminacy' as the media also repeatedly parrots), ignoring his pleas and begging, and inflicting an excessively brutal amount of punches, kicks, and pistol-whippings in what one spokeswoman from something-or-other pointed out to be the main difference between 'hate or bias influenced assaults' vs. more conventional ones (loosely paraphrased: a typical assault victim will get hit maybe 10 times, whereas a gaybash victim will get hit like 40 or 50 times, and usually past the point of consciousness). Yes, there are variances which make some physical assaults more unreasonable than others; these are called, legally speaking, Hate Crimes. Even Big Bubba was moved to comment on the incident; ever on the stump, he was quick to link Shepherd's death to the overall platform of the Democratic Party in general. While in his official statement Clinton never once used the word 'gay,' cleanly divorcing cause-and-effect and historically obfuscating the entire incident, he does compare it to the racially-motivated torture and murder of James Byrd earlier this year in Texas.

The subtext and fear behind the public and political denunciation here is that It Could Happen To You Too, and not just if you try cruising for a bloehind the public and political denunciation here is that It Could Happen To You Too, and not just if you try cruising for a blowjob at a public toilet in Red Neck, Montana. This incident has shaken a lot of comfortable, urban-dwelling faggots out of their collective stupor. For some of us more than others, our histories are still being written.   But who's to say what, how, and even why? The official statement by the police was that 'robbery' was the motivation for the execution. Even the kookiest Christian conservatives laughed at that one. And as far as the gay media was concerned, Matthew Shepherd is this year's official martyr, even moreso than Ellen, another victim of the ideological climate that lets bull loonies like Fred Phelps run amok pulling stunts that are too perverse to even garner the support of other whackos like Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell. Phelps had at least one thing to say about the death of Shepherd, that gay activists turned it into a 'propaganda mill'...leaving it to the tiniest, most bitter of minds to point out the sharpest if not most obvious critique. Because Shepherd represents what these people fear most--he was a nice-looking, basically decent kid from the Midwest, the kind high-schoolers would vote most likely to accomplish something Really Great, and certainly not some freaky drag queen meth-head whooping it up in Sin City. This is the assumed image of the authors of the Homosexual Agenda and not one that Matthew Shepherd, to say the least, personifies.  

Therein lies kind of a problem. At least one online critic let his voice be heard:   if Matthew Shepherd had been an obese, effeminant, black man, he contends, the incident wouldn't have amounted to (I paraphrase) a big gay hill of beans. Shepherd certainly did fit the image that marginalizes nearly every other presence in gay visual culture, that of the blond, ultra-cute, white and (by default) wealthy cover boy. The images of him we have been presented with are hardly the candid, poorly lit snapshots we have come to expect from these post-mortem media requiems, either. Matthew apparently, during his life, accumulated quite an inventory of well-posed, artfully narcissistic images of himself. They are the type of image that you are probably familiar with if you've ever seen a Gap ad, or flipped through XY magazine, the 'lifestyle' rag which specializes in marketing the sexuality of young gay white boys. Shepherd was, unfortunately, the right type of guy we want representing us, taken 'off the market' as it were, a little prematurely.

Of course I mean no disrespect to Matthew or anybody else. If anything, the whole incident can undeniably do nothing but good; that is, assuming the necessity for martyrdom in the struggle for equal rights. And the fact that gays are an oppressed minority doesn't make the reason why white gay men (the cuter the better) are the ones who mostly make front-page headlines, any easier to explain. Come to think of it, they pretty much occupy the back page porn and chat-line ad areas as well. However, as another critic opined, 'people are so accustomed to hearing and seeing people of color brutalized, humiliated and excluded that such things do not inspire the emotions that lead to action.' And in the case of magazines like XY, it would seem, the decisions of which lives inspire are motivated by their potential sexual eligibility in the minds and libidos of the editors.

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Fever - by Faggo

- the art of David Wojnarowicz -
21.jan.99 - 20.jun.99
new museum of contemporary art
new york city, new york

So one of the focal points that pushed me to go to NYC when I did was the fact that this art show was happening there. Ya see, when i first 'came-out' a boyfriend of mine at the time, Randy, enlfirst 'came-out' a boyfriend of mine at the time, Randy, enllightened me to the world of David Wojnarowicz (pronounced voh-nah-roh-vitch, I always mispronounce it!) who is one of those artists that   just did everything for me, put me in awe and inspiration. He did everything, from photography, painting, writing, film, sculpture, music to spoke word   and other stuff (even a comic book!) Not only that, but all of his stuff, especially his written stuff - had a strong, tough, experienced and intelligent voice. Something that I have yet to hear or read in any way similar elsewhere.

He was gay, worked the streets (from the age of 12!), survived an abusive home life (barely by the sounds of it), surviived the streets (in NYC!), battled drugs (by the sounds of it, all of'em) and unsuccessful fought AIDS (he died in '92).   I was instantly drawn to his harsh world of realities - he always kept it REAL, He survived the corrupt system of capitalist democracy and spat in it's face! He was a hero that few ever honoured or knew how.

He was a big part of the NYC East Village art scene boom in the 80's (which I never even knew about till the 90's) which just means you can find his writings and art in stores which makes me very happy. He wasn't an art snob - he was cool. Hell, he was even in a punk band called 3 Teens Kill 4 - No Motive..   It seems quite ironic to me that OUT magazine (sponsor for the exhibit) and the art communities in general embraced him because he wasn't a product of their worlds - he was untouchable because he spoke from experience - which made him a martyr of sorts.

"(ugh!) I'm writing as if I know him which is lamely pretentious but just shows   how much of an impact he can have on someone. If you read his stuff I'm sure you'll agree.

'Close To the Knives' is the best of his writings (pretty much all his writings) but check-out his other too! I doubt this show will ever tour - but if it does, check it out. There is also a movie based on his writings called Postcards From America (i like it a lot, though i had already read his stuff before). the above mentioned comic books can be found at comic stores (duh!), it's called Seven Miles a Second - cool, but I'm not really into comics and all the writings come from Close to the Knives. There are 2 'art gallery' books - the newest Fever and the older Tounges in Flame - plus a 'coffee table' book (called ?). All three pretty much print similar stuff so don't rush out and buy everything because there is a lot of duplication - text and photo wise. Fever is probably the easiest of the art books to find as it's so recent.

I just feel dumb ending this review because no words do justice but his own - so check it out - and read the realities of life as opposed to the political babble by middle class white punks (like myself) who eat their words when they realize how easy they've had it. I couldn't fathom putting Faggo together without mentioning David Wojnarowicz.

Oh, someone told me that Fever (the show) skipped over his political AIDS activism work - well that person must have missed the entire second floor at the show- Fever had every piece I wanted to see - and that's a lot - plus much more (it was overwhelming - paintings, music, film, text, and even a video   of spoken word performances on a giant TV screen! ). Thanks a lot to the New Museum of Contemporary Art for hosting such a great exhibit!

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On The Verge Of Coming Out - by Paul Kane

I have the worst memory for events that happen and have happened in my life, but I distinctly remember the moment I finally came to terms with my sexuality. It was early in the summer of '93- June, I believe and I had just moved from Richmond, Virginia(little did I know it was about to turn into the punk rock/hardcore mecca that it is today!) to denver colorado. I remember writing to Mike Bullshit who used to be a columnist for maximumrocknroll. His column had caught my attention, because he was open about being gay within the punk/hardcore community. His self-assured attitude played a big part in my initial coming out process. If Mike had not taken a leading role in being an out columnist in MRR, who knows when I would have come out. For that, I can not thank him enough. {Admitting to yourself that you are attracted to the same sex and then subsequently telling others in your life is incredibly powerful act for everyone involved.}

So, I initially wrote mike and kind of beat around the bush and we got off on the wrong foot, because I was q uestioning stereotypes of gay men. Mike(though I've never met in person) is apparently a big, masculine man and it was those traits that I had a hard time associating with someone who was suppose to be gay. Who can blame me really, when all of the images I saw or heard of, portrayed "queers" as flamboyant or butch or whatever dominant stereotype you'd like to substitute. I kept looking in the mirror and looking at these images and it just wasn't connecting. When I was younger, I tried to convince myself that I 'admired' the men I felt an attraction to. As I got older I would have battles in my mind, "I am gay", "I'm not", "I am gay", "I'm not". That stuff wears you down and ultimately doesn't allow for complete growth as a person. Here I was 22 years old and completely shelfing my sexuality, because I was confused and scared as hell. But scared of what? Of other people's perceptions? Of losing close frie nds and family? Of actually having to deal with my sexuality?!

So, Mike challenged the stereotypes I had brought up, in his letter to me. It gave me something to think about and in turn I was faced with what my sexual feelings really meant. In my next letter to Mike, I awkwardly came out to him. In my opinion, his next response to me, had the best advice ever for someone who is on the verge of coming out. He told me to slow down and not get tripped up over sexual identity labels. Basically, if i was having feelings for people of the same sex, he wanted me to know there's nothing wrong with that and in time I'd figure out what it all means. I pretty much took Mike's advice and began my lifelong process of coming out...

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Daryl Loves David - by Daryl Vocat

Staring into his deep brown eyes I lose myself. We stand outside surrounded by a cloudless sky. We hold one another as the sun sets and bathes our bodies in warmth and radiant light. I feel his denim jacket against my body. Tough and sturdy folds greet the flesh of my hands. I inspect every pore on his face and memorize his touch, his scent, his succulent flesh. The air sends a chill through my body as we grip each other close. When I look into his eyes I see tales of knowledge, compassion and strength. Sinking deeper into his gaze I feel myself engulfed by his soul and his boundless beauty. I inhale deeply and fill my lungs with his warm breath.

As the clock ticks relentlessly tears begin to well in my eyes. I don't want to leave. He tells me to be happy and not focus on the loss. I take strength from his words and rejoice in the abundance of our love. Today I feel as though I am the richest person on Earth. The energy of our passion lifts my spirit and makes me whole. I sink back into the bed of a few days earlier.

The sun pours into the room and smothers our naked bodies in radiance. Nothing can replace being in each other's arms, enjoying the bliss of silence. His hand continually massages my flesh. I feel his warmth and am rejuvenated by the love that he offers so freely. We breathe deeply together and illuminate our bodies. The breaths become faster and heavier. The air from our lungs mingle and we breath each other in. He instructs me to clench my body briefly. As I let go and fall into the pillows he drapes a sheet over my limp body and quietly leaves the room.

I feel energy surging through me. My hands become numb as I let go of every thought in my head. Our energy surges through my veins and fills me with power and strength. The light is so strong that tears begin to form in my eyes. I recognize this feeling from some where, I recognize the feeling of letting go. I feel reborn into a new realm where I am completely fulfilled. This is the feeling of soaring, of being free and turning into my true self. As the forces in my body begin to slow down I find myself returning to the bed room. I can once again feel his body beside me, I am cradled in his arms. I savour the experience and find myself completely overwhelmed; words stumbling, body limp.

I suddenly remember that we are standing together above the city. The sun falls lower and lower, melting into the skyline. There will be no tears of sorrow this time as we say good byes. There is no need for us to cry as we are both filled with love and are grateful that we have each other. Our faces move closer until our lips are locked. We kiss slowly and deeply. The hairs from his beard tickle the inside of my mouth and our tongues swirl together. We pull one another closer and my tongue snakes its way around his mouth and slips between his teeth and lips. Our wet mouths fill each other and he lets out a quiet sigh of joy.

I feel time shifting, slowing down and momentarily stopping. As the cycles shift back I hop onto the luggage cart and the two of us race to the bottom of the empty parkade. This time leaving isn't so bad. We spread our wings and await our next embrace.

Worshipping life and love, we let go.

safe23@hotmail.com
www.darylvocat.com

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To Party With Pansy Division - by Grant Lawrence

As most readers of this zine are probably fully aware, Pansy Division may very well be the only all-queer rock band on the planet. For all the music that they have created, for all the good that they have done, and for all the kids they have helped, gay and straight, I applaud them. They have taken their role in a pop punk band to a new height: to impress on their listeners and fans to be true to yourself no matter what the circumstance. In Pansy Division's case, the circumstance happens to be gay. In your case, hopefully it doesn't mean Nazi skinhead. I doubt it.

The four dudes in Pansy Division, Chris, Luis, Patrick, and Jon, have all become good friends of mine, first through music, as our bands play together often and share a record label, and second through certain mid-twenties confusions I was and am in some ways still experiencing. On a recent trip to California, myself and my 100% straight pal had the pleasure of hanging out with Pansy Division for a few days of outrageous fun in the hot and sexy sun.

Our first stop was the San Jose Gay Pride Day Festival, in a grassy park right in the heart of sun-drenched San Jose, just south of San Francisco. The event was fenced off as a bunch of bands were playing, including Pansy Division and the incomparable Joan Jett and the Blackhearts! (This was Joan's first Pride Fest since she came out). After forking out the incredibly cheap $7 cover, our first sight was definitely a gay one: six pairs of overly buff, tanned and plucked older men in cowboy hats and chaps, line dancing to Garth Brooks on a little wooden dance floor. This stereotype did nothing to ease the slight discomfort of my 100% straight pal at his first Pride Fest. None the less, we pressed on through the shoulder to shoulder sunburnt male muscle, towards the main stage to hopefully catch Pansy Division's set.

Much to our dismay, we had JUST missed PD's action, but heard they tore it up. Much to our happiness, Joan Jett was scheduled to take the stage within minutes. There was just enough time for me to join the long line of solid man at the porta potties and get back in time for Joan. You'd think one great thing about a predominantly all-guy fest would be that the bathroom lines are really quick. Not quite. Unlike what you would witness at say, Edgefest or the Warped Tour (I wish!), here, many men made the trip to the porta potty in a pair. Pretty gross little location to make things happen, but I guess if you need privacy it'll do in a pinch, or with a pinch, or whatever. I made my trip alone as I had to take a dump and hadn't yet met anyone into my 'growing stinky tails' fetish.

Once wiped, I arrived back at the main stage just as Joan Jett had come out, and to the crowd's pure excitement, tore into an excellent set of old and new rock 'n' roll hits. She looked totally butch too (that is to say, rad): blonde, close cropped buzz cut, a tight, sleeveless red leather top, and a pair of sweaty black leather pants. As we rocked to Joan and got cruised by friendly bears, boys, and bullies, we spotted Pansy Division rocking backstage, and before we knew we were back there among the privileged, drinking sweet, cold beer under the hot, California Sun.

Once Joan Jett had seemingly blown away everything in her path, a hilarious Asian lesbian stand up comedian named Margaret Cho took the stage, and had everyone on there ass. I thought it an impossible task to follow Joan Jett, but this chick made it look easy. Misadventures of eating girls out, sucking unwanted cocks, and imitations of her mom's broken english ("a yooo a-gaaaayyyy???") had us crying in our beer.

She actually whipped us up into such a good mood, that me and my 100% straight pal, and a couple of the guys from Pansy Division made the instant decision to do something which apparently is also very gay: go to Disneyland! Before we knew it, we were stacked in our rental and in a race for Mickey's face. Along in our car was Pansy Division drummer Luis and his sexy young juvenile delinquent boyfriend that he picked up on tour in Tucson Arizona. Seth is a tall, skinny, black haired punk who wears black, sleeveless shirts, thinks everything sucks, and sneers like he wants to fight everyone around him at once. He's also a very sweet kid under the toughness. Pansy Division bassist Chris followed along in his car.

After a boozey overnight drive down the I-5 we finally arrived at the Gayest Place On Earth, met up with a girl-friend of mine who works there, and in we went for an entire day of Disney action. While zipping around the park, Luis, Seth and Chris played several "gay tests" on me and my 100% straight pal, unbeknownst to either of us until the tests were over. One test involved checking your shoe for dogshit. If you turn your neck and lift your foot straight back, gay. If you turn the foot to either side in front of you to check, straight. Another is checking your finger nails. If you extent your fingers out flat and together for inspection, gay. If you turn your hand inwards toward you and make a half fist to view the nails, straight. I apparently 'failed' both tests immediately, much to the extreme amusement of the Pansy boys, though my 100% straight pal passed both with flying colours. But then again, I guess it's in the eye of the beholder of what is a 'pass' and a 'fail'. I wish school was like that.

The Disney rides soon starting coming fast and furious... Space Mountain! Pirates Of The Caribbean! Thunder Mountain! Tea Cups! Matterhorn! The Ram Rods! Indiana Jones! Splash Mountain! Storybook Cruise! The rides that soon became sought-after by some and avoided by others were deemed the 'cock-to-ass rides', where the seating is such that two people straddle a bench, and the person in front finds his ass up against his good buddy's crotch. (For future reference, Splash Mountain, the Matterhorn and the Ram Rods [fittingly] fit into this category). On Splash Mountain in particular, as I sat in front of Chris, I could swear there was something very hard and stiff grinding against my shorts as we screamed our way through the wet and wild log ride. Could have been his camera.

We even managed to convince Seth to take a break from the thrills and enter Disney's Enchanted Tiki Room, but he unfortunately thought the show sucked and wanted to prove his disapproval by ripping the anomatronic singing birds to shreds. We were luckily able to restrain him with a promise that he could punch the first character we spotted.

As night fell on the Magic Kingdom and our great day wound to a close, our giddiness rose to a fever pitch, as we got ruder and ruder in line ups, offending all those around us with definitions of sexual chili dogs, corn dogs, and pudding pops. You figure it out. When we finally reached the parking lot, we parted ways with my Disney girl-friend, who let me in on a secret in a farewell whisper to my ear: "you STINK". I guess I let the hot summer sun get the best of me and my t shirt that day, because, hey, I really did smell like a sack of rotting garbage!

Being stinky guys themselves, Pansy Division didn't mind, so it was lots of warm goodbye hugs all around. A few more waves and honks, and we parted ways. Thanks to Pansy Division for there support and kindness in everything they do. You make me feel a lot better about who I am and do the same for a lot of other punks and rock kids near and far. And thanks for a great couple of days!

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Ode To Surfers (to Conan Hayes) - by P. Bird

I love the way they walk. Barefoot.
They step lightly. Prance.
The soles of their feet. Tough.
Their calves. Smooth and lady-like.
Muscled. Almost like a cyclist's.
Square shoulders and broad chests.
Thanks to all that paddling.
Flat firm tummies.

Tight-high butts and good posture.
Their lower backs taper
to the top of the shorts.
Crack in the back.
A hint of bush in the front.

When they catch a wave,
the good ones, who are really
the cute ones,
They flow. Simple. Gliding on water.
They play on the wave.
No fighting. No conquering.
Riding. But not like a horse.
Bigger. Infinite.
They open themselves up to play.
Vulnerability made fun.

Did I mention their butts?

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Heart Core - by Sascha

So I've been asked to write about coming out and being queer in germany in this column. I really started to write one about that issue indeed, til I realized that I don't care that much about the coming out matter. life as a queerpunk in germany is defiiiinately different to some queerpunk's life in the states or canada, mostly cos we're only a handful of visible people here and not organized yet, but I've decided to write about my record label instead cos it's really one of the things i've been taking care most about in the past month.

I run it together with my boyfriend ernesto and we decided to call it x heartcore x cos that name expresses most that we do it out of love - for each other and also for the queercore community. since I got in touch wittttth the queercore scene a couple of years ago, and especially when outpunk records inspired me to do my own queer thing, i've always wanted to put music out that really means something to me, music that moves me and that i'd like to share with other likeminded people.

When I met my boyfriend and things between us began to work out so fine, he just came up to me one day and told me that he wants me to co-run this new label with him.. the idea has already been so motivating and since those well-known labeels that have put out queer stuff, say outpunk, candyass and chainsaw have all been shut down or haven't released anything in a while, there was no better time to come up with a new queerpunk label.

It's awesome to see how it started to get off the grouuund in a couple of months without any release then actually, and how many nice and empowering responses we just got for being two visible fags in the queercore community.

As i'm typing this we got one 7" out by this dyke band called the haggard from porttland; but we are already distributing a lot of great queer records that have either been released by other cool labels or by the bands themselves, and there are a couple of other releases coming up this year. not only by queer bands, also by asian ameriiiican punks cos that's partly our ethnical background and we think that we have to encourage people of colour to get involved.

Seeing all these things happen, especially this zine and our label, is exciting me totally, and I'm really happy that more and more queer boys in the punk/hardcore community are getting active now. it's something i've dreamt of for such a long time and now being a part in this has seriously been something that gave my life a new sense.

So... if you, dear faggo-reader, play in a band please don't hesitate a second and send us your produce cos we're always hungry for new and fresh queer sounds. write me here::: sascha vukadinovic, ernst-reuter-str.13, 71034 böblingen, germany; or visit our website: www.heartcorerecords.com. thanks a lot xxx

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IASWAA! (it's a small world after all) - by Faggo

It was like any other night, but of course..... this one was in New York City - and everybody knows that that's the set-up for a story to be told.

I was a couple of days into my 6 day trip into the Big Apple - my 5th attempt at roaming in and around it's streets and subways - but this one was just for fun, no bandmates or shows or recording for sparkmarker, just me and my spare time. I'm not one to just sit so I spent much of my time trolloping around on foot absorbing as much as humanly possible.

This particular night was one that i arranged to burn-up with the company of my NYC friend Jason who wrote a zine called Kill The Robot a few years back. We've crossed paths many times in North America at various hardcore/punk shows - and a s bitter as he can be, i was quite happy to hang out with him as he's one of the few people i know who can talk punk rock and boylove at the same time.   Now Jason isn't as much bitter as he is a bullshitter - sometimes i just wanna smack him, which he'd probably like - but if he wasn't so humorous, the night probably wouldn't have been so fun.

We had arranged to meet on this particular Saturday because I had heard about a new 'cool' space in Brooklyn called Dumba (in Dumbo) that was an 'alternative' queer space (read: kids who are fed up with mainstream yuppy gay culture) that so happened to be hosting a particular event called 'Gay Shame' (in opposition to the NYC Gay Pride celebrations that were starting the following week) billed as an evening of spoken word, workshops, bands and Dj's. We decided to show-up late for the Dj's and have fun as opposed to being early and having to sit through a bunch of political diatribe that was probably forward thinking but maybe a bit too redundant for such educated and informed fags such as ourselves - or maybe just simply, not fun enough for a night out on the town. And as we all know, there's definitely nothing wrong with that.

So dinner was first - Salenka's (sp?) on 2nd and 9th - Ukrainian food that is just ok - nothing compared to my mom's Doukhobor Russian home-cooking that i grew-up with! I was introduced to two of Jason's friends at the restaurant - (both of whom i won't go into detail about as they ditched us soon afterwards at Dumba.) I believe the F train got us to Brooklyn after dinner - actually not, maybe the A, C or E - I dunno - the point is, we got there (to Dumba) and the trains in New York are so much cleaner than ever i had experienced before - it was hard to imagine the 'Warriors' (the movie - duh) days. I mean really - i loved the Furries - baseball, roller skates and face paint was the ultimate in gang regalia, they were like KISS on their way to kick some at the Stardust Roller Rink or something. Anyway.... I digress

Dumba was a warehouse Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass (DUMBO - get it?) and so it was quite a desolate area, not patrolled by many people or police and therefore the perfect place for queer punks - image a scene from Repo Man except in Brooklyn not LA (Emilio Estevez was SO hot!) - kids drinking on the streets, loud music escaping from inside and a feeling in the air that THIS WAS SO COOL that i better not mention it 'cause if I did, I would soon realize that I had no friends. O of course I quickly realized that the young skater boys I saw in the distance were mostly dykes and that boys like me were outnumbered by the girls 5 to 1 - something I'm quite used to in the Vancouver queer scene. Oddly enough - Dumba is actually run by two boys and one girl who live in the space and put on the events (for free! - tre cool) I didn't actually meet them but I figured out who they were afterwards when I was told that they were the one's (the boys at least) who were dressed in drag. So I was feeling quite 'cool' being queer - like being at a Pansy Division show at Gilman Street in Berkeley or something (I have no idea what that's like - i can only imagine), or maybe more accurately, at Punks with Presses in Berkeley.

Anyway, it was really hot inside - flyers and pamphlets covered the tables that lined the entrance and sweat glistened off of the two or three REALLY cute boys (I was picky that night) that I saw. Interestingly - Jason introduced me to a girl named Rebecca and then a boy named Michael who (at different times, in different conversations) upon conversing realized that I was the guy from Canada that their friend Peter was supposed to meet-up with.   Ya see, a co-worker of mine (Chris) hooked me up with his friend in New York (Peter Bird) via the email we were to meet-up at Dumba that night. It's A Small World After All I thought to myself - Rebecca and Michael were so cool (and very funny I must add) that   I knew Peter was gonna be fun to hang-out with. And then, low and behold, as we're taking about Peter guesse who shows up ? That's right, Mr Peter Bird himself along with a couple of friends. Now I'll try not to bore you with my ' It's a small world after all' tirade but I was beginning to feel that it's either that (iaswaa) or there just simply aren't too many 'cool' punk/queers in this world as I seem to be in only one degree of separation from them all. So thanks to Chris for hooking me up with Peter and therefore his friends too - though I'm not to sure that I wouldn't have met him anyway as Jason was friends with him too!

So yeah, many of choices of things to do were mentioned (Dumba was petering off to a humble get-together - but not before Rebecca and myself conducted a strikingly hot dirty dancing number!!!) and as I mentioned earlier, Jason's friends ditched us. So the posse and Jason and myself head off towards Manhattan's East Village (where we were previously eating) were I was actually staying with my friends Mark (Undertow) and Michelle from Seattle. The subway was once again our trusty chauffeur (24 hours a day none the less) Now, I was quite excited to go t a club called COCK because they were hosting Foxy which is a night where all patrons receive $50 Foxy Dollars upon entrance and then onstage people compete for Foxy Bucks - the person receiving the most in Foxy Bucks leaves with $100 (that's it! are times that rough?) - rumours spoke of deviant lewd sexual acts that involved the audience. eating Doritos out of someone's snatch, licking objects that have just come out of someone's butt... How could I resist?! Well, Peter was NOT into Foxy (it's too crowded now that everybody knows about it) so instead we decided to go to I.C.Guys - a 'closet' that sold beer I was told. On the subway ride over, Jason and I started talking about 'zines which soon evolved into the mention of a Canadian 'zine called Demon Seed from Toronto and I mentioned how Alex (who I have another iaswaa story to one day write about) who was the publisher mentioned to me that i should get in touch with a kid named Travis. So guess what? Jason says one of the bartenders at I.C.Guys is named Travis. I, too doubtful in the power of the FORCE - thought it unlikely that it'd be the same guy, but once there, I introduce myself and the story and was enlightened yet another example of IASWAA!!!

Travis is about 17 and his co-worker is maybe 18 and I don't know how they haven't got busted yet, but they serve beer shirt less at the closet known as I.C.Guys (drinking age is 21 in NYC) - and it really is no bigger that 20' X 20' inside - fucking weird, therefore kinda cool. Travis was completely welcoming to me when I introduced myself ( a rare thing in NYC) and offers me a drink ( i got a coke, living on the wild side with caffeine) and tells me that Bruce LaBruce (punk queer film maker extraordinaire) is gonna be dropping by later (IASWAA!!!) and that I should hang out and he'll introduce me to him. How cool - I really like BLaB for 1) being punk 2) being queer 3) making good fucked-up films and he's Canadian to boot!

As exciting as this may seem to be, the posse and I decide to leave - after all, I.C.Guys is a bit too small for the 7 of us. So off to the Phoenix on 12th @ A - much bigger - it even has a pool table! Jason and I get quite excited when we see a hardcore kid with straight-edge tattoos in this bar - maybe it a smal world? Not. the guy and his friend didn't appear too friendly and within 15 minutes leave with two girls. Figures - our hopes were crushed. Jason bumps into two friends   (Tai & Jon?) who want to go to the Twilight around the corner on A. The posse has since settled in the 'quiet' room   at the back of the Phoenix so we say our goodbyes, planning to meet up the following day at the Folsom Street East block party.

The Twilight was incredibly packed - I started recognizing a few people who happen to be doing a similar bar hop - once we squeeze through the entrance we find an empty 'quiet' room at the back (is that a NY thing?) - boring - we decide to try our Foxy - YIPEE!!! I'm so happy - weirdness is my forté.

$5 but no more Foxy bucks to hand out (it is almost 3 am) , oh well, the evening is in full swing (it had started at 1am) with two raunchy drag hosts. Pretty much saw 1) a she-male dance/strip 2) a fairly cute boy 'fan' dance (boring - could have been on the tonight show or somethin, nude would have made it interesting) 3) a nude crowd surfer (he got my thumbs up, the crowd loved touching his cute ass!!) but we missed the guy who fucked a watermellon(!) now THAT would have been interesting. Rumour had it that the fan boy won - which just proves that it's not what you do, it's how much cock you promise to suck after the show!

Now, just   so you know - i saw a couple of really cute guys at Foxy - most everyone there was gay and many were punk or 'alternative' looking. The hottest was clung to his boyfriend all night but even when I had hopes that he was following me into the can, he purposely pissed sideways (?) in the urinal denying me of any hopes of a quick peek - and i hadn't even tried to! The next cute tattooed short haired boy started talking to me, cool, mentions his boyfriend (sucks - but I was happy just to meet someone new) and low and behold his boyfriend appears and quickly wisps him away ( I think his boyfriend was really un-keen to the idea that we met while not in his presence). So alone I am and alone I stay - and the smoke is sooo thick in Cock that I have to leave for some fresh air.

At about 5 minutes to 4am I excuse myself from Jason and the mini-posse to get to I.C.Guys - I figure i might get there before it closes. Bye bye to Jason and then I'm off getting lost while finding my way to I.C. Guys (thank god everything is within a 5 block radius). I walk in - immediately spot Travis (how could i miss in a crowd of 20?) who is talking to Bruce LaBruce (IASWAA!!) Travis quickly introduces us (and to his friends) and I must say - Bruce wasn't nearly as nasty as some rumours would have you believe - granted, it was late, he was drunk and high - but he was actually very nice. (am I ruining his rep?)

Soon afterwards Jason and the mini-posse come in - it's after 4 but it seems that I.C.Guys is running it's first-ever after-hours night (special BLaB   party? I think so) I introduce them to each other - conversation briefly revolves around praise to Mr LaBruce. Bruce and I make a note to meet up in Vancouver at the Out On Screen Queer Film Festival were his new movie Skin Flick is to be screened. I express my excitement but my wish for the working title Gang Of Four Skins to remain.

Anyway, everybody else is drunk and laughing (even Jason had a beer) while I'm exhausted and still rubbing my burning eyes! It's been a very looooong night. I make my good-byes at 5am - I'm let out of the now locked ICG's - and into the blue morning sky. Gay till Dawn? Hey, it was just one night in NYC - what can I say? All I remember is that I.A.S.W. A. A.

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Reviews - by Faggo & Rufus

Eightfold Path #5 - 5 1/2 X 8 1/2 - 52pgs - $?
This zine is put out by Daryl and his sister - lots of text, not quite Cometbus style - but lots to read. Dary writes half the stuff - possibly all the queer content (could his sister be queer too?) stuff on Nudism ( see his pic by his article) straight-edge, fucking and rants about things that most punks don't think about. He moved to Toronto so try emailing, he also has stuff out on the web (he's an art student) and he wrote something in this issue of faggo, check it out safe23@hotmail.com

BLOT #3 - 5 1/2 x 8 1/2 - 48pgs. $2
This is an old issue, from 1995! But it was just sent to me so it's stiull available. Rob, who also writes for Broken Pencil, put it together. This is a very literary zine in that it looks like a printed book in many ways -still lots of photos & sketches - but no crazy layout stuff - many contributors though. A queer zine mostly,, nothing really 'punk' in it but lots of well researched articles such as the London'Kiddie Porn Ring' article that dispells many myths and tricks of the media. Lotsa Poetry too! PO Box 271 Station F Toronto, Ontario M4Y 2L7 Canada

Demon Seed #1   - 5 1/2 X 7 1/2 (really!) - 44pgs - $2
I love this zine because this is the first Poz-queer-punk zine i've ever seen. The layouts are sooo eye catching and interesting - stickers, onion paper and hand stamped covers ! It's quite angry and alex insists that the next one won't be so much as such. I just hope he keeps up with the dark humour such as the DIY 'AIDS Terrorist Kit' complete with instuctions. Lots of clippings from newspapers (too many?) on HIV+ people convictd or charched for being a 'deadly weapon' - great start, i can't wait to see where he takes it. 20 Prince Arthur Apt 15G Toronto, Ontario M5R 1B1 Canada

Ralph #51 (wow!) - 5 1/2 x 8 1/2 - 8pgs - free (send postage)
OK it aint queer and it don't always seem punk - but really, ralph is the cool DIY beat poet with a long punk history (he managed the Diodes) You can find Ralph at many cool places for free (no, the zine dummy) - prints 3000! It includes Ralph News - he has many projects on the go and he writes about them - stories, poetry and a very large recommended readinglist of zines. cool. check out his CD's too BOX 93627 Vancouver, BC V6E 4L7 or ralph@bongobeat.com

Broken Pencil #9   - 8 1/2 x 11 - 88 pgs - $5
This is a cool Big Zine - ya know, glossy cover but newsprint on the inside. It's all about zine culture in Canada - which can be cool...or boring. The coolest thing in this issue is defrinately the article 'Queer Zine History' - a must read. that drew me to it, but I read a lot of other cool and interesting stuff like 'the Things We Do For Money' which interviews interesting people and what they do for a living - kinda inspiring. Lots of reviews - it's almost half Fact Sheet Five (canadian version) and half article - very DIY.
PO Box 203, Station P, Toronto, Ontario M5S 2S7 Canada or www.brokenpencil.com

Punk Planet #30 - 8 1/2 x 11 - 138pgs - $? (in stores everywhere)
The coolest of all the BIG punk DIY zines. Actually has interesting articles - maybe one day they'll do an all queer issue. How'bout it? Anyways - i ran an ad for Faggo in PP and they actually sent a free copy of PP, some stickers and pins. Cool. If you want to know what's up in punk, check'em out at   www.punkplanet.com or pick it up in a cool store near you.

Queer Punk #1 - 5 1/2 x 8 1/2 - 12 pgs - $SASE
This is Dag's zine - hailing from Long Beach CA - a home to many punk bands and cute surfer boys. this is the first issue since Dag has gotten back into the punk scene - it's a short but sweet slice of life type of zine with lots of city-scape photos. I'lm hoping the next issue is longer (this one only has two articles) as i read it in 5 mins - but it's free with a SASE so get to it and write him. Dag also has an article in this zine you have inyour hands. PO Box 14603, Long Beach, CA 90803 USA or dagnir@prodigy.net

Salivation Army - #7 - 5 1/2 x 8 1/2 - 28 pgs - $2
OK, punk as fuck and queer to boot. The army is on the attack to take over the world - can they truly create their own cult? Blood Ruins - they want ou to cut yourself with 3 razor incisions and then make a 'blood print' of it and send it to them for their 'wall of ruins' - fucken wierd. A reprinted article from '73 on the Lavendar Panthers, a cool article about the screening of Queercore in SF (and how lame XY is), plus lots of rants, satan and punk porno pics. cool SA c/o Fierce Little Engine PO Box 67539 RPO Spadina Ave. West Toronto, Ontario M5T 3B8

My Dead Face (a story) - 5 1/2 x 8 1/2 - 12 pgs - $?
OK, Travis is great - a zine about his consciencous fight to not suport the pharmecutical industry no matter how bad his Acne gets. With bursts of 'outta nowhere' ramblings of sex, hustling & ronald reagan. Nuf said travisjeppesen@hotmail.com FUCK ACUTANE!!!

FISHPISS #5 - 70 pgs, 8 * x 11 folded & stapled. $2.50
This is the best zine out of Montreal in years, jam packed with a cross section of the city's underground at their best. Comics, spoken word, scene reviews, show reviews, punk history, riot stories! # 6 is due to be out soon. This zine made me love stuff I normally hate like poetry (Catherine Kidd is the Goddess) and retro punk lore. Something for everyone and it's only $2.50. L'Archive, Montreal CP 1232 Place d'Armes, Montreal, Quebec Canada, H2Y 3K2

FUCKTOOTH # 23 - 99 pages, 8 * x 11 folded & stapled
Personal is political for Jen Angel. Punk is her muse, and as she chronicles events in her life, her feelings, it's always in relation to a punk community that she connects to, understands, but that also seems to let her down more often than not. Her response, FIFTY WAYS TO BE PUNK, my favorite regular feature of Fucktooth, and Jen's tribute to her friends and heroes. Basically interviews with real punk rockers doing amazing things with a focus on how punk continues to shape their lives. Queer content and kick ass women GALORE! I'm wallpapering my workspace with these inspirational pages. PO BOX 353, Mentor Ohio 44061, jenangel@mindspring.com

King Of The Fairies #8 - 56 pgs, 8 * x 11, folded & stapled, $2.00
A fanzine about Ashley MacIssac, that works on all sorts of levels because through this expression of desire the reader gets into the soul of the zine creator, Glendon. In this issue there is less about Ashley and more about fandom in general from guest writers. The best: a queer analysis of professional wrestling from a die hard fan. All this and stickers for $2.00. 91 Sackville St. T.O. M5A 3E6 Canada

This Is The Salivation Army #8, Final Issue
I'm so pissed off that this zine is over. Porn, manifestos, incantations and the wolf pack. Scott Treleaven has put to rest the best queer zine, (the best zine period) this country has seen in years. His other major project was the punk-u-mentary QUEERCORE. Eagerly awaiting whatever he's doing next. ß

The J.D.s Years
1980s Queer zine culture from Toronto
Curated by Luis Jacob
June 24 - August 28, 1999
ART METROPOLE
788 King Street West
Toronto, Ontario   M5V 1N6
416-703-4400, f 416-703-4404
email artmet@interlog.com

A small gallery crammed with display cases and wall mountings of cut &paste photocopied zines. Curator Luis has done an amazingly thorough job of collecting zines, manifestos, posters, t-shirts, compilation cassettes etc. from the most prolific period of Canadian queer zine history. If you're in T.O. check it out.   Mr. Jacob himself is a wet dream version of a curator and is always eager to chat.   My only complaint is that zines are about READING, not COLLECTING.   I'm grateful that someone has taken care of this bit of history that would otherwise be pissed into the wind, but locking the zines behind glass for protection is one thing, selling photocopies of the original 8 JDs for $50 is depressing.

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You Fucking Dick - by Dagnir

"You fucking dick!" I growl through clenched teeth. "You mother fucking asshole! I trusted you. You promised and I trusted you. Fucking dipshit. I am such a goddamn dipshit."

"I trusted you." I whisper.

I want to hit something, to kick something. There is nothing. Only an expanse of grass dotted by flat headstones. There is nothing. I begin to pace. The sun is too hot. I strip off my jacket and toss it on the ground.

"I miss you. Just having you around. Miss talking to you. C'mon man. Scold me. Tell me I'm being a fucking brat. Tell me to quit whining."

I sit down on the grass and lean close to the marker.

"Tell me how much you love me. Please."

There is no sound but the cars on the boulevard, the bland undertone of the people on the street. There is no wind to rustle the leaves of the few trees. I stare at the black and gray marble of the headstone. The lines etched, the words written. I almost touch the inert stone, but I stop myself.

"Y'know what I miss? I miss sitting at the kitchen table. Watching you cook dinner. Telling you about the shit happening at work. And how you looked sincerely interested when I know it must've been boring as fuck. I miss lying on the bed with you next to me. How I'd be reading some zine or book. And you'd be next to me talking on the phone, making glorious plans. I miss shaving your head, feeling the smooth skin under my hand. Or sitting patiently as you spiked my mohawk."

My skin is moist with sweat. I am aware of my own rank odor. The smell my shirt holds, my body. I breathe it in. I welcome it. Better than the smell of trees or sod, it comforts me. It stokes the subconscious memories lying just below the surface. I hold onto it like a battered teddy bear.

"Sometimes I forget. Just for a brief second, I forget. I'll read an article, or hear a song and I want to tell you about it. Once in a while something happens at work or a gig. And I want to tell you about it. And for just a moment, I forget. Then it hits me. And then I remember. You're not here. It pisses me off. Why aren't you here, you fucking asshole? You said you would be. You said I didn't have to be afraid of you. You said I could trust you. You said you would never hurt me. But you lied. You hurt me worse than anybody else."

My feet bake in my boots. My wool socks are too much. So are the pants, the flannel, everything. I am not prepared for this weather, this heat. But then I hadn't thought out this excursion. I consider taking my boots off, but the idea is not serious. Instead I play with the hole in my left boot. I tug at the tear in the side where the leather meets the sole.

"I get tired sometimes. Sometimes... Don't know. Sometimes... I'm sorry man. I'm sorry I never told you that I love you. Chicken shit, I know. I've no excuse, no way to justify it. It was scary to me, scary shit. Didn't know how to deal with it. You were like no one I'd ever known before. I believed you when you said that you loved me. I'm sorry that I'm so pissed at you. It's just that I miss you. And you're not here. I know it's not your fault. I know you didn't mean for any of this crap to happen. I know that. But it hurts."

"I'm sorry."

I look away from the headstone.

"I love you."

I stand up. I let the blood flow back into my legs as I brush some grass off my pants. I pick up my jacket and I walk away.

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Heat Wave - by Mitch Fury

THE NEW YORK SUMMER HEATWAVE HAD DONE IT'S BEST TO COOK MY BRAIN AND THE SMALL CONFINES OF THE ROOM I'VE SPENT THE LAST FEW HOURS IN HAVE DONE NOTHING BUT MAGNIFY THE HEAT AND INTENSITY THAT SURROUNDS MY PREY - A FLY, WILLINGLY CAUGHT IN MY WEB.

HE IS BENT FORWARD & MOANING IN THE SEMI-DARKNESS AS THE VIDEO SCREEN SHINES A FLICKERING BLUE LIGHT ACROSS HIS ARCHED BACK. ARMS STRETCHED, HIS HANDS SPREAD ONTO THE DOOR FOR SUPPORT.

MY HANDS IN A FIST, CLENCHING & CHOKING WHILE THE SPIT FROM MY MOUTH DRIPS DOWN OVER HIM & ONTO THE FLOOR. I WIPE THE SWEAT & SPIT FROM MY CHIN, THE STAINS ON THE WALLS BARE WITNESS TO THE HEIGHT OF YET ANOTHER DISPLAY OF EXTREME INTERACTION BETWEEN COMPLETE STRANGERS.

MY EYES ARE MOMENTARILY DRAWN TO A SPECK OF LIGHT ON ONE OF THE ADJACENT WALLS, WHICH IN FACT IS A TINY HOLE ATTACHED TO A STRANGERS EYE - WATCHING AND WANTING. EVEN MORE EXCITED - AN AUDIENCE FOR WHICH TO PERFORM - I PRETEND NOT TO NOTICE, CONTINUING TO DEVOUR MY CATCH OF THE DAY.

IN MY MOUTH I SAVOUR THE TASTE WHILE MY WET FINGERS PROBE FOR THE MOST VULNERABLE CENTER OF THIS MAN & ONCE THERE, TAKING THE LIBERTY TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT'S LIMITS & HIS. HE HAS ONLY MINUTES LEFT INWHAT MIGHT BE THE MOST INTENSE TEST OF HIS PHYSICAL ENDURANCE. HE WILL PASS THE TEST. THEY ALL DO. AND HE DOES.

BETWEEN CLENCHED TEETH HE GROWNS UNTIL HIS MOUTH GASPS FOR THE HOT, HUMID AIR THAT HAS HELPED ELEVATE HIS TEMPERATURE & BLOOD PRESSURE TO A POINT WHERE HIS SWEAT POURS DOWN HIS FOREHEAD, BACK, ARM AND LEGS. HIS BODY CONTORTS, SHAKES, SPASMS & HIS BREATHING CONTINUES IN AN IRREGULAR MANNER.

HE JERKS UPRIGHT & THEN BACK UNTIL HE IS RESTING UP AGAINST THE STAINED PLASTIC WALL PROTECTING THE VIDEO SCREEN. STILL TASTING HIM - I STEP BACK, SO CLOSE TO SATISFACTION BUT RESISTING THE TEMPTATION. SAVING MYSELF FOR YET ANOTHER FLY. WIPING MY FACE WITH THE BOTTOM OF MY SHIRT, I HEAR A WHISPERED "THANKS" FROM THE STRANGER. A TUCK, A ZIP, A BREATH & A GOODBYE SMILE & NOD - AND THEN MY WEB IS EMPTY AGAIN.

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