Sangrioz
My Friends
My Peeps & Peers
Aikido,
alternative gay people,
Bears and Chasers,
Buffy and Angel,
Buffyverse,
Cocteau Twins,
Cthuligans,
cuddle buddies,
Dead Can Dance,
Diamanda Galas,
Eddie Izzard,
Ethereal Alchemy & Dark Muses,
Feri,
Gay Geeks,
Green Building,
Green Man Tribe,
Hapa,
Harold and Maude,
Horticulture and Permaculture,
Kurosawa,
Lycanthropes,
Natural Building,
Non Traditional Housing,
Pan,
Permaculture,
Queer Geeks,
Ratspeakers,
Richard Brautigan,
Shinto,
The WORLD of JOHN WATERS,
UC Berkeley,
Wiccan Buddhist Exploration Society,
Wonder Woman,
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Sez MeGender
Male
Location
about me
In addition to the usual litany (movies, dining out, etc.) I'm addicted to permaculture, speeding in my car, eating Japanese food, petting big dogs, chain-reading novels and oh, laughing my ass off....at myself. I'm also a stone cold sucker for razor sharp wit and blazing hearts. Currently busy challenging capitalist zombification and its dreaded doppelganger, suburban ennui. Seeking partners in crime, those with whom I can grow, dream, conspire and play.
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Soul Food & Finger Lickin' Dreams
If my heart had windowpanes of glass, you'd look inside and see it crying drops of blood.
Tue, March 6, 2007 - 11:15 AM
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Let the day grow on you upward
Wed, February 21, 2007 - 3:33 PM
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through your feet, the vegetal knuckles, to your knees of stone, until by evening you are a black tree; feel, with evening, the swifts thicken your hair, the new moon rising out of your forehead, and the moonlit veins of silver running from your armpits like rivulets under white leaves. Sleep, as ants cross over your eyelids. You have never possessed anything as deeply as this. This is all you have owned from the first outcry through f... read more
You are St. Anthony
Wed, February 21, 2007 - 3:33 PM
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or some other saint sitting in your rocky hermitage. You make the sign of the cross- wind and sea no longer toss. Your hands are full of larks. I am Temptation. You know me. Sometimes I'm Eve, sometimes the snake: I slide into your reverie in the middle of the brightest day. I shine like the sun in an orchard. But it's not to torment you every day I rise- but to drown you in love's delights. I'm a dead hero leaping from the edge of the bridge of fear... read more
Eastern spices I bring with me,
Wed, February 21, 2007 - 3:32 PM
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and from bazaars, a mystery: and perfumes from Arabic land would not make bright your small white hand. My hair is henna-brown and pearls from my neck hang down and my navel here conceals vials of the honey of wild bees. But my body breathes another musk that smells of wild mint and turf: scent of honey from an ancient hill that has darkness in its tint.
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