Saturday, June 21st

Too rainy to play softball today. Although as it turns out, we probably could have got in our first game or two.

When we got the news, the Ballbreakers headed to Manatus to have breakfast. Nice spending time with those guys. Then, Doe-nee and I decided to see a movie together. First, we went up to Bed Bath & Beyond. I’m on a quest for a new screen for my Braun 5620 electric razor. There’s a hole in the current one, which leaves me with fine cuts on my scalp. An interesting look, but not something I like first thing in the morning.

We went to see The Hulk. I loved it. Trust Ang Lee. In the same way that he used the traditions of Hong Kong martial arts movies to tell a simple love story, he used a comic book hero to tell a story about a father and son. Beautiful. It’s also about not being in touch with your feelings, and feeling that you’re not who you think you are, that there’s something you’re called to be that you haven’t yet realized. And after Dr. Bruce Banner makes that realization (and become the Hulk), his comment to his girlfriend? “When I lose control like that, when he takes over, I really like it.”

I know what that’s about.

So tonight was FSE Fever at the Eagle. I did a demo, beating my fellow board member. It went really really well. The Eagle guys were so accommodating. They planted a couple of eyebolts in the ceiling just for me. I chained up fellow board member, so that he couldn’t go anywhere, but he was still somewhat mobile. This allowed him to recoil and take the blows that I dished out. I started out working him with the nightstick, then moved to the SAP gloves (illegal in New York State!). I switched from punching to slapping with the gloves, which made a nice transition for when I started in with my Really Heavy Flogger. It was great for both of us. And I think the audience was appreciative: no matter how crowded it got afterwards, I had no trouble moving through the mob—they parted before me like the Red Sea for Moses. Don’t be fuckin with that guy.

The door was slow at first. Basically, no one came to our party. The folks who did show up were there to go to the Eagle as on any Saturday night.

It sort of dawned on me that there’s a whole crew of people that I’d see at the LURE that I may never see again.

And tomorrow is basanos day. I’m nervous. I’m looking forward to it. I’m glad that I’ll be busy as hell between now and then and won’t have a lot of time to dwell.

I’ll let you know how it goes.


Sunday, June 22nd

Boys Lie

I saw a guy wearing a tshirt emblazoned with this today at Folsom Street East.

Basanos didn’t show. I came home tonight and found no email, and no instant messages from him.

I’m doing my best to believe in him. Perhaps there’s some plausible explanation. His truck broke down on the Thruway. Family emergency. Something.

At this point I’d be willing to believe anything. Even if he were to contact me and say that he chickened out or didn’t think it would work, that would be fine.

As it is, I’m at a loss to understand, and my faith is deeply shaken. Perhaps it’s just not feasible to expect that there are men out there that really are looking for slavery. Human beings are so frail, so faithless. And committing yourself to slavery is a big deal. Perhaps it’s more of a commitment than anyone is capable of making with their eyes open.

My new friend and possible business partner, whom we’ll call the Rebbe, said that it was his loss. I think that if indeed basanos has flaked out on me, then that is the case. I would be a good owner for basannos. To be sure, I’d be the best owner I am capable of being.

But it’s my loss, too. Loss of trust, loss of hope. My loss, too.


Overall the day was well. I was very busy. Doing the flags, both putting them up and taking them down, was a great job for me. I enjoyed it. I was good at it. I could lose myself in it. The results were immediately tangible as three blocks of the Meatpacking District were transformed into something festive and fun, do in large measure to the gas station flags I strung zigzagging across the street. It rained and when it wasn’t raining was cold, cloudy, and overcast. However, there were an estimated 3,000 people there (based on door proceeds), and even though when it was really coming down people took shelter underneath awnings and the tents we erected, I was surprised that a lot of men stuck it out.

Lots of hot men there too. And I knew bunches of people. All day long it was saying hello and catching up. And it was an exhausting day. I’m bone tired. On my feet all day long. Time to walk the dog, turn off the alarm, and go to bed.

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Leaving, for the moment, my feelings about the basanos incident, when I was walking around on Saturday with Doe-nee, we stopped into a store on 8th Avenue that sells candles, windchimes, greeting cards, and similar stuff I’m not interested it. They also sell books. Whilst Doe-nee browsed, I took a look at their books.

There I found Geoff Mains’ Urban Aboriginals. I’ve abandoned the nine other books I’m reading and I’ve been going through it ever since.

Wow.

Even though I’m only on page 30, it’s incredible. It truly is the Ur text of leather sexuality. Geoff Mains said it first and better. I’d quote from what I consider to be ‘the Good Parts,’ but I think I’d end up typing in the entire book.

My favorite for today is the idea that although there is a wide diversity of political opinion in the Tribe, people tend toward political ideas that can be described as Libertarian. In other words, “Leave me alone.”

That, essentially, is me. Get the government off our backs. And out of our dungeons. To me, this includes a disdain for activist government, and also for people seeking support and assistance from the government. If you want the government to be your mom, you can’t quibble when mom lays down the rules. If I were more idealistic, I’d probably tend towards anarchism, but anarchy seems incompatible with globalization to me.

So I’m against Sodomy laws (and apparently the Supreme Court has failed to hand down an opinion on the Texas sodomy case), and I’m also very dubious of civil rights legislation, which mandates how people should feel about other people. Once the government gets involved with telling us who we can hire, it’s a short trip to telling us who we can sleep with.

Anyway, you can expect Singletails to be peppered with “Like Geoff Mains said” from here on in.

And now, I’m gonna get on the phone with Earthlink and see if I can’t get an internet connection. I can dial in, but Explorer and Entourage (my email management program) can’t find the web. So, I’ve been relying on the dreadful and terrible AOL. AOL’s browser allows me to check email (ponderously), but blogging is not possible.

Sorry to keep you all on tenterhooks whilst I contend with this. DSL is on the way.

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I am going to continue to wear around my neck the silver chain with the small brass key. The key is to a padlock that closes eighteen inches of chain. Currently, no one wears that chain around his neck. That doesn’t mean that no one ever will.

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Monday, June 23rd

Went to the Center Garden Party this evening. I had thought it started at 7pm, but on looking at my ticket on my way out the door I realized it had started at 6pm. Soooo, when I arrived at about quarter after seven, all the food was gone. I was starving. I managed to grab some curried chicken wraps from Housing Works’ catering operation’s table, and in desperation stole a brownie from the kids’ table. They’d only take a bite and put it back anyway, right?

A good thing happened when I got home just now. I received my email confirmation for Inferno. So I’m already there. Truly. Dang I’m looking forward to that.

GMSMA’s punching program for this Wednesday fell apart. The two original presenters, Punchpig and Brawler cancelled. We found a fallback in the current GMSMA President (let’s call him Mr. President), but he threw his back out. Called upon the men behind All-American Kink. No go. Remember the movie “Who is Killing the Great Chefs of Europe”? This is like, Who is disabling the great punchpigs of New York City.

So I’m stressing about this after the Garden Party, walking up Hudson Street, and I run into a guy I know. We’ve been looking forward to getting together for about a year now. I told him what was going on and he said, “That’s totally my scene.”

I asked if he would be willing to let me punch him in front of about fifty guys at GMSMA and he said, “Sure.” He’s articulate and really really really into it. This could save the program. Although this means that I’ll be presenting with all of 48 hours lead time. But worse things could happen.

Along those lines, I’m trying to track down a quote by Jack London I read years ago. Something to the effect that ‘In the loins of the boxer dwells the soul of primitive man.”

And here’s another interesting thing I thought of. At Folsom Street East, in the flurry of “Hi howaya’s,” I ran into this boy. I know him slightly. His name is… well, forget about his name. He’s russo-polish extraction. We’ll call him Tovarish. He’s got a tan complexion, but being a slav, has light eyes and light hair. And he’s got this sort of dreamy piggy quality. I like him a lot. So at one point today, apropos of nothing in particular, the thought popped into my head, “Tovarish would make a good slave.”

Huh. Maybe, maybe not. He could be in the throes of crystal meth addiction for all I know. Who knows if that’s what he feels he’s called to be. But if the answer to the first question were no and the answer to the second question were yes, then I, for one, would jump at the chance to own him.

No more internet originated slave candidates ever.

What is it about the internet? In a way it’s not real. At all. On the internet, it’s too easy to slip into a persona. It’s not real. There’s no connection there.

Reading Geoff Mains’ book has me longing for the Good Old Days that I never knew. I think that in light of the recent basanos episode, I’m siding with Guy Baldwin (the internet is the worst thing that’s ever happened to the leather community) as opposed to the LthrEdge point of view (the internet is the best thing that’s ever happened to the leather community). I’m oversimplifying both men’s arguments, but that’s the gist of each, taken to their logical extremes.

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