The Pie Hole

IMG_2308I’m sitting in a Pie Shop with a cup of coffee, a time of the day when all my best ideas are sleeping. They curl against the corners of my mind like cats do in their favorite parts of the home. Some have chosen the bedroom where I store my most intimate memories.

One of them is of an ex-boyfriend that turned on the radio before taking a shower. He called me in, took my hand, and we danced. I remember my naked tummy wiggling against his before spinning around. It was one of the most joyful experiences I’ve ever had with a lover.

I’ve kept that moment underneath the bed in a shoebox. Next to it a sleeping cat lies. If I woke it then maybe a story about two boys that snuck around town in search of places to kiss would unravel. Some of the strands have sewn themselves into Closet Case posts. However, finding a new purpose for this memory will take work.

I’m a writer that’s in their infancy stage. Moments like this, coffee and pie, is the time that I like to reflect on my aspirations. They are lying all over the place but part of finding them is by looking back on old times. I think that what I have to gain this time from reflecting is that I love writing love stories.

Two people that are solely themselves when apart, but combine to make an ultimate personality. That’s what I like to read about.

Until next time,

BoyKitsch

“Don’t Wanna Fight”

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The band: Alabama Shakes

The song: “Don’t Wanna Fight”

Alabama Shakes is a band that I first listened to back in 2011. I was sitting on the living room floor at a friend’s party when Brittany Howard came on the television set. She sang “Hold On” and I remember feeling grateful. Grateful that somebody was talking about the struggle that comes from holding on to a dream. Today, the band’s lyrics continue to inspire me.

I’m just your local part-time server who is familiar with having a bad day at work. It’s the kind where the restaurant is full and only three servers are working the floor. Every guest wants, of course, their refill of coffee as soon as I am delivering another one’s eggs. I might be a fairy but there isn’t a wand powerful enough to make everyone happy.

“Excuse me, have you been helped yet?” I said to a table of four. They had been sitting in the corner of my eye for the past couple of minutes.

“No,” They said. I smiled and apologized before taking their orders. Even though it wasn’t a table in my section, I understood how it could have been overlooked. Attention is like a Sticky Toy Hand that a server throws in every direction during a Rush. Sometimes it pulls away too quickly because someone is shouting for more free bread.

Back in the kitchen I stood by the computer. On it I saw all the tables that were waiting to be delivered. Four red squares stared into the back of my head. I didn’t know how I was going to be able to deliver them all and hand out checks to the other tables in a timely fashion. My coworkers were just as busy as I was.

“Your food is up,” my coworker said from behind me. I felt my heart speed past the adrenaline rush and straight into panic mode.

“Can you help me, please,” I said. Drops of sweat were trickling down my backside. My coworker agreed while I handed out the last of my checks. As I headed back into the kitchen I remember feeling relief, like it was all going to be okay.

“There should be ten orders there,” I pointed out to my coworker, as soon I was back in the kitchen. They nodded just as another order popped up in the window. I told them to go on ahead while I plated this one. It was for the table of four that I picked up.

I counted, “One. Two. Three…” There were only three orders. I had forgotten to punch in the last one. I felt my arm wrap itself around my waist. My stomach turned like a waffle in its iron. I didn’t know what to do. It would take another five minutes to cook their meal. I checked the time-ticket and saw that it was already twenty-minutes old.

“I’m sorry. That was my fault,” I said to them. “It’ll be right out.”

The boy sighed. “We’ve all been coming here a long time and this is the worst service ever.” The three girls around him waited for me to respond. A cold wind blew through my open lips. I wanted to tell him that I had five other tables and one of them had ten people. I could have easily pointed this out to him except I couldn’t. My job is to serve him his food.

“I’m sorry.” I said again and made my way to the ten top behind us.

“How is everything?”I said. A woman in the corner waved me over.

“There wasn’t any bacon in my wrap,” She said. I apologized before walking to my manager’s office. I explained to them the situations at hand.

“I made her wrap and there was bacon in it.” They said. I rolled my hands into fists. I knew then that it wouldn’t make a difference what I had done. Each table was going to complain about something. Still, I had to deliver their checks with a smile. My manager walked out to check on each person before discounting their meals.

I followed him until suddenly “Don’t Wanna Fight” came on the radio. Brittany Howard’s wheeze perfectly described the frustration I felt. There was no explanation that I could have given to either person, because I wasn’t allowed to speak. I had to lay down my pride along with the check.

That’s exactly what I did, but at least I had Howard’s words in the background.

Noble Phoebe

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Dear Friends,

Today has been a delightful one. I am putting the final touches on my literary paper. It’s about the speaker’s self-discovery in “Theme For English B” by Langston Hughes. I’m having a lot of fun with it. Meanwhile, I’ve finished reading Catcher in the Rye for my pleasure reading list. It’s an insightful novel that most people get to read in High School or Middle School. However, my opportunity never came along due to a constant change in class scheduling.

Here is a favorite quote of mine :

Here’s what he said: ‘The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.

I love it because of how it compares the novel’s characters to the protagonist. Holden is forever criticizing the “phoniness” of the boys and girls he meets. I say that because they are consistently avoiding their conscious desires with meaningless talk. This to me makes them children, yet ironically Phoebe is the only one Holden prefers talking to. They talk about celebrities (The Lavender Bar), the theater (Sally), or avoid talking altogether (The Wicker Bar). Phoebe, however,  is the only one willing to ask her brother about his life.

I think this makes her a noble character and person. She is a ten-year-old that knows what she wants. She wants to be Benedict Arnold in her school play. That goal might seem simple but it’s honest. Everyone else trades in their desires for attention like Hollywood deals (D.B) and a normal life (Sally). I’m not sure where this puts Holden on my scale but I’m glad to have read this novel.

-BoyKitsch

2015 Bulletin Board

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Friends,

Thank you for coming back.

  • Since that time I’ve completed two college courses and am ready to start blogging again. I stopped writing it because I was concerned about its content. While my stories may have been entertaining they weren’t always truthful. Truthful to me means a direct play-by-play without any opinionated words to describe people. This is impossible for me to do so I must change the content of which I write.
  • Literary Theories, Paintings, Artists, and Music are just a few things that interest me. I love these things because of their impressions on culture. People can carry away many interpretations from just a single art piece. Yet, they aren’t always willing to share that influence with others. I’m one of those people because often times I feel overlooked. I am a seclusive person by nature but when I do speak to friends I don’t think they listen. In effort to overcome that insecurity I write.
  • I write because I want to reach people. I want to hear their opinions because that way mine can keep growing. Conversations, though, can only start after someone breaks the ice. Smash!  Maybe now we can talk about The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao or Glee. I know that they both opened up my perspective on music and internalized racism.

-BoyKitsch

Whimsy Week

On writing on whims: The hardest thing to do sometimes is just to write. Making mistakes on my own isn’t shameful or embarrassing, in fact I take pride in fumbling. Writing a bad piece for everyone to see though is like exposing acne scars or a mole that looks like the Sara Palin (I don’t think anyone would want to show that). But with publishing the worst pieces I can hope they make the better ones that much shinier.


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This week school is in full swing with the syllabuses put away and the homework out. It feels good to be on a role again however I will admit there is some mourning going on. No longer can I afford to spend two hours writing short stories or take my time going to the gym. Every day is like a march where I’m planning the next step.
However, yesterday I had a great adventure with my friend M. We ran around the park, shared a smoothie while talking on the park bench, and ending the evening with sushi. This all took place after my day at school and the gym. Needless to say I was tired but there wasn’t any place I’d rather have been. The weather was beautiful with the sun setting and sexy gay men running past us. We talked about our lives but how he reminded me of all the ideals I had before moving to Orlando.
“It’s hard to want something back when it feels like it never exited.” I told him on our walk back from the restaurant. He agreed before advising me to just jump into the adventure. Some of the experiences I wanted were:

  • traveling some place for the pure thrill of culture
  • figuring out my politics
  • dance lessons
  • trying out being a vegetarian
  • theatrics

While the list goes on those are my main ones. So between classes I’ve been researching my new life and how I want to sculpt it. It’s very humbling to think about all the things ahead of me. All the things I don’t know. And that’s what friends are there for: to help fill in the blank spaces.

This is sure to be a good week.

S.O.S. New York Part 3

I laid on the sofa shivering. My feet curled under a blanket that seemed more the size of a dishcloth. All I wanted was to be back in Brooklyn where my cousin was, family photos hung on the walls, and I could cuddle my iPod beneath a comforter. Instead, I was stranded in a room on the fourth floor of a Manhattan apartment, with an air conditioner thats was blowing away any sense of drowsiness.

I couldn’t venture outside though. The darkness seemed as deep as the ocean where any tourist would surely drown. My only life buoy were the Subway Apps but they didn’t have a chance of floating me all the way down the island. Eventually I’d have to ask a stranger for directions.

Hurricane Sandy Bears Down On U.S. Mid-Atlantic Coastline

My experience with New York residents was already tainted though thanks to a man who called himself Ice Queen. A guy that had stood 5’6 in baggy jeans shorts and a book in the pocket. He had approached me tonight in the club and asked me to dance before taking my hand outside to talk. Ideally, it had been the moment I was searching for. Me up against the wall with a cute guy. It’s the kind of scene that happens on television screens, the one I’d envisioned in my head, the reason I’d come to New York.

Now alone I couldn’t get away from the picture fast enough. Every time I closed my eyes the cold air reminded me of Ice Queen, unwilling to leave when I said goodbye. He followed me all the way to the stoop of my friend’s apartment where I sat for over an hour. All texts and phone calls I sent went unanswered.

“There’s a coffee shop right around the corner.” he kept saying. There probably was such a place, but my relationship with the stoop was about as strong as a shadow’s with the pavement on a sunny day.

He wasn’t a bad guy. The book in his pocket was about philosophy and he read it when no one at the club interested him much. We talked about gay history and body language, although he couldn’t read much of what mine was telling him. In fact, he was a very nice guy but I wouldn’t allow him to put his arm around me. I didn’t trust him and he said that was ok, but then we said goodbye. My friend had come downstairs to pick me up.

I could have had another kind of adventure instead of couch surfing, I might be in somebody’s bed. Waiting out the darkness might have been a little bit warmer.

S.O.S. New York Part 2

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I think you’re going to need those.” the bouncer said, looking at the ground. Three golden condoms laid in plain sight until I grabbed them to stuff into my pocket. They had come out conveniently with my I.D. that proved I was old enough to go into the club, Ritz.

“Thanks.” I said and went in. I touched my cheeks that felt warm from the waves of embarrassment. Getting laid was actually the furthest thing from my mind. I wouldn’t be able to reach the stoop of someone’s apartment before I’d begin to have regrets.

I pushed the rubbers all the way down until I felt their corners nibbling at my leg. Everywhere I looked were sexy-looking-men. Round and lean bodies that glowed in the darkness of the club. I needed to get closer.

Walking down a narrow hallway, the beat of music tumbled, chests balanced against one another, and I wound up in the middle of the dance floor. Men spun around me and spilling their beers, I wanted to be as carefree. I swayed side to side but the rhythm of music swam right past me. How do I do this? I must have mouthed the words because I noticed a pair of twinkling eyes staring at me. They belonged to a guy that was dancing with a bunch of people. Friends. He nodded for me to come over.71Qwx0Q4eaL._AA1000_

We had no introductions. Our feet passed around the beat of the music and when it was my turn I did it without any hesitation. Sometimes it’s not such a bad thing to lack confidence because then you meet new people. I felt the sweat running down my forehead.

By the time the guy and his friends exited the floor my shirt was soaked. The addiction had me wondering how I had ever been afraid to dance. With every new song my torso spun like there was a hook in it, pulling it, until releasing my hands into the air.

“You’re a good dancer.” somebody said. Their words were close to my ear. I had seen him come at me from across the room but only now realized we were dancing together.

“Thank you.” I said, feeling my hands along his back. Smooth muscle swayed beneath the cotton shirt. My hand moved up behind his neck when all of a sudden he took it and spun me around. Feeling the pulse behind my body I noticed there was something different in the way he moved. The itch in my pocket from the condoms threw me off balance but he caught us by placing his arms around my waist. His hold felt firm but not aggressive. I was comfortable to keep dancing.

“Do you wanna go outside?” He said.

S.O.S. New York Part 1

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I was riding the train into Manhattan when a bell rang from the speaker and an electronic voice spoke. This was my first vacation in New York without a chaperone. I wasn’t about to call my parents saying that I was lost. Instead every imaginable Subway App was already downloaded onto my iPhone. The only problem was that there was no internet connection in the underground.

“Now arriving at 42nd Street.” the voice said. I shuffled my feet to the door. Like all the previous stops I had this one memorized. There was a sense of pride with every step out of the subway. I had seen right through the riddles of the city. From the streets of Park Slope, to switching trains because of construction, I was finally in Midtown. My friend Jesse greeted me on the intersection between 42nd Street & 8th Avenue.

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“I’m so glad you made it!” She said. I brushed my shoulder. She didn’t have to know about the Subway Apps. We hugged before heading over to 46th street to meet up with another friend at a bar. Tonight all of us were going to celebrate the beautiful state of New York for passing the Marriage Equality Act only a night prior. When we arrived our fried surprised us with drinks.

“Normally Happy Hour would already be ova but they extend it for me.” she said. Her name was Liz and she was a red head who sounded much too like Lucy Ricardo. “They also don’t check I.D.’s so orda whateva you want.” She winked at my friend. We all extended a glass for cheers before ordering another round of drinks.

This all felt so rebellious, even though I was twenty-one it felt like I was still breaking the rules. Where I came from, a small town in Florida, the law seemed damp and lingering like the humidity. My friend wouldn’t have been able to sneak a drink and I wouldn’t have been allowed to get married.

“Why do they extend Happy Hour for you?” I said to Liz. She threw her hands up and explained that she in fact lived upstairs and knew the manager.

“It’s all about the connections you make.” Liz said through her nose. With that in mind I recalled the gay club across the street. I wanted to go but by the time it’d let out it would be much too late to go back into Brooklyn by myself. I might have had the Subway App but a body guard is something I couldn’t download. I mentioned this to Liz who smiled before saying, “You can stay with me of course darling!”

“Holiday” Part 2

My first instinct was to go after Daytona whom was being dragged further away from me by a random Fag-Hag. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened to me in a gay club. I am very grateful for the Straight Women that have accompanied me in my ventures into the gay world, however, they all know when to back off. This would have been one of those times.

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I decided to stay put. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this situation is that if someone wants to be dragged away then that is exactly what happens. So long Daytona! I started to dance and enjoy the music. The vibrant pulse filled my body to the point where I put my hands up over my head. This felt like Gay Days.

“I GOTA DRINK!” a voice said. I turned around and saw the friend I came with. Indeed, he had a drink in hand but that wasn’t the only thing attached to him. A short man Indian man in a Polo shirt was who I guess supplied him.

We all began dancing and having more drinks. The song “Pompeii”played overhead while my friend and I talked about New York City. There isn’t any place like it in the world but that doesn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy the chaos outside of it.

“I’m leaving with him!” My friend said, pointing to the small Indian man. I asked him if that was a good idea since he was also drunk. He assured me they knew each other prior to this occasion.

“Take care and call me, text me, whatever, when you get to where you’re going.” I said. My friend smiled before hugging me. I might not have left that night with a boy in hand. Hell, I didn’t even leave with a phone number but this was definitely a night worth having.

 

Stepping Out Part Two- The Trying Beginning

An artist, to me, is someone that desires to create no matter the expense both physically and mentally. Why? Because it feels good to having created something that didn’t exist before. It feels like magic. Somewhere along the way though the magic is tainted.

I remember being in school drawing when a stranger would ask to look at my work in progress. I’d politely say no. Their reaction was to be offended when really I was offended. I didn’t ask to look at their math equations. I didn”t ask to listen to their rehearsal. Drawing is something I did because I loved doing it. Not because I wanted to share it, at least not until it felt completed

Somehow and somewhere along the way people thought that art was only worth doing if it got the creator famous. I never wanted to be famous for my artwork. I solely wanted to take the world apart so I could put it back together again. In the end it took me apart. I remember the frustration to want to create something wonderful but I didn’t see the point. I had applied to schools in New York and didn’t get in. My quest seemed over so I decided to switch majors. I became a Creative Writing major for half a year. In the end though I still felt empty because this wasn’t the place I wanted to be.


When I first dropped out of college I just laid in bed all the days. I often stared up at the ceiling feeling empty. The world was meaningless. The past three years had amounted to nothing. I did the art. I tried the writing. It seemed that the simple truth was that I wasn’t a creator. I didn’t want to be famous and I didn’t feel good creating anymore.

So I watched TV. Lots and lots of TV. My favorite show though was Glee. I watched as many episodes I could until I felt  inspired. Music always inspires me but what it works better in a story line. At this point, to me, I was a loser that wanted to feel special. I watched clip after clip until suddenly I remembered something. I had always wanted to learn to sing and dance. The past was the past so why not try something new?

My first dance class was Aerial Dancing. It took place in a studio half way across town, a distance that required me to wake up at six in the morning. I felt elated that morning while driving through the misty fog. It seemed that the rain had fallen and left clouds everywhere, new dreams.

When I arrived there was a woman unlocking the door. She had with her a girl of about ten that was wearing a tutu.  They both welcomed me inside with warm smiles. The dance studio was small with polished wood floors, tumble matts, mirrors, and silk ropes hanging from the ceiling. Immediately, the little girl started climbing before anyone else arrived. Meanwhile, the woman and I began to get acquainted. I told her this was my first Aerial class, first dance class in general. She was very excited and impressed. I felt embarrassed but she went on to say that people usually get intimidated by new things, especially adults.

That’s when everyone else began to file in. Small girls. A tall boy and several teenagers. All of them expressed that they had been dancing for years. In fact they had just been in a show! Suddenly, I felt nervous and intimidated. I began to wonder if I had made a mistake…(To Be Continued…)