Number 167 Fall 2016 $9.95 SubstanceIssue 168 / Winter 2016 SISTERS OF PERPETUAL INDULGENCE Submission Deadline: October 21, 2016 www.rfdmag.org/upload A Call to World-Wide OPI/SPI Sisterhoods and All the Faithful Pick up your pens, grab your rulers, rustle through your journals, scrapbooks, novice reports, annotated sister docs, digital archives and press clippings. Send your prayers, devotionals, litanies and sinful lapses. Show us evidence of your fundraising frolics and how we make charitable events a profitable joy to behold. Don’t forget the jokes and down and dirty confessions not protected by any bark- ing seals of silence. How has a PI Sister impacted your life? Who is your favorite Nun, Saint or Guard of the Above (the dead ones)? RFD is giving its winter Issue over to us Honorable Here- tics of Perpetual Indulgence in all our rich and varied expressions, from the humble beginnings in Iowa and on the Land’s End nude beach in 1979 to the newest convent in Australia, Can- ada, France or yet another US city—35 & counting. Our 2016 International Conclave in Berlin in Sep- tember will be a feature of this special OPI/SPI Edition. Look to the past, point to the future. Deliver the ever- present. Make-Up tips, habit patterns & wimple designs, spiritual paths and medita- tion techniques. All is fair game when the Sisters are at Play. On your knees, on your backs, show us your cracks! Hunky Jesu and The Proud Marys on Parade. Absolutions and a comp is- sue to all contributors. The original Missionary Po- sition, Sr. Soami deLux and Rosie Delicious/Sis Name will be your editrixes into this fabled and joyful world of heresy and delight with its eradication of guilt and shame. Join us—or end up in purgatory! RFD 167 Fall 2016 1 Rx for Dialogue Vol 43 No 1 #167 Fall 2016 In this issue, RFD as a collective opted to ask some hard questions about substances in our lives and thankfully our readers have responded with some well thought out essays and stories about their experiences. Some cast light on their drug use becoming drug abuse while others share how substance use can be used as a shamanic and healing tool with thoughtful planning, ritual and intention. Many people shared how substances influenced their choices in expressing their sexuality, in choosing partners and how the allure of sex distanced them at times from “reality”. Others chose to focus on how they or the community responds to substance use/abuse in their lives or within the community they live in. Some are openly challenging how we come to terms with consent around substance use within community and how we dialog about drug use while not wanting to parrot the larger culture’s just-say-no approach. But it does then lead to the challenge of how we create empowered spaces which are safe, reducing harm to ourselves and others and yet maintaining our radical traditions of openness, exploration and finding new paths. Our readers also responded to how someone who is addicted to drugs or alco- hol falls out of our lives, our beds, our world. How do we maintain connections where so much is being fragmented or distorted by being “altered?” So much of this falls along the lines of seeing how being open can lead to falling apart. Who is there to help? Who is responsible? Some writers asked about this in terms of the choices they made in their own lives around being in sobriety or taking on a different relationship to substances and how much of a role they wanted them to play in their lives. In this issue we’re thankful to include several interviews with authors about their work, and for Franklin Abbott’s efforts to bring their work to our attention. We also had several people send in poetry in response to the tragic mass shooting in Orlando this past June. May we always remember that to dance is to live and those lives cut short were only sharing in one of life’s most wonderful act of togetherness—dancing. We’ve sadly heard of the passing of two prominent forces within our GLBT community: Charlie Murphy and Mark Thompson. We’re including a remem- brance for Charlie in these pages and we’ll be running a tribute issue to Mark Thompson in our Spring 2017 issue. With warm kisses from sunny Vermont The RFD Collective Between the Lines2 RFD 167 Fall 2016 RFD is a reader-written journal for gay people which focuses on country living and encourages alternative life- styles. We foster community building and networking, explore the diverse expressions of our sexuality, care for the environment, Radical Faerie consciousness, and nature-centered spirituality, and share experiences of our lives. RFD is produced by volun- teers. We welcome your participation. The business and general production are coordinated by a collective. Features and entire issues are prepared by different groups in various places. RFD (ISSN# 0149-709X) is published quarterly for $25 a year by RFD Press, P.O. Box 302, Hadley MA 01035-0302. Postmaster: Send address changes to RFD, P.O. Box 302, Hadley MA 01035-0302. Non-profit tax exempt #62-1723644, a function of RFD Press with office of registration at 231 Ten Penny Rd., Woodbury, TN 37190. RFD Cover Price: $9.95. A regular subscription is the least expensive way to receive it four times a year. First class mailed issues will be forwarded. Others will not. Send address changes to submissions@rfdmag.org or to our Hadley, MA address. Copyright © RFD Press. The records required by Title 18 U.S.D. Section 2257 and as- sociated with respect to this magazine (and all graphic material associated therewith on which this label appears) are kept by the custodian of records at the following location: RFD Press, 85 N Main St, Ste 200, White River Junction, VT 05001. On the Covers Front: RFD Back : Photo by Egg Production Managing Editor: Bambi Gauthier Assistant Editor: Rosie Delicious Art Director: Matt Bucy Artists in this Issue Colton Baumgartner . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2, 9 Ian Ayres . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .4 Jackie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .5 Blue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .7 Sophia Callisto . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .9 Karl Volk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .29 Stuart Morrison Kramer . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 D .R . Bubba . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .43 Andrew Bertke . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .49 Submission Deadlines Winter–October 21, 2016 Spring–January 21, 2017 See inside covers for themes and specifics. For advertising, subscriptions, back issues and other information visit www.rfdmag.org Photograph by Colton Baumgartner RFD 167 Fall 2016 3 CONTENTS Meth Sex—A Crystal Vision ....................Jackie Bigelow ...................5 A Fatal Shadow ................................Mountaine .....................9 Shadowland ..................................Foudatz ........................11 .beCUMing - CUMnected ......................Cupcake .......................13 Ben ..........................................Jasper Lawson ..................15 Gay Tara .....................................Leo Racicot .....................17 Substance Use and Consent Culture at Short Mountain Sanctuary ...................Femmaeve MacQueen-Rose ......20 A Presence of Support .........................Link ...........................23 The Politics of Drugs and Alcohol in Faerie Space: A Sober View ..................Mockingbird (Pistol Pete) ........26 Impulse ......................................M. J. Arcangelini ...............31 Pleasure, Anesthesia, and the Burden of Consciousness: Notes on Substances ..........Don Shewey ....................34 Acid Church: Using Tarot as a Container for Therapeutic Psychedelic Exploration .......andi grace + Kori Doty ...........40 Interview with Poet and Writer Louie Crew Clay ..Franklin Abbott .................44 Excerpts from “Riding with the Spongs in New York City’s Pride Parade” [1993] .......Louie Crew Clay ................48 Raymond Luczak ..............................Franklin Abbott .................49 Untitled Poem ................................Raymond Luczak ................53 Collin Kelley ..................................Franklin Abbott .................54 Sex Machines .................................Collin Kelley ...................56 Rattled .......................................E. C. Patrick ....................57 O ...........................................Finger .........................58 In Orlando. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . M. J. Arcangelini ...............60 Love’s Garden .................................Qweaver .......................60 Untitled Poem ................................David Cummer .................60 Charlie Murphy ...............................BB-Ha! .........................614 RFD 167 Fall 2016 Anatolian Land of the Goddesses Gathering On the Turkish coast near Butterfly Beach, near Dalaman/Fetiyeh Turkey, April 20 to 30, 2017. Return to the land of the Goddesses Artemis, Ishtar, Isis and Estarte. Faeries will gather near the beach on the Dalaman coast of Southwestern Turkey in a remote hidden cove of a magical alternative community. A meld- ing of cultures and energies from North and South, East and West honoring the ancient gods, goddesses, nature and spirits of the beautiful Anatolian coast. Come cavort with kindred spirits in the ‘playground of the Gods and Goddessesí, wander coastal trails and swim coves where the spirits of the ancient Ephesians, Ionians, Greeks and Romans still beckon. Connect with faeries in the breathtaking star- light of the new moon in Taurus (April 26). Share yourself with men from across a region bursting with life, passion and history. We are expecting lovely faeries from across the region and beyond: Turkey, Lebanon, Iraq, Syria, Greece, Egypt, Jordan Kurdistan, Europe, Asia and the New World. For more information contact Habibi, jf_in_bkk@yahoo.com. ANNOUNCEMENTS Photograph by Ian Ayres RFD 167 Fall 2016 5 This is an excerpt from a memoir Jackie was writing while living on Greenwell Lane, near Short Mountain Sanctuary about his struggle with meth . The work began in NYC and was an ongoing project up until his untimely death in August 2015 . It was Jackie’s in- tent to publish this writing and share his experience (to help others suffering from similar issues) while trying to kick his own meth habit . The coroner’s report noted that Jackie’s cause of death was “acute methamphet- amine toxic- ity .” I thought it important to use Jackie’s own writing to describe her experience with crystal, and how it played into her life and sexual history . This document is printed with the expressed consent of Jackie’s family . —Rosie Delicious Salmon Row (01.11.03; revised 02.28.03) “The number you are trying to reach is not in ser- vice at this time .” Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Another dealer whose number has changed, and I want to get high NOW. I prefer beginning my binges with a bump or two at home, before going to the sex club. Yeah, I know I’ll eventually be able to find it there, but it’s such a hassle. I’m going anyway. I toss an $80 bottle of lube (I know that’s expensive, but the good stuff is worth it), go take out $200 from the corner ATM, buy two bottles of Fierce Grape Gatorade, and hail a cab. Up the steps to Salmon Row, at least there’s only a short line tonight. This could be a sign it’s not very full, which would mean a limited selection of guys, but I’m still glad because I really have to pee, and they make you register and pay before you can go inside to the bathrooms. I was perma- nently black- listed a couple of years ago because I flipped out at the cashier when he wouldn’t let me in because I owed them a huge amount of money in overtime fees, even though I promised to pay it the next day, but some time has passed, and now they have a new gatekeeper who does not recognize me, and I have a fake ID so it doesn’t mat- ter that my name is still on the blacklist (which, by the way, is as thick as a bound book). All the rooms with beds are taken, so I rent a closet. Gatekeeper buzzes me through the gate (like the door to view- ing tables in jewelry stores), where I’m greeted by a towel boy who hands me my key, a towel, some condoms and a few packets of lube (which more resembles glue, which is why one brings one’s own), and leads me through the halls of Salmon Row. As we travel to my closet, my clothes clearly mark me as a new arrival, and I’m stared at hungrily by some of the wide-eyed patrons, while others avert their eyes from this clothed reminder of Out There. We reach what will be my home-away-from-home: a 15-square foot closet with a bench in it. I tip my Meth Sex—A Crystal Vision By Jackie Bigelow Crystal meth didn’t lead me to have unprotected sex. It led me to have an unprotected life.” —from Jackie’s Diary Self-portrait by Jackie6 RFD 167 Fall 2016 escort, and immediately run to the bathroom. Once relieved, I return to my closet, remove my clothes, wrap the requisite white towel around my waist, and step out into the hallway. The Great Search begins. God, it’s so hard being here when you’re not high. I twirl through the halls, searching for a familiar face who will know who’s selling, but soon resort to asking anyone and everyone. “Hey, do you know anyone who has any Tina?” “Mmmm, I’d love to fool around with you, but I need to find some Tina first.” “Hey man, I just got here. I’m looking for some Tina.” I know most of these guys are high—I can see it in their eyes—but I also know how hard it is to share a stash with just anyone, and how unwilling most people are to out a dealer to a stranger. After a while I go back to my room to rest my drunken head on the bench while I sit crouched naked on the floor, and after a little nap, am up and at it again. Finally I bump into Ashton—we barely know each other, but that’s enough—and he tells me to wait, he’s just arrived, but that he’s sure he’ll be able to find some. I give him $60 bucks, he leaves, he returns with a bag, leaves, I crush it, and cut up four big lines with my ATM card. FUCK! That wicked sting in my nostrils feels so good, my body quickly feels warm and rubbery, and I wander out to look for Ashton, to offer him a thank-you bump. He’s in the dealer’s room with the door ajar, and the dealer is hot, sitting on his bed with his towel draped over his thigh, strong, thick arms and a hard, rippled stomach. They invite me in, and I sit down asking if I can get some Viagra, too. Ashton says, “Hey, I was just taking off—why don’t you two get to know each other?” He leaves, we shut the door, I take the pill, and down I go. Suck, suck. But the crystal is really kicking in, and there are so many choices tonight; I get up and decide to start making the rounds. Round and round and round he goes… Posing here. “Hey.” Posing there. “What’s up?” I find two sexy guys in a room who invite me in, we play, a third one arrives, we play more, the two without tattoos leave, and I spend the next sixteen hours having continuous sex with Hot Tattoo Man, whose face I forgot, whose name I forget, if I even learned it in the first place. But I do remember that we had a lot of nasty, piggy sex. Sixteen hours of it. Yeah, sixteen. And I remember that he was really sweet. But now we’re out of crystal, and out of money. A problem. He decides to go around the corner to the ATM and the sex shop to buy more lube. Why they haven’t installed an ATM in here is beyond me. I guess to prevent lawsuits from people who end up emptying out their account. I mean, I’m sure people do that all the time, but at least as it is now that have to leave the premises first. I decide to go home. I smell like sex, and am covered in lube and lots of other things. This smell is heaven. I won’t shower until I get home. I like to savor the feeling just a little longer. Mr. Dirty Boy, that’s me. I step outside, and could walk home—the fresh air feels good—but I’m still tweaking like crazy, and don’t want to risk running into anyone I know. I’ve made that mistake before. Even if I didn’t let them close enough to smell me, my pupils are the size of silver dollars. And who knows what words would come pouring out of my mouth? No, best to take a cab. I arrive home, listen to my messages (being careful not to delete them since I probably won’t remember any of this when I wake up), force down a few spoonfuls of yoghurt and half a Fresh Samantha, and hop in the shower. My cock is raw, so I shield it from the water stream, gently washing it with a washcloth. I’ve found that dishwater detergent works best to cut through the lube, and eventu- ally I’m clean, and feel better. I take almost every vitamin in the cupboard, two Advil for the fever, an Ativan for the anxiety, an Ambien to fall asleep, a Klonopin to stay asleep, and fall into bed. Fast asleep, tender shepherd. Thirteen/fifteen/eighteen hours later I awake. I feel like shit, of course, but this morning seems worse than usual. I usually don’t feel stressed like this until Recovery Day #2, but here I am, feeling the Void. A dark, heavy, angry blackness. I get up to pee, and Wait—what’s this? As I stand in front of the toilet, I see that, before bed, I had the foresight to give myself an option. A way out, for the morning after. There, atop the upper tank, sits a coffee mug full of pee. And not just any old pee—a mug of pee full of crystal, saved from wastefully thrown into the sewers of New York after its initial passage through my body. No, of course I can’t buy more crystal— that would be irresponsible. But I can certainly pour some of this crystal-laden piss up my ass. Just to take the edge off, take away this heaviness. I get out my enema bag from under the sink, throw my ass up in the air, and voila! A little (OK—a big) crystal piss booty bump for breakfast. Feeling instantly better, I dress, and go about responsibly doing some errands, glad to be feeling on top of things. Glad not to be lying miserably on the couch, wallowing in the truth. Since I slept in, the sun has already gone down, and I’m feeling a little raunchy again. But I don’t want to go back to Salmon Row—two nights in a row would certainly RFD 167 Fall 2016 7 be a blatant sign of a problem. And I don’t want to spend the money. It’s decided, then—the phone sex lines it is, and after ten minutes, I’m on my way across town to someone named David’s house, who has been partying by himself all day and is arranging a gathering. David is a gorgeous Armenian god, has lots of drugs, and turns out to be a great host. Guys fly in and out of the apartment, and the next thing I know it’s the follow- ing afternoon, and we’re out of drugs, and I have to go home, I have to go to bed. Enough is enough. I shower, and soak, and clean my wounds (by now I have a bunch—you know, scrapes and bruises and stuff), and take my vitamins, and take my sleep- ing pills, and go to sleep, again, my tender shepherd. All in a day’s binge. But “day” has stopped mean- ing “24 hours.” And then, to face the recovery, or to do every- thing possible to avoid facing it. Because to start dealing with the truth is not like eating a nice healthy fruit salad and apologiz- ing to your lover after a night of drinking. It’s facing the truth about what you’ve been doing, after years of lying. It’s enter- ing reality, after having been someplace else for so long. It’s not easy. It’s a miracle I’m not HIV+. After a few days of rough sex, it’s pretty hard not to end up open and sore. Crystal meth is an epidemic. It is destroy- ing us. It destroyed me. Some of my best friends have let it ruin their lives. We all seem to know someone who has. I am struggling to come back. But it’s hard. Everyday. EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY. And it’s been a year and a half. And I don’t know if the desire is ever going to disappear. If I’ll find relief. But my life is better. I weigh more. I look good. I have friendships that are continuous, and genuine. I have memories that are continuous, and genuine. I don’t disappoint others as much as I used to. I don’t disappoint myself as much as I used to. And I DO have hope. If not for relief, than for a life that is more enjoyable than my crystal life. And longer. So, anyway, here is my story, for what it’s worth. It’s the story of how I got to that point, how I got past that point, the times I’ve gone past that point, and how I work toward staying past that point. There’s lots of sex in it, because I love sex, and love it in my life. I love chat lines, and sex clubs, and par- ties, and orgies. Soon after dosing, your brain shifts into a com- plete misperception of reality. It may seem like a Photograph by BlueNext >