Google Groups Subscribe to The Spin Cycle
Email:
Browse Archives at groups.google.com.au

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Urbanism and Rampant Faggotry

Ever since Jehovah smote Sodom, urbanism and buttfucking have been linked in the human experience. We are by our very natures urban creatures. We relish the anonymity of the crowd and seek strength in the solidarity of the close-pressed, shoulder-to-shoulder life that cities offer. Large metropolises are a place to reinvent oneself away from the forced conformity, harsh judgments and narrow minds of suburbia and the open expanses of God’s Country.

Now I’m drawing distinctions here. Homosex happens everywhere you might find two men and a quiet moment. But I’m referring specifically to the delirious life found in a neighborhood where the video store is stocked with equal parts of Dirk Yates and Bette Davis, Cadinot and Truffaut, Jeff Palmer and Julia Hoffman. Why is it that in a few years we enterprising fairies can turn a boarded-up war zone into a mini Boulevard de Strasbourg, replete with sidewalk cafes and florist shops?

Is there something in the gay gene that instinctively draws one to subways and skyscrapers the same way one is born craving, say, fine footwear or foreign magazines?

Conventional wisdom says that, as social outcasts, we take sow’s ears and indefatigably turn them into silk clutches in an effort to “make a home for ourselves”. Maybe so, but that sounds to me as if we’re lusting after some version of hetero “normalcy”, and that fits in poorly with my actual experience. We outclass the pedestrian normative without even trying. That’s truly the wonder of the gay gene, not any penchant for window treatments.

The old concept of the Gay Ghetto is becoming a quaint anachronism like drop-in VD clinics as we have carved out safely fabulous swathes in entire cities. There is no longer any reason for us to stay huddled in basement bars in the West Village or locked away in precious parlor-level rehabs when we have resurrected entire municipalities. Gentlemen, you are now free to roam about the cabin.

As a youth, I followed the scent of Paco Rabanne and Chanel for Men to the various enclaves favored at that time. We moved our Roseville collections from Beacon Hill and Back Bay to the Fenway, then finally to the South End. We left a trail of renovated duplexes and roof decks everywhere we went, to be priced out by growing throngs of Yuppies and empty-nesters who’d somehow never seen the charm of those places until we’d finished with them. The flower boxes were barely planted before the rents had doubled and our sleazy hangouts had been gentrified into boring coffee shops or brass-trimmed fern bars.

And we’re taking our act on the road. Fort Lauderdale is quickly becoming a locus of attention for freezing fags everywhere, and certain gay neighborhoods like Rio Vista and Victoria Park have already flipped over faster than a twink with a plumber in the kitchen. We’re still light-years behind the Northeast in producing any great culture, but at least I know where to get croissants that taste like they came straight from a boulangerie in the shadow of Sacre Coeur. And I find that comforting even as the Russian mafia and breeding Eurotrash have taken over South Beach, leaving it to Kristen Bjorn models and confused Chicago tourists clutching their outdated Damron guides.

5 Comments:

At Wed Jul 27, 07:08:00 AM GMT+10, Anonymous Y'ol Cowboy said...

All of your latest contribution is totally correct, and true. One of the reasons that the Gay community has been able to survive in this very antagonistic society. On the one hand, you have Queer Eye For The Straight Guy, and on the other, total contempt for anything Queer.

You fail to recognize the humanity, and utter sensitivity that the rural Gay has lent to the heartland. While not as concentrated, or as obvious in their affect on the "country neighborhood", silently but steadly, the effects of the true "Country Cowboy" with his Levis/Wranglers painted to his svelt and toned body, have laid waste to many a rundown farm and country town home. Many have been turned into stunning examples of the true Western push of the mid to late 1800's in ways that many a grey haired church lady finds truly heartwarming.

So, don't leave the country queens out, for they are doing their part, but not in such confined quarters as Boston and Ft. Lauterdale. And,... there is little that can really make the human phalus harder than a really good fuck, while in the middle of "Big Sky" country, riding naked, in the mountains of the middle of this great country.

Just an observation.

 
At Wed Jul 27, 07:50:00 AM GMT+10, Blogger Matty the Damned said...

Hi Cowboy!

Queer Eye is shit isn't it? That's a theme I'm gonna explore in the not too distant future.

I'm a country fag and I don't think that Bucko's article fails to recognise the "sensitivity that that rural Gay has lent to the heartland."

In fact I've NEVER lived in a metropolitan area only rural and regional centres and such communities can be stifling places.

But rest assured whilst I am here the Hillbilly Homos will be recognised for doing their bit.

Thanks for popping by and do come back!

MtD

 
At Wed Jul 27, 12:07:00 PM GMT+10, Blogger Bucko said...

Thanks for your comments, y'ol-

I went for an urban theme because it is what I know, and I only write about my experiences and how they have contributed to the guy you are reading today. I will say that my four years spent in the hinterlands of Connecticut, while domesticated, were hardly noteworthy. Should I care to devote a post to the charms of puppy training, the quest for the perfect carpet garden or developing a truly first class compost heap, then I shall draw on those times. Otherwise, it must be said, Bucko had to go on vacation to Montreal, Toronto or Miami in order to be really queer.

That's not to say that I in any way denegrate your experiences, I simply can't relate.

Bisous,
B

 
At Wed Jul 27, 12:07:00 PM GMT+10, Blogger Bucko said...

Thanks for your comments, y'ol-

I went for an urban theme because it is what I know, and I only write about my experiences and how they have contributed to the guy you are reading today. I will say that my four years spent in the hinterlands of Connecticut, while domesticated, were hardly noteworthy. Should I care to devote a post to the charms of puppy training, the quest for the perfect carpet garden or developing a truly first class compost heap, then I shall draw on those times. Otherwise, it must be said, Bucko had to go on vacation to Montreal, Toronto or Miami in order to be really queer.

That's not to say that I in any way denegrate your experiences, I simply can't relate.

Bisous,
B

 
At Wed Jul 27, 10:07:00 PM GMT+10, Blogger David said...

What can one say but we don't wish to take over the world....we just wanna re-decorate it. And dawling...it needs alot of work.

Citydwellers...The closest I ever came to be a cityboy was living in Atlanta for two years and New Orleans for two. Both experiences left me exhausted and completely gratified to the point of debauchery. A salute to the urbanites and their endless task of making nice.

 

Post a Comment

<< Home