By Jeff Walsh
With his acoustic album "Motorcycle Childhood," Tyson Meade uses spare arrangement and raw vocals to share details of his life. It's very different from his other role as the openly gay lead singer of the Chainsaw Kittens, where he used to take to the stage in lipstick, tights and mini-skirts.
By Janis Ian
In a small town somewhere at the foot of the Appalachian Mountains, teachers prepare for the coming semester. Professors grimly consult lesson plans, breaking in new Dockers ("I still wear the same size I wore when I graduated," they brag, bellies hanging over their straining waistlines like blubber off Ahab's whaler). Dormitories are surrounded by troops of exterminators bent on eradicating last year's mess before the health department shows up for a final check. The grounds are infested with newly arrived victims, ready to give the university their all and terrified that anything beyond the boundaries of the parents' homes will eat them alive. If they only knew.
By Janis Ian
I am standing with my tit caught in a wringer while a mall-haired technician tells me to relax. I am thinking that if men had to put their testicles in a vise as part of a yearly physical, we would have a cure for the common cold by now. I am very frightened.
The pink slip came as we were leaving on vacation: "We have found what appears to be a routine abnormality..." What's routine about an abnormality? I decide to put on a brave front and joke that in all my life no one has ever called me routine; then I burst into tears. Later on I do the grown-up thing and panic, furtively examining my breasts in the mirror for changes. I'm afraid that if I touch them to check for lumps, I will set something off. I wish they were smaller. I wish they were removable. I wish they were on anyone but me.
Now that I have your attention...The other night I posted a 'thought' about Porn...Now I've come to another situation that allows for the same line of thinking to apply. No, this has nothing to do with Porn or rape, however it does have to do with distraction and blame...And yes, I'll mention the soccer team again...
This is the way my brain works...
Okay heres the thing, I have come to a grim conclusion of quiting this stupid college. I am not proud of it, but when one's becomes very fusterated, one's has no choice but to drop out. To fail the classes and get bad GPA on your record is not ideal. So I have two choices, to try and work very hard to get all A's to bring the grades up with missing class I have missed. Or quit to save yourself the burden.
Last nite at a friends place the discussion came up with the guys. How much money would it take for you to give another guy a blow job. I was the only gay one there, there was an interesting conversationa bout it. every guy said they would do it for a certain amount of money. except for one guy. he said he would probably need heavy counselling after it. my response? "You'd cretainly have the money to pay for it"
I feel so much commotion in my mind and body, it's driving me insane. My stomach is shooting with fire crackers and my mind is compressed with heavy rocks, my breath is suffocated in my own lungs. Am I being reasonable, blaming life for my own annoyances? Do I have a right to crib about something so insignificant as not having a girlfriend? An empty mind really is a devil's workshop, but an overwhelemed mind is a devil's worst enemy.
no this is not an e.e. cummings poem......;)