Crash

Crash” (2004) is a powerful portrayal of contemporary racism. Directed by Paul Haggis and set in contemporary Los Angeles, the film is reminiscent of Lawrence Kasdan’s “Grand Canyon” (1991) and should not be confused with an earlier “Crash” (1996) based on the book by J.G. Ballard. “Crash” follows an impressive cast of characters through a tightly woven story about how the slightest tendency to judge others by their color, religion, or culture, can have a disastrous impact.

The most powerful scene is the actual crash. Ordinarily when I cry watching a film, I know somewhere inside the reason why I’m so moved but, in this case, a rising tide of intricate emotions overwhelmed me. Other important scenes include the surprise carjacking, the angel and the bullet, and the rookie cop picking up a hitchhiker.

A Latino friend points out that the film tends to polarize black-white conflict, leaving Latinos less visible than one would expect in Los Angeles.

However, it is no coincidence that “Crash” is picking up a lot of awards and nominations along with Ang Lee’s and Annie Proulx’s “Brokeback Mountain” (2005). Both films describe the horrifying impacts of prejudice and intolerance, an issue of extreme importance in today’s society. A subtle tension in both films is whether they intend to portray the enmeshment of hate and ignorance in American culture simply to reflect and bring awareness, or as an indictment whose remedy is both personal and societal introspection leading to creative change.

The Toil of Words

Who knows – the toil of words
stuck so deep – in human flesh?
Even the most strenuous striving
but a strain for the secretive soul.

Light pierces the alabaster hoard
that emits no shriek or sigh,
no way no how – are you of a
hapless tick-tick-ticking time?

My eye brings its own brand,
searing with no resort to heat
to hide what no rationale can
sing…

Shore Mirage

We always ride
the present wave
into the future
whether as perfectly
poised surfer or
dragged by our
big toes through
the roiling waters.

Though riding long
erect implies grace
and fleeting fame,
no life lacks
the thundering surf
pounding out gasping
breaths, choking briny
water. We do
our best to
avoid sharks in
the salty sea,
or pulling weeds
from the deep.

No expanse voids
our silky song,
the castaways’ motley
dream parched in
watery plenty.  Most
bob listlessly in
peace deep sinking
souls surround surrender
tubular striving to
the distant mirage
on the shore.

Haunted Heart

Specters of one-time friends
rattle my nightmares —
nightsweats from that spicy meal?

Age-old anxieties push tears to
my brow, well up from some
diffuse and wandering center of pain.

Is it high blood pressure hammering my heart,
indigestions’ pit against my stomach’s pit?
Headache sinus sore throat raw omen of death?

The Lucknow 4: Gay Club Arrests in India

I’m shocked to read of the arrest of four gay men in India for simply meeting together for a picnic. Apparently, although no sex was involved, the police entrapped them and charged them with a violation of Section 377 of Indian Penal Code, punishable by 10 years to life imprisonment. The police apparently traced the guys through an online website.

One can only hope that this is the final straw that breaks the camel’s back to reform this antiquated law from the era of British colonialism so that gay people can take their place alongside the rest of humanity in India and around the globe.

Memory Lane: Interview with Allen Ginsberg (Between the Sheets)

This evening, I watched a documentary called Walt Whitman, part of the Voices and Visions series, directed by Jack Smithie, and copyrighted in 1988 by the New York Center for Visual History. The documentary includes numerous excerpts from interviews of Allen Ginsberg, including one snippet where he mentions a sexual lineage that connected him to Whitman through Neal Cassady, Gavin Arthur, and Edward Carpenter (a claim he also apparently made in a Gay Sunshine interview).

I had a flashback to the time I spent with Ginsberg in Cambridge, MA, in 1982, when he told me that I was part of an erotic lineage that connected me to Whitman through him and Carpenter and others I didn’t remember from that time. I now know much more clearly who Neal Cassady is, although Gavin Arthur remains a mystery. One result of a quick Google search identifies Arthur as ” a certain astrologer and San Francisco character, Gavin Arthur (grandson of president Chester A Arthur), who gave lectures at San Quentin while Neal was a prisoner.” Another entry reports that he studied astrology with Ronald Reagan before Reagan started his political career.

I had interviewed Ginsberg for Gay Community News in an issue published on August 21, 1982. The funny part of the interview was how we decided to end it in print, that is, with Ginsberg’s question to me about whether I was going to refer to the conditions of the interview in publication, my question to him about what he meant, and his reply that the interview was conducted when we were in bed together.

A month or so ago, I found a cassette tape containing the whole interview and listened to it for the first time in more than 20 years. I was surprised at how fresh and relevant Ginsberg’s words remained to me and to the current political situation in the U.S.

Perhaps an archive somewhere would be interested in the recording? If so, please contact me. Or perhaps I should just transcribe the whole thing and post it on this blog. The incomplete interview, as published in Gay Community News, is now apparently selling for $22 an issue on the web, so I guess I should scrounge around in the basement to see if I still have any copies, eh?

Bareback Mountain: The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Neighm

A friend on a private email list asked me why I thought “Bareback Mountain,” (if not available at the previous link, try “Bareback Mountain” instead) the parody of Ang Lee’s “Brokeback Mountain” was funny, rather than an affront to the queer community. My answer:

While I thought Brokeback was an excellent film, it can be read in various ways by various audiences. One way to read the film is as a reinforcement of the “shocking” “lifestyle” of homosexuality and the inevitable destruction of those who are foolish enough to participate in it. I suspect that there are large segments of U.S. society that will walk away from Brokeback with that take on the film if they ever chance to see it. As other reviews have pointed out, it’s curious that the hetero sex is so much more openly filmed that the homo sex for example. Perhaps that’s why I felt profoundly depressed by the film.

The reason that the Bareback parody is funny is because it ridicules a reading of Brokeback in which homosexuality is as “shocking” and “deviant” as bestiality. It uses a similar meme of the cowboy (or shephard or whatever) so emotionally isolated he can only express his secret longings in physical isolation and in constant fear of discovery.

The shadow puppet sequences of physical intimacy are there because showing the actual act would be far too “disturbing” and “inappropriate”, unlike normative male-female sex. And the scenes of him turning away from his wife in bed (and presumably family as in Brokeback), his wife wielding the humungous dildo and recounting the visit from animal services, show just how dangerous such deviance can be to the traditional family structure.

I certainly don’t believe it’s the intent of the parody to compare homosexuality to bestiality in a serious way, but to tease out the themes of Brokeback that lead to a regressive and rather disturbing reading of it, unfortunately a reading that much of the movie-watching public may walk away with. The parody is, somewhat paradoxically, the kick in the butt that Brokeback needs for me to walk away from both films feeling integrated as a queer with a chance of living as a respected human being in a diverse and accepting society.

I won’t even begin to delve into the morality of such relations with animals… that’s a topic for another day.

Another person quoted on the list who saw the parody quipped that it explored “the Love that dare not speak its neighm.”

Heart Pillow

I hold a pillow to my heart to remind
me of the power of human touch.
I scratch my left big toe nail on the
inside of the arch of my right foot.

This astronaut pillow molds to my
flesh and I massage between my left
toes with the right side of my right foot.

What possible difference could freedom make?
The call of a thousand terns squawking in self-denial.
When does our spirit become saturated or
Is there empty spirit evermore?