O Solo Coco

O SOLO COCO

I am Coco, here me roar.

The house is almost together. I still need kitchen chairs, preferably Deco, chrome, and red leather; and a quarter-priced Saarinen Womb Chair if there is one to be found, for my office; and a ladle; and some napkins–but Casa Coco is where it’s at, baby!

First of all, since Bob has moved out, the toilet paper now rolls over the top of the roll, as God intended, the toothpaste is squeezed from the bottom of the tube, Mack hangs hung over the mantel, Jack Radcliffe protectively over the delicate California Faience, and the rest of my muses radiate their furry warmth from the remaining walls of the house.

Reese has a problem with Mack’s appendage taking such a prominent place in the new decorating scheme, and strategically places a pillow on the mantel whenever he comes over. BC has suggested making a stand with a fig leaf to use whenever the need for propriety arises. 10-year old Reese and I have been debating aesthetics for the past few weeks. He’s convinced that I’m a pornographer, and resists my arguments about irony, context and beauty. (He says that I should be photographing him, “innocent Reese.” Now that’s irony…)

My new model arrived for his closeup on Monday. Perhaps I shouldn’t refer so obliquely to my complete erotic ideal. I’ve worshiped his likeness at Greek temples, fantasized about creeping under the toga of his twin in the Roman senate depicted in marble in the Capitoline Museums…

My Galatea…

Highlights of the weekend included a faboo Matmos performance on Friday. This dynamic duo presented a 4-channel video piece of a pretty boy slung over a man’s lap, ass in the air, being spanked–the sound of the slap repeated and processed and built into a head-bobbing dance beat. Spank me, Matmos! 3 other composers presented sound pieces that ranged from 50 minutes of scratchy feedback, to mesmerizing samples of sounds that faded slowly or instantly from the recognizable to the abstract, layered in a melange of cacophony and melody.

Mystery Bear was at the Matmos performance, and standing next to him during the 50 minutes of scratchy atonal feedback in the cramped unventilated space, I focused on the intoxicating sweetness of his smell. His arm hairs brushed against mine in soft contrast to the sound. I extended a single finger at one point, barely touching his forearm hair, my spine tingling, heart pounding, boxers rising…

Saturday I was treated to a faboo brunch with the effervescent Rootbeers, their charming friends, and Pat, Victor’s sweetheart of a Texas mom with the 10-gallon accent, and then swiftly back home just as another Victor whisked Davide from the airport to his new temporary digs in my studio downstairs. Now Davide is just about as adorable as Italians come, and that’s pretty dang adorable. He’ll be staying here for a while, so stop on over and say benvenuto! Sister Sue is also visiting. Good lord, this entry’s getting wordy. But hey, you haven’t heard from me in a long time, and I am sparing you the events of the past several weeks, so carry on, Gentle Reader…

Sunday Big Chris, Little Dave in from Sydney for a few days, and I, did (to use the Australian verb again) the gay parade and celebration. The Bears of SF were happy and bouncy and hot as, well, a truckload of bears. Then dinner with my brother and sisters, and dancing at Planet Big at the STUD where we hugged, bumped, and/or danced withKeanunear, Mamooshka and John, Kris and Truckerfucker, and Nick Dong. I wanted to take the go-go bear in the red jockstrap dancing in the cage above the dance floor home with me, but I’d be afraid to let him out of his cage. We were delighted to be treated to a private sex show in the back, which got kind of strange at one point, when Naked Exhibitionist Guy suddenly jumped off the lap of his poor would-be suitor and said something like “Don’t touch me” and took off. I didn’t think there were any breeches of etiquette to warrant such a disruption. We were pretty speechless. I mean, wouldn’t one assume when a person takes off his clothes and sits on a lap that it’s because he wants to be touched?