MEMORIES…LICK THE CORNHOLES OF MY MIND…FISTING, WATERSPORTED MEMORIES… J

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Anyone who knows me is aware I am not sentimental (I expect them to believe that, ignoring evidence to the contrary). However, as I draw this project to a close, I wanted to do an acid trip down memory lane, because I felt like tying up loose ends (I often incline towards binding things up – but I digress…).

When I started writing Noise Queen, I was feeling isolated, as though I were the only person not wanting the warm rainbow blanket of mainstream acceptance and niceness. I had and have no objection to being nice to those deserving of kindness, or even of embracing and love from my peers, but I was not certainly not willing to compromise my essential being, opinions or interests to do so, and some experiences around the spring of 1996 led me to believe such things were expected of me in the gay community (being told by a local organization that I was not ‘respectable’ enough to be one of its volunteers – this from a group that held secret meetings, conducted vendettas and drove potential help away from itself…okay…whatever…), or at least in its official manifestations, and, at the time, there was no significant difference between the two for me, since my interaction with fellow queers was limited by my preference not to be around alcohol, smoke or bad disco music. As a result, I wanted to send out the proverbial message in a bottle in hopes someone could save me or confirm I was not stranded on the island.

Of course, I felt that isolation before then, and it would not be fair to say I felt NO confirmation that I was not alone in the universe. By virtue of not conforming to the beauty myth (in fact, emphasis on the MYTH – I thought it was a cute story that explained the universe for some people, but it was of zero significance to me, and I was not willing to concede its pat categories…), and of having eccentric tastes in art, film and music, not even to mention my unwillingness to sexually experiment without a committed relationship, though it is not as though anyone was signing up as my lab partner (this might make me seem conservative, and perhaps I am in this regard, but it was how I had felt from an early age, and it was NOT a message given me by family or peers…far from…), I felt (and was occasionally bluntly told) I was off-limits to gay society in my town. On the other hand, a few queers (not many gays – I’ve ranted about the difference to me before, so grant that there IS one, along the lines of acceptance, attitude towards liberation, etc.) did get along with me, and some straights and other radicals made me feel OK as a human being. It is just that, as I reached a certain age, the feeling of being painted into smaller and smaller corners was getting a bit claustrophobic, as most of my fellow oddballs had fled town (my response to inquiries as to why I did not centered on various factors, some economic and familial, but others tending towards my bloody-minded resolve to stake out a spot

MEMORIES…LICK THE CORNHOLES OF MY MIND…FISTING, WATERSPORTED MEMORIES… J

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defend it against attack – why should one HAVE to move to Toronto to be an individual? There is no LAW that says one cannot be distinct in a small town…in fact, it is probably a little easier to do so, though there is admittedly less cushioning to fall back against if someone wants to make you an indistinct greasy spot on the wall, literally or metaphorically…)

In any case, since I had been writing all my life, usually silly stories or bad poetry, I figured I should turn to what I knew well (myself, my tiresome rants, and so on) and write on that subject for once, though, unlike my outpouring in 1992, the year I turned 25 and had a sort of combination nervous breakdown and scary public honesty/paint-scraping intensity phase, I would at least try to be disciplined and controlled (this is me with careful editing – scary, isn’t it?)

As irony would have it, I was at the aforementioned organization’s offices when the idea struck me, and I used its rapidly failing typewriter to produce issue #1 on March 29, 1996, though the idea was clearly in my head beforehand, since I had Letraset© letters and pink paper handy. Combined with bad art by yours truly, cribbed in style from the Summer 1995 issue of HOMOCORE TORONTO (I had begun to explore queercore, thanks to stumbling across Pansy Division, seeing Fifth Column in concert, and some other listening and reading along the way), the first issue was superficial and it sometimes makes me cringe now (CHIXDIGGIT!?), but it was a start, and it was something with my name on it, and it was snarky, crude, offensive and shot through with hints of humour (I’m afraid my response to black X’s on people’s hands is to draw O’s under them – that should tell you more than you need to know about my loyalty to any ‘scene’…).

As I had begun to correspond with GB Jones of Fifth Column about a year before that, I sent her the first issue, and she promised to pass on the review of the play SATAN’S MISTRESS to her fellow Columnist, Caroline Azar. I still don’t know if she did, but it gave me a little glimpse of networking possibilities in action.

From there, thanks to some rooting around on the ‘Net (I had just begun to explore that arena as well), I stumbled across some other ‘zinesters and sources of information, and began to do some correspondence.

MEMORIES…LICK THE CORNHOLES OF MY MIND…FISTING, WATERSPORTED MEMORIES… J

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ideas about style and disciplined writing, not to mention the encouragement to branch out into a wide range of literature and music (it took a while on the music front – I was pretty much the

guitar-bass-drums punk type for the first year or so of my ‘zine, and I also was guilty of the identity politics position that I should only listen to queer stuff, which is strange, since, for the most part, I’ve always held the view that you can find something in almost any source that relates to your life. I guess I was just making up for lost time upon discovering this wide range of deviant ditties out there!). I also admire the fact that he has been doing the ‘zine since 1989(!) – wish I had that kind of staying power myself… J (and don’t even bother with the assumption that there is innuendo in the choice of the words ‘staying power’ – of course there is… J ).

Richard Watts, of Burning Times, an Aussie ‘zine, also had great style and humour and politics behind his work, without being a boring lecture or a bit of fluff. Thanks to his interviewing an Aussie soccer player, I even managed to turn a ‘gay’ on to the magazine, since said fellow had a bit of a sports uniform fetish (hey, any route in, as many a Christian recruiter would tell you…). Last I heard, Richard was happily in a relationship, and was working on a novel. I miss the ‘zine, but I’m glad he’s doing things he loves.

And then there was/is Damsel, out of Manitoba, Canada. What can you say about a magazine that takes fashion covers, cuts and pastes them, and adds male genitalia to female models, while simultaneously being obsessed with soap opera boys, shades of blue and Archie comics (oh, and free jazz)? You could say a lot, but I’d say it’s a highly entertaining genderfuck. I haven’t been in touch with J Collins lately, and I feel sort of guilty about that, so perhaps I should write to J and trade the latest issues…I think I will…

Of course, by reading a lot of other queer ‘zines, I learned about still more music and books that I might have otherwise been ignorant of. I credit the diversity of views out there (we’re everywhere, and all over the map…geographically and aesthetically…) with encouraging me to actually listen to jazz and country and even some electronic stuff, all material I might otherwise

MEMORIES…LICK THE CORNHOLES OF MY MIND…FISTING, WATERSPORTED MEMORIES… J

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have shrugged off (in retrospect, I feel guilty that I would critique friends for not listening to stuff they hadn’t heard before, when I was just as culpable (P.S. I’ve listened to Madonna and Whitney Houston and Barbra Streisand, and I STILL think they stink…)).

As it happens, one of the best side benefits of doing the ‘zine, however, has been my relationship with Arne, my frequent cover artist. Showing him my ‘zine in July, 1997, and having him laugh at my art (well, it WAS bad), and my challenging him to put his money where his mouth was (in recent times, that would have resulted in some rather interesting moments, but I digress once more…), resulted in his producing work for me and our getting close in order to collaborate, eventually leading to us being more than friends and less than husbands. J Thanks for all your hard work, honey…I appreciate it more than you will probably ever know…here’s to many years together…three have already seemed a wonderful lifetime…(yes, sentiment – so shoot me!!).

Of course, I can’t forget my readers (there haven’t been all that many of them, after all…). Thanks to: Karen, one of the few people to ever send me a detailed critique of an issue, which resulted in me writing a follow-up article ; Miss Ivy, for her bitchy but intelligent contributions; Jeff, old enough to be the ego-boosting, supportive Daddy I never had J ; Tara, one of my regular customers, who thus helped me to make more issues; LarryBob, who described an issue of mine as ‘really good’, which gave a buzz; Matt of the infamous OUTPUNK ‘zine, who said my work was direct and pulled no punches, a compliment from him (thank you for not reviewing the cover art, Sir!); Donna Dresch of lesbocore legends Team Dresch and the Chainsaw Records label, who wrote, on the box a single I ordered came in, that my ‘zine ‘ruled’; the boys from the band Slojack, who considered using some of my art as a logo (that’s scary!!) and, when I met them, said they enjoyed my ‘zine a lot; and doubtless many people I sent my ‘zine out to who didn’t send it back in disgust. Thanks, folks…goodnight, but not goodbye…J