Yours for the Taking

You can be tragic or daring

challenging me is not easy.

I have to be surprised or mesmerized

but you with your fatality and flaws

boredom comes easily, sweetly

but you can have it, it's yours for the taking.

I'm yawing and sending you up the walls

but I to want crash your castle down

make it all mortar, brick and rumble

because I'm trouble.

Step by step I'm crossing the bridge

and you're crossing your heart

trying to fend me off with words,

but words are empty without meaning

like a hexes without magic.

I'll be your curse if that's easier

and will keep you from falling apart

because I won't break or go to pieces

my life's already stitched and sewn

in a light you want to keep for yourself.

You can have it, its yours for the taking

I'm not afraid of being left in the dark,

hurt or shoved out in the cold alone

and you can't face life forward

it's safer to stay backwards

watching everything from behind

building your dreams up and down

teasing desperation with need

but its not me that you need

its hope and I have plenty to spare

You can have it, it's yours for the taking

Narcissus Longing

I stopped looking for sun risen love

and traded heat for the flickering stars

designed to skim across the twilight

higher than loss

lighter than heart ache

and deeper than him entering me.

Sex hadn't been a union of elements.

There was no volcanic betrothal candidate.

There was no flood of flirtation and mirth.

There was no wind stirring floral Ecstasy.

There was no quivering revelry

moving the ground beneath my feet

but there was me.

On fire, drowning, suffocating, crushed

under the weight of Aphrodite's Bridle

riddled by Eros's arrows not a Sebastian

no gracious, elegant Christian martyrdom

more kin to Narcissus longing to be loved

for himself, and not a perfumed perception

of conjured fantasy but this was me.

Of Dames and Princes

Many a midnight conversation have been buried underneath the lurid perfume of Stoli lemon drops and stained satin ascots over two titanic names, Dame David Bowie and his royal American cousin, Prince. Whether it is their sentimental music that drummed a wicked tattoo in the minds of my friends and myself causing us to unearth that queer little question. Who is the loveliest China girl under the Cherry Moon? Could it be the thin white duke swaddled in pseudo fascism or the religious sensualist who loved sexy? Who knew, I didn’t nor did they.

The origins of androgyny, and crossing gender predates all modern day musical movements of glam rock and punk funk. Ancient man has explored and periodically adored the concept for eons. Before any anthropologist could put a pen to paper and chronicle the slap and sparkle of culture, people have worn raspberry berets and dreamt the moonage daydream since the dawning of tribal man. Look at the Native Americans with their dual masculine and feminine Two Spirit shamans to the Samoan Fafafine who watch over the family and the Indian Hijra who bestow blessings over weddings and births.

In essence Dame, David Bowie did give the world something just as socially significant as marital well wishing and spiritual cleanliness. He gave the world an artisan’s perception of rock star glamor incased in audacious lyricism and underground fashion. Dame Bowie transmogrified the often scoffed stylings of mime, drag and homosexual artifice into something financially and creatively significant. He single handedly created entire movements through shrewd soul searching example being glam rock and the new romantic. Whether he is an original has yet to be found out. As I stated previously my sumptuous little readers in what continues to have my friends marking me a heretic is I doubt Dame Bowie’s credibility. In this day and age I feel the words, credibility, originality and honesty are all hallmarks to a by gone day. Surely, I am in no way saying that Dame, David Bowie is a charlatan to the brilliance brigade as he is unarguably brilliant. Though I scoff at the idea of saying he is the individual herald of androgyny. I will go as far as declare that he is the prime provocateur of panache and craft. Without him I dare say I would not have started my own tumble into the pool of pretty pretty. It goes to show you that television does influence the young. I remembered in the relatively bucolic days of MTV when there was music instead of faux celebrity reality shows there existed David Bowie as his alter ego, Lord Byron in the “Blue Jean” video. Awe, he was tinsel kissed and the epitome of euro cool. My innocent eyes fluttered watching his rail thin body posture while painted in various shades of Egyptian gold and film noir black. Gorgeous!

This was before the pocket sized American aristocrat Prince emerged from his spiked purple cocoon. Obviously there were similarities between the two. Both frequented hair salons, had an army of make up artists and swarms of buzzing worshippers at their feet. Where as the Dame Bowie selected ideal musicians and producers to construct his clever musical cacophony. Prince akin to Mozart, another man who adored lace and satin, played a wild assortment of instruments. Truly, we all have heard the myth of Prince being able to play over 20 instruments, some stringed, some percussion and some electronic. Please forgive me, I am not attempting to ordain one musical monarch as Godhead. Both men in my eyes hold the scepter, wear the mantle and the crowns of the auspicious artist. My goodness, Prince even created his own court of nobles, The Revolution, Vanity 6, The Time, Apollonia 6, Sheila E, The Family, Mad House, and The New Power Generation. The same can be said of Bowie reshaping Lou Reed on his “Transformer album, or his to attempt at rejuvenating Mott the Hoople with “All the Young Dudes,” his peculiar partnership on the Stooge's “Raw Power, Iggy Pop’s “The Idiot and Lust for Life” and his unique pairing with transexual sometime singer/ model Amanda Lear. The Dame Bowie and Prince knew that the unbridled energy that came from coquettishly crossing musical genres, toying with with gender norms. Which brings up the base question of what is gender? Male, female, the in between, is androgyny merely a fashionable pause in one’s pursuit to establish the self? Better yet is it a highly evolved state of assimilation? Perhaps, the Dame and Prince both unconsciously took the best of both genders and multi faceted sexual scopes and became the quintessential modern individuals?

I ask you this? Did Prince or his precursor walk the glamourous life and take up androgyny’s mask for prestige and wealth purposes? I would have to say no. Whatever fluid sexual states the two teased society with coexists presently within their personal lives. The Dame, David Bowie may not be the queen bitch in a crowd of scary monsters and super creeps but he has adopted the “stereotypical” mothering role to his wife Iman’s cosmetic/fashion mogul empire. Prince may have hung up his derrière exposing trousers yet he still writes, plays and produces his music in lacquered hair and eyeliner. They had the look and to my knowledge are still diamond dogs trotting through one giant paisley park.