Love this autobiographical tale so well told. Thank you for your radical service in all the ways, for teaching by example, and also for the cute and colorful sex toys.
It's somehow both a relief and worrisome that, as "unprecedented" as the present seems, it's hardly the first time this kind of thing has happened. I guess the relief comes from knowing that, in times before, we made it through to the other side. Worrisome because I have no feeling of confidence that we will this time.
You're right, Susie. I very likely have no idea at all. None whatsoever. This is an intriguing and eye-opening look into what you have endured and enjoyed as an activist and a loudspeaker for what "society" has deemed Things We Do Not Speak Of. It's indeed a unique type of history that even a peripheral leftist nobody like me should remember.
hee hee, just got a phone call from a reader who reminded me that we met, the first time in the 80s, uncovering an old-fashioned con job via the postal service. I was editing On Our Backs, and we got a poetry submission — a fiery poem with clear sado-masochistic references.
To my amazement, the author’s name was one I recognized, of a prominent gay athlete and gal about town — really clean-cut, if you will. A Wholesome Girl.
I called the “poet” — let’s call her Marie — and I said, “Wow, I had no idea you were into this content or form; I’m flattered you sent it for my consideration.”
“WHAT POEM?” She said.
Oops.
She was floored… this was an imposter! An imposter, who as it turned out, was submitting manuscripts, kinky and otherwise, to publishers all over town, pretending to be the Famous Marie. All she did was sign Marie’s name and stick her submissions in the mail.
Marie reminded me that I was the one who unwittingly uncovered it, and that she was then able to track down the culprit and have a little “intervention.”
So is Marie finally ready to write erotic poetry, 40 years later?
She thinks not. . . . But we had a laugh, cause you never know!
Love this autobiographical tale so well told. Thank you for your radical service in all the ways, for teaching by example, and also for the cute and colorful sex toys.
“She comes in colors . . . “ gotta play that old stones song sometime
It's somehow both a relief and worrisome that, as "unprecedented" as the present seems, it's hardly the first time this kind of thing has happened. I guess the relief comes from knowing that, in times before, we made it through to the other side. Worrisome because I have no feeling of confidence that we will this time.
Yeah, talk about wishing for an oracle. It could get so much worse before it gets better.
You're right, Susie. I very likely have no idea at all. None whatsoever. This is an intriguing and eye-opening look into what you have endured and enjoyed as an activist and a loudspeaker for what "society" has deemed Things We Do Not Speak Of. It's indeed a unique type of history that even a peripheral leftist nobody like me should remember.
Here for the “Doofus Of The Week” feature…❤️🩹
"So, sweetie, have you thought about your career plans?"
"Gee, Mom, I really thought about being an International Dildo Pioneer."
hee hee, just got a phone call from a reader who reminded me that we met, the first time in the 80s, uncovering an old-fashioned con job via the postal service. I was editing On Our Backs, and we got a poetry submission — a fiery poem with clear sado-masochistic references.
To my amazement, the author’s name was one I recognized, of a prominent gay athlete and gal about town — really clean-cut, if you will. A Wholesome Girl.
I called the “poet” — let’s call her Marie — and I said, “Wow, I had no idea you were into this content or form; I’m flattered you sent it for my consideration.”
“WHAT POEM?” She said.
Oops.
She was floored… this was an imposter! An imposter, who as it turned out, was submitting manuscripts, kinky and otherwise, to publishers all over town, pretending to be the Famous Marie. All she did was sign Marie’s name and stick her submissions in the mail.
Marie reminded me that I was the one who unwittingly uncovered it, and that she was then able to track down the culprit and have a little “intervention.”
So is Marie finally ready to write erotic poetry, 40 years later?
She thinks not. . . . But we had a laugh, cause you never know!
"instrumental Peruvian Flute music from 4-6 Friday afternoons" pretty much sums up Berkeley's KPFA
haha! Well maybe this is when it all started! The fatal mistake!
“They forgot to pick up the needle”