Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

[Textual descriptions of erotica in this entry. Does that merit a cut tag? I didn't get too spicy, surely.]

I went to the Seattle Erotic Arc Festival last night with the Tickler. Wall-to-wall sexy people, of course, and it seemed as if I knew half of them and had to say hi. Yeah, I know SEAF is always like that to some degree for me, but last night it seemed even more so.

Worthy of note: fate kept putting me in the path of Burner chums, including a Beaverton campmate who I hadn't seen since '18 and the Swans. The Swans say they're going to The Thing In The Desert next year for the last time, and camping with Thunderdome. I'm considering joining them if I can.

But! SEAF is an art show, right? Faves:

• Otava Heikkilä, "Let Loose All Manner of Dark Perversions On the World". It's a day-glo devil girl, apparently one page out of a larger comic. My wheelhouse, right? But I balked at the price and I couldn't find a print or, indeed, the comic. Harrumph.
• Ayla Quelhorst, "Land of Milk and Honey". A photo of a bee on honey – on a woman's nipple. Yikes! And also beautiful.
• "The Moon and Her Girlfriend". I don't have the artist because there seems to be a mistake in the catalog. It's a painting of a zaftig young lady getting head from the crescent moon. I dunno, I just found it so charming.
• Nexus68, "The Blindfold". Yeah, it's a naked dude, but it's a really well done chiaroscuro naked dude.
• Sensualight Photography, "Rapture". I'm a sucker for color and dynamism.
• Zander Salander, "Confirmation". It's a realistic painting of a surgically constructed vulva not long after surgery. I don't really want it on my wall, but this one was personal for me.
• A series of embroidered women's butts in thongs by Birds Stone. Again with the charm and color.
• Sean Farrell, "Tea for Two". Tea cups in the shape and color of a (white) woman's naughty bits, one with rope-like decoration. I would so be tempted to serve tea in these.
• Jim Duvall's photo of a woman in a stars-and-stripes latex skirt with a stars & stripes background. I hear he's problematic as a person, but I grudgingly admit to liking some of his work.
• Meadow Intuitive Arts, "Ripe". A painting of fruit as vulva.
• Jadzia Quacks, "Just one nipple". I love the use of perspective and the stark lines. And I met the artist a few years ago in the likeliest of places. Ahem.
• Jordan Hill, "Gothapon". Uh, naked women in a relatively giant Japanese gumball machine? I seemed like a witty commentary on lesbian dating somehow.
• Sorrel F, "Autogynography". Is it a book, a taco, or a vulva? Who cares? It looks cool!

I guess you could say I had a good time. If you want to catch the last of it for cheap, today's the day.

Oh: I'm proud of myself for not wearing my Grand Nationals. I actually made it through the evening without severe pain.

Oh oh: The Tickler and Dancer have met. They want to gang up on me. Oh no. How dreadful.

Dancer took me to Georgetown, where I insisted on dragging her into Georgetown Liquor — the relocated Highline, which was Capitol Hill's vegan punk & metal joint — for dinner. I'm sorry to say that the Highline, which closed early in the pandemic, had considerably better food. I'm glad I paid for Dancer's dinner. I can't help but wonder if GL is getting squeezed by costs, or lost key staff.

But dinner wasn't really why we were in the neighborhood, far from our homes. Equinox Studios is, these days, a big old complex of artists' work spaces on the western, still-industrial-and-not-gentrified side of Georgetown. I think I was there for a Burner party at least ten years ago when it was a fraction of its current size.

It was a maze of art! And artists! So many paintings & sculptures & mixed media pieces! Chocolates in colors I hadn't believed possible! Fancy burn barrels*! Fridge magnets**!

Oh: Dancer & I met P, who I don't know all that well, and her daughter, who I believe has some connection to Equinox. I'm glad I wasn't there alone because the place is indeed a maze; I would never have escaped alive. It reminded me of the late, lamented 619 Western building, only less crowded — we got there a little late — and with fewer stairs to climb, which is a mercy because Dancer is still recovering from knee surgery.

Let me tell you, it warms my cockles to know that a place like Equinox exists. After the demolition of 619 Western for tunnel construction, and the gentrification of the old INS building, I wondered where all those artists had gone. Now I have at least a partial and reassuring answer.

Bonus: Black Dog Forge, which used to make absolutely mind-blowing wrought iron in Belltown, did not as I'd previously feared go bust or skip town. They just moved to Georgetown. If I had unfair amounts of money I'd use some of it to buy one of their bed frames.

Icing: as we were leaving, I noticed three giant golden eggs on the roof. Keep on keepin' on, Georgetown.

Equinox does their open house every second Saturday from about six to about nine. If you're in the Seattle area, do it. Nearest bus routes: 131, 132. The artists told me that next month they'll have food trucks and bands; I'm going to propose it to the Wendling.



*The Burner vibes were so strong I was resonating.
**Hey, mayunn, I needed a strong fridge magnet. They had a stegosaurus, my favorite dinosaur.

Dilemma #1: East Neighbors are a sweet young couple. I've taken care of their bins & mail while they were away, and they gave me a lovely orchid. Ms. East Neighbor has twice now planted plants juuust over the property line — maybe a foot. It looks fine; that isn't the issue.

But are they going to keep doing this? I just planted lavender not far from one of EN's new plants, and I'd like to keep other plants that came with the house.

They've expressed a little dismay in the past at the clover that I've allowed to grow. There's a lot of it, my yard waste bin is tiny, the bees like it, and at least before it stops raining for the summer it looks nice. I really don't want to remove it, and I don't want them to remove any more of it.

Dilemma #2: I'm not going to Burning Man this year; it starts in less than two weeks. But I want to go next year. I'm considering three camps of varying degrees of officialness that I might camp with:

1. Opulent Temple. This is where my heart is. I've loved their events on playa & off for over ten years. Maybe it's time I helped them do the thing. They're a huge group by )'( standards. I don't remember who was telling me this (Shiny H?) but apparently they've had an issue with sparkle ponies, i.e. pretty people who don't pull their weight. And they ran into money issues eight years ago, but those are surely resolved.
2. Local boy marc17 wants people to help keep his art car going. I know him, but not well. I trust him not to be evil. It would be a very small group. Am I ready to deal with the concommittant lack of stuff that official theme camps often provide? I'm not sure.
3. Camp Beaverton, yet again. I'm down with the mission of more & better sex for queer women. But camping with a bunch of dykes at least twenty years my junior is a constant reminder of how old and single I am. And )'( has gotten so large that even in '18 we needed about double the space to handle demand for our events comfortably.

To reepeat, this entry is not about Wave-Gotik Treffen. It's about two going away parties, both for friends who've fallen in love and are moving across the country to be with their respective sweeties, and the Mercury's 25th anniversary.

Shallow fashion details, one of which is relevant below: violet brocade corset from Dark Garden, violet accessories, black boot licker skirt from Gallery Serpentine, and the Fluevog Atria boots that I got for my fiftieth birthday. Yes, the knee-high boots with the rococo heels. I dropped a lot of money on rideshares yesterday because transit was not happening in those boots, and indeed couldn't happen to one of my destinations.

Party #1: The Purdy Persian roasted a whole piglet, dubbed "Pigcasso", and served it up with many other goodies on the roof of her apartment building. I'm glad I didn't listen to the Florida voice in my head and wore a coat, because it was windy up there. Honestly, I'm kind of glad I had an excuse to go, because a lot of the guests were tech bros or bro-adjacent. I wish the PP all happiness in New York State.

Party #2: R of J&R fame has found his lady love in Pittsburgh, PA. He located his party at a friend's house south of Seattle. Honestly, I had more fun here. Many Burners, and R trying his darndest to give away all his booze because movers don't want to deal with it. (I brought a bag and left with a couple of bottles, even though I'm not much for cocktails.) This one is going to sting, because R, for all his imperfections, has been there for me when I needed him. As I told Tacoma Girl, I'm 65% happy for him, 30% jealous, and 5% worried it won't work out. She expressed a qualitatively similar opinion.

The Mercury 25th Anniversary: Let me tell you how sweet Dancer is: she drove us there, and she brought a camping chair for me to sit in as the line to get into the Mercury stretched down the block. It was quite the sardine scene, on a level with membership drive nights. The difference was that old-timers who I hadn't seen in the Mercury in at least ten years showed up including the ever-dapper Graves and the Empress*. A of A&J fame dressed in silver sparklies because of course she did. Despite stopping by home to drop off the booze and take my boots off briefly, my feet were pretty trashed not long after arrival. I didn't get up much, but that's OK because we really needed a table bitch.

I gotta love it when Dancer asks me, "How flexible are you?" The answer turns out to be, flexible enough to put my boot on your shoulder from a sitting position. I made a spectacle of myself. That, Dreamwidth friends, is what the Mercury is for. It's also for getting flirted with for the second time by a certain lady M.

Oh, the Merc is also for rather strong drinks; Shiny G had something that I could smell from a couple of feet away, possibly poured even stronger than usual because the drink line stretched all the way to the far exit at one point.




*I'm the only one who calls her the Empress. Cyrus, Cyra. Get it?

I've come to the sad realization that it's a good thing that I haven't pursued going to Burning Man this year because my right shoulder is still messed up. Even a slacker Burn, which I'd really like to do sooner or later, involves pitching a tent in a place prone to high winds, getting hundreds of pounds of gear and water into and out of a vehicle, and then tons of physical activity when it's time to pah-tay.

The Tickler was telling me to see my doctor about my shoulder, and that's looking like a good idea. I do seem to have lost some range of motion; putting a bra on without turning it hurts for a minute.

I had a slightly dull week, followed by a brilliantly overscheduled weekend. (That's sarcasm in case it wasn't clear.) So I'll try to keep this short enough to finish before the Tickler arrives.

On Thursday while out grocery shopping I ran into plantae! I invited her over to the Devil Girl House, after of course warning her about the devil girls on the walls. She came over and... drank nothing because nearly everything I have to drink is either caffeinated or alcoholic. But it was lovely! There have been no more MOOer gatherings since the start of the pandemic; that was where I usually saw her. And then she had some capital-I Issues with her health. But then I moved into her neighborhood! She's one of these people I don't really get, but like a lot anyway.

Friday at 1400: XBB COVID shot.
Friday at 1715: My first hair appointment with razorbits for the first time in twelve weeks. (I was a jeenyus and scheduled my previous appointment during Folsom.)
Friday at 2100: The Mercury withack_yeahright! She had all kinds of info about Treffen – she says to get lodging now, now, now, unfortunately. She also had Burning Man plans which I might even be tempted to join in on. And she had all sorts of juicy tidbits about her trashy ex and his girlfriend. To my surprise and delight, I didn't have too much to drink, introduced her to Lost Lake, and got home on the bus around 0100. I've invited her to the Devil Girl house next month, and we're going to hit Portland together in January. Awesomeness.

Four hours' sleep later, it was time to get sugared a week late – sick kid – then get the balance of my sleep and finish cleaning house.

Whew!

It should be a fabulous evening and brunch (?) with the Tickler. Watch this space.

Got sugared. Dressed slutty, including new silver Fluevog Monza heels. Met the Tickler at my place. Took transit to Capitol Hill.

And did many of my favorite things.

• We hit the street fair on Broadway, and I got a witchy necklace from Sigil. Note: I am not at all witchy; it was just that cool a necklace. Check out her shop on Etsy.
• Ran into T, the woman who long ago plugged me into the goth scene, LJ, etc. The three of us got sushi. This wasn't the first time T had come across to me as awfully lonely. I can relate, but sometimes it's... a lot. I confess to a little relief when she went her own way.
• Boba. The Tickler is seriously into it, with all its variations.
• Hit the Wildrose, which seemed to take a while to get going due to a) the Dyke March, and b) the cough-inducing cover charge. But the Tickler and I ensconced ourselves where we could see a lot, and we acted like, as they put it, "Statler & Waldorf, only positive". That was a lot of eye candy, with respectable variety. I didn't do as much talking to strangers as last year because I had the Tickler there.

We got back to my place at a reasonable hour and crashed. (I wasn't expecting this to be a play date.) I woke up at 0700. The Tickler woke up at 1015. They went home because they weren't feeling physically up to the parade or the Seattle Center crowds. I was, natch. Since I got there after noon, the parade crowds were several people deep. I bailed on that and walked to the Seattle center. I said hi to my favorite non-profits, saluted some furries, saw and was seen, and ran into some Space Virgins.

Alert, longtime readers may recall that the Space Virgins were the first Burning Man theme camp I ever camped with. I hadn't seen any of them in a while, so I hung out, got one (1) beer, and talked. Patty Cole, the founder of the Space Virgins, is 76 years old. That goes a long way toward explaining her disinterest in going back to the playa: it's harsh. If I go back, I don't think I'm going back with the SVs. They seem to have lost a lot of steam as a group.

Walked around a bit more. Took the bus home. Crashed again.

It's worthy of note that at least on Capitol Hill, I didn't see any of the usual nasty, churchy, fashy protestors, and there were precious few if any at the Seattle Center, swarmed by queers holding Pride flags in front of them. Did they get bored? Or did COVID kill them all? Either way, I seem to be the only one who even noticed their absence.

I went downtown this afternoon and got my third (Shhh!) COVID-19 booster plus my flu shot. I'm a regular pincushion. And the COVID booster? Is one of the new ones that protect against omicron variants. At least this time I didn't have to bend any rules to get it when I did: it's been five months since my last booster, and it's been more than 90 days since I was infected. We shall now see to what degree these two shots kick my butt. I hope it isn't too much because I need to do an epic house clean tomorrow before my date with the Tickler on Saturday.

While I was down there, I walked to REI to see if the bike headlight I ordered last month had come in for pickup. It had not. There's been some SNAFU. Fear not: I picked up another light at my local bike shop because I, you know, don't want to die. But having two would be useful, especially for Burning Man. And yes, I'm strongly considering going next year.

It looks as if Burning Man is returning to the playa next year. Because I don't live in the Bay Area and I'd like to, you know, stay employed, that means I'm faced with a choice: Burning Man, which is the week that ends on Labor day, or the Folsom Street Fair, which is the last weekend-and-a-few-days-prior in September.

Pro Burning Man:

• I will have not been there in four years, which is the longest I've been away from the playa since '07.
• Beautiful landscape. I miss it.
• Camp Beaverton is gearing up. They have a retreat in early February, and I'll be able to Zoom in.
• I've been plotting my revenge against the Burn itself for messing me up physically and emotionally in '18.
• I have a funny feeling that I may want to see it again before it's gone, for any of several kinds of gone.
• Anything can happen and it usually does.

Pro Folsom:

• I have multiple people who want to spend time with me down there.
• Beautiful kinky people. I miss them.
• It's way more comfortable, let's face it.
• Certain... activities are certain to happen. To me.

I have to make up my mind relatively soon because Burning Man tickets typically go on sale in January. Booking lodging in San Francisco for Folsom should probably happen at about the same time, if I'm honest.

It all started with a change in the guest list: the coven accepted my invitation early on, and La Fashionista told me she'd bring a date, and La F's ex R had other plans. Since six is a crowd here in the Devil Girl pad, I regretfully told a couple of usual guests that I didn't have room, but I invited bork, who's another usual suspect.

But then I found out that R's plans fell through. What I said to La Fashionista was, "Arg! [...] Six is a tight fit. If he's coming alone, it's cool." Everyone involved knows what this place is like with six people inside: a sardine scene. Even five is pretty snug. I assumed that R was showing up regardless. He did not. I was relieved, to tell you the truth.

Oh: my bathroom light switch stopped turning on just hours before the start of dinner. But I'm a Burner chick, and therefore I have LED camping lanterns. Time for the maintenance request mambo.

So! I made stuffing and got the bird in the oven. And then people started showing up. La Fashionista's date J looked fabulous in what I must say is the most revealing outfit I've ever seen at a Thanksgiving dinner. Legs for days, as they'd say in London. Not that I mind, and I find J perfectly charming and nun-approved. La F, J, and of course yours truly gothed it up. Tacoma Girl was true to her punk rock self in a wacky sweater. bork was, well, bork, complete with a tale of witnessing an assault in the ID on the way here. I never thought I'd hear him speak well of the police.

Eats got eated! I really should have asked somebody to bring a veggie, but aside from that, everything was right on. Tacoma Girl's sweet potatoes and intensely garlicky mash were, in my opinion, the stars of the meal. I did not mess up the turkey, but it took me a while to get that confirmed.

( Gross body stuff. )

All in all, though, I declare that Goth Friendsgiving, a torch passed from cupcake_goth to jengalicious to me, is relit, small as it may be now.

Oh, tonight's plan? The Monkey Loft. Funny Lady bailed on me because she has a cold. K has other plans. The Tickler has anxiety. How to find a good home for that second ticket? Time to start pinging raver chums for the next couple of hours.