i know how stratified and mass marketed and catty the scene is. but we started out as misfits with only each other and music. we had no money. we stole the clothes that we didnt make. we dyed our hair with magic markers because manic panic most definitely did not exist. we bought doc martins at the original allston beat on harvard ave in allston 3 sizes to big because that was the only place you could get them and they only seemed to have huge drag queen sizes.i cant say how many times i had the shit beat out of me on the street. but we went on- we dressed up and walked to the club through all the violence and sneering and taunting.
we dressed in bondage gear and walked through the streets to go out, often many miles. we didnt get in our beemer with a trench coat on and drive to the door. we didnt have cars. we didnt have money for a cab unless you were willing to pay in other ways.we wanted to dance. we wanted to be with our friends who all seemed to work at the coffee connection in harvard square.i had my friends. i had my music. it's all i wanted.
i still dont want anything from anyone. my motivation for befriending people is soley for friendship. if i need to be defined to your personal satisfaction before youll continue to interact with me you can fuck off. i dont care what you think i am . i dont care what you want me to be. most people would be better served analysing their own motivations and desires rather than trying to seperate out those of others as if i or anyone owes you that- an explanation that's suitable for why we exist for you-when we've done nothing of the sort to you.
if you think this is about you- it just might be.
eve is one of the few people who have come near to completely cutting me to the core. it took me years to figure this out- something she knew instinctively. eve was one of the most amazing woman i have ever known-completely screwed up but a magnificent club kid- beautiful, always fascinating to look at. a great danser. the best eve story isnt a man ray story but a boy night at axis story.
upstairs they used to have these huge wooden barrels- like the kind whiskey is stored in. they were for trash. eve was dancing with some woman and a guy tried to horn in on the action. he got on his knees between them and was bobbing his pinhead around. eve's partner whipped his dorky pork pie hat off and sent it sailing across the room. he shoved her. eve, who was not a very large woman, picked up one of those barrels, filled with empties, and dumped it on his head in the middle of the dance floor. the needle skipped straight across the record spinning in the dj booth and eveyone just stood there in stunned silence. when i went to work at axis nearly 10 years later one of the managers said- "hey i remember you..remember the night eve dumped that barrel on that guy...? "oh yes the stuff of legend.
eve was one of the first people i knew who took a bousitere, cut the cups out of it and went to the club with her tits hanging out , no tape on her nipples. and no one dared fuck with her. where are the real women like that? theyre all just pale passionless imitations of the real deal.
eve tried to seduce me one night, a room away from her then lover who was my best friend. typical drama sounding action but its what she said to me about myself that floored me.her understanding of me surpassed even my own and i was left speechless and terrified, my jaw nearly in my lap.of course im not an asshole so i would have never done something like that to a friend but now, 20 years later i wish i had,not slept with her, but accepted what she said as being what even then i knew it was- the truth. how different my life might have been but i suppose at the time i just wasnt ready to deal with it.
i guess for me in many ways man ray was only a memory even when open for the last decade. a tangible somewhat ghostly past clung to with sadness as much as hope for ressurrection, revisitation. still, i cried on that sidewalk tonight. get out your handkerchiefs-were totally going to loose our shit saturday.