Our Vaudeville

A memoir of James Broughton

by Bryan R. Monte
Unlike the other writers Ive mention in this memoir series, I do not
remember the first time I met James Broughton. I do however, remember
two of the last times I saw him. One was captured in a photo by Rink, the
well-known LGBT photographer at the OutWrite! writers conference in
March 1990 in San Francisco in the 4 April 1990 edition of Outweek.
James and I are in a closeup profile, with the caption: Dangling
Part(iciple)Poet Bryan Monte is embraced by poet/filmmaker James
Broughton. The second recorded on a receipt from a Different Light
Bookstore dated 11 November 1991 for a copy of Broughtons Androgyne
Journal and a notice of his reading the same evening.
Compared to five other writers, with whom I corresponded during that
period, my missives to James were the most frequent and voluminous.
Between 25 September 1985 and 2 November 1992, James sent me 18
letters or cards and sometimes books, whilst I (according to the Kent State
University Special Collections where James later correspondence is kept),
sent James ten communications in the form of postcards, letters and a
review of his tapes series, True and False Unicorn and other poems, Songs
from a Long Undressing, Graffiti from the Johns of Heaven and Ecstacies.
I dont know if Id met James when I lived in San Francisco the first time
between 1980-84. I had certainly heard about him through Steve Abbott
who told me about a boat cruise with a select group out on the Bay to
celebrate James and his partner, Joel Singers union. Id certainly read
James poetry while working at the Small Press Traffic and Walt Whitman
bookshops September 1983 to June 1984, both of which stocked his books
of unabashedly gay, Whitmanesque, naked, cosmic, hippie poetry.
As far as I can determine, the first piece of our correspondence was a plain
white postcard he sent dated 24 Sept 1985. I was then in the second year of
my Masters degree in creative writing at Browns Graduate Writing
Program. On this card, James wrote that he was surprised that I had
moved to Providence and that he got my new address from a copy of No
Apologies #4 which he found at Small Press Traffic Bookshop in San
Francisco. He was happy to see that I was still publishing gaily, and
wanted to know what I was interested in printing.
James went on further to ask if I had an address for John Landry so he
could contact him. (James had contributed a poem, as I had, to Landrys
Collision magazine/anthology). James signed his name with a extended bar
on top of the J and stamp with his name and address and, just to the left,
another stamp of a petal-flamed sun looking towards his Mill Valley
address. It felt like a ray of California sunshine in the midst of a cold, rainy
Rhode Island autumn.
At the bottom of the card, James asked: Do you have a copy of Ecstacies?
Either in San Francisco or after I arrived in Providence in August 1984 to
attend Browns Graduate Writing workshop, James had given or sent me a
signed copy of that book. In my letter of 20 November I told James I had a
beautiful, autographed copy. I also told him I was swamped with work
(writing poetry and putting together my MA thesis, working at the John
Carter Brown library cataloguing rare German books and preparing my
paper on the homosexual discourse in Fassbinders Berlin
Alexanderplatz for the MLA convention in Chicago that December.
I told him I was missing California. I wrote: I hope the sun is warm, the
air tingles with a mentholated fog, and that you sit reading this letter in a
eucalyptus grove. I also enclosed a birthday presenta signed copy of No
Apologies #5. I wrote that I hadnt been able to locate John Landry, but an
acquaintance at Brown, Natalie Robitaille, said she thought he was working
up at the Plymouth Plantation exhibit at the national park. I asked James
further if he was inquiring about the Collision anthology that Landry was
editing in which I had some poems also.
In addition, I mentioned that Id been a T. A. that summer for a film course
up at a boarding school in Massachusetts and that their textbook
mentioned James and his several experimental films. I told James: Ill
have to re-read your poems now with a different eye to see how you
manipulate your images from scene to scene. I also told him I had to sign
off because it was past 11 PM and I had a grant writing workshop to attend
the next morning to try to get an NEA grant to help fund my magazine, No
Apologies.
In a letter dated 12 December in response James said he had received the
copy of No Apologies #5, which I had sent him and that he had enjoyed
reading everything in it because it was lively and had a fresh tone.
He also wrote that he very muchwould like to send (me) some
material in January. He continued: I thought you knew had I been
making films off and on most of life. He sent a bio with a separate sheet of
his films that were available through a distributor. He reported further that
Joel and I are doing finehe is mostly making collages and I am working
on my memoirs before I forget everything. He ended the letter with All
my best wishes and tender regards, wishing me a Happy Christmas.
In his next letter dated 17 Feb 1986, James apologized for being slow to
respond to your good letter. (I dont know if James is still referring to my
letter of 20 November, or whether I wrote him another letter in between
that date and his writing. His papers at KSU do not include a second letter
from me). James had decided to submit some stories for consideration in
the next issue of No Apologies. (That would have been issue #6. However,
due to my financial situation as a working, sole-supporting graduate
student, I wasnt able to publish another issue of No Apologies). He sent
Two Tales for Fairies and wrote you can arrange them any way you
wish.
In the next stanza he mentioned he had notes of all kinds for a chapter
about the experience of my filmmaking. Then he asked if I would be
interestedon how I made I made my first films in San Francisco in the
late 40s and 50s? Futhermore he wondered if my readers would know
who Maya Deren, Willard Maas and Parker Tyler were because he had a
piece out at a cinema type magazine, which if rejected, he would send to
me.
I responded to James in a letter dated March 4, 1986 in which I thanked
James for his submissions and accepted his poems, Senior Scorpios
Foxtrot and Off to the Lifelong Races, and his film memoir, Mothers
Day Goes Off to New York, (which was currently under consideration by
another magazine), for No Apologies #6.
I continued by asking James how his stay in Hawaii had been. I mentioned
I had been a newspaper intern there on Maui a few summers before. I also
said that I liked his film memoir because of its metaphors which described
a screening location for one of his films as having the intimacy of a car
barn in Siberia, and in another place where he compared his film to
chamber music. I told him: Anyone who loves film should be interested
in this piece. I ended my letter by thanking him:
for your invitation to keep in touch. It makes me feel good to know that
people in the Bay Area miss me. I wish I could have been at your birthday
party. It sounds like it was lots of fun. When I return to San Francisco,
youll be the first person Ill visit. Take care of yourself and of Joel. Get
back to me as soon as you can if the Mothers Day piece is out of the
running.
Around Christmas 1986 I sent James a card indicating I had a job teaching
writing at a high school in semi-rural Massachusetts and that would be
discontinuing publication of No Apologies. James responded with an
undated card (probably from January 1987) the text of which read: If its
the last dance, dance backwards. probably meaning to review what Id
done and look back on it with pride. In any rate, I felt supported and
affirmed by James even though I wasnt able to publish his pieces in my
magazine. Inside he wrote: Sad that we may lose No Apologies. He hoped
that things would improve for me and that I could start over again. He also
asked if I would return his manuscripts.
The next piece of correspondence is my letter to James dated February 9,
1987. I told him I was able to locate his Mothers Day manuscript in my
correspondence binder, but not the MSS of the two poems I accepted. My
happiness at receiving James card was also continued in the next
paragraph when I told James I would visiting him the following week
during one of the high school vacations. It was the first time Id returned to
San Francisco since Id left in July 1984. (Id also go through three
blizzards in Massachusetts that winter before it was over). I told James that
while in SF, I would be staying at Ed Mycues and Richard Stegers
apartment near City Hall and to give me a call. I added a handwritten P. S.
and the bottom of my typed letter that read: Id really like to see you.
During that holiday, I visited with Ed and Richard and with Steve Abbott
and Thom Gunn. (In between I also looked for jobs in San Francisco
through contacts in the the Brown Alumni Association. I was warmly
received by a prominent SF hotel, a newspaper and a publication relations
company. Each of these companys reps. told me I would get a job if I
returned that summer. I had a memorable dinner with James and Joel and
Steve Abbott and Dennis Green at the couples 21st and Church Street
hilltop apartment overlooking the lights of San Francisco. Joel cooked a
lovely Italian meal, which I mentioned in my review.
Broughton poured wine and reminisced about his years in Paris and the
Beat scene in San Francisco. Present was also Joel Singer, Broughtons
partner and artistic collaborator, who created the cover photomontages for
Broughtons new poetry tapes. Singer cooked an exquisite dinner of cheese
gnocchi in gorgonzola sauce, osso bucco alla Milanese, and orange slices
mascerated in Grand Marnier.
The same evening, James gave me his new, audiocassette collection which
including recordings from his True and False Unicorn and other poems,
Songs from a Long Undressing, Graffiti from the Johns of Heaven and
Ecstacies to review. Either that evening or when I returned to
Massachusetts, I gave or sent James a copy of Neurotika, my MA poetry
thesis at Brown, which is included in Broughtons KSU papers. At the top
of the Neurotika MS is a handwritten note: 2.20.87 To James Broughton
and Joel Singer, Thank you for your gifts of laughter and joy. Good luck
and good health to you both! Bryan.
The pleasant memory I have of visiting James and Joel at their SF
apartment is reinforced by James postcard of his face in close up by Rink,
dated and postmarked 28 February 1987. James wrote that he enjoyed
my poetry and my visit and he hoped my listening (to his tapes) had been
productive.
I responded with a postcard dated 3.8.87. Dear James, I just finished my
second draft of my review of your tapes. I will do the final draft tomorrow
and TuesdaySteve (Abbott) should have my copy by the end of the week.
I also continued on a personal note writing that: I hope I can see you again
this summer. Depending on the job possibilities, I may move back to SF.
The West Coast isnt Lotus Land, its the Promised Land! If I hadnt gone to
Brown for my MA in creative writing, I probably would have never left. I
hope I can continue to teach writing (in SF).
On 1 April 1987, I sent a copy of the review to Rudy Kikel at Bay Windows
in Boston, who had just typeset Steve Abbotts chapbook, The Lives of the
Poets. I also informed him that Steve had sent copies to the San Francisco
Sentinel and Poetry Flash.
In my review I wrote that: Broughton is to be applauded for his return of
poetry to its rightful mediumoral transmission. I remarked to friend once
that reading poetry on the page is like trying to understand a songs melody
by reading the lyrics sheet. I continued my review by praising Broughtons
tapes for their versatility and musicality. I mentioned his The Water
Circle, which was set to a Corelli gigue.
I played this selection for my high school freshman, who were not the least
bit reluctant to join in with Broughton the second time around. I used this
poem as a springboard for their own poems about the natural elements and
the seasons of the year. Another poem I played was Mama is Gone. Its
soft consonants and vowels echo a childs lament.Broughtons other
Songs for Anxious Children, such as Papa is a Pig and Mrs. Mother Has
a Nose,are strictly for adults due to their subtlety and subject matter.
I concluded that: These tapes will surely establish James Broughton as
one of the greatest (and one of the most underrated contemporary
(American) poets.they will provide many hours of good listening.
I dont remember hearing back from Kikel about the review. Steve Abbott
was also unable to place it at the Sentinel and Poetry Flash. James got back
to me about a month later with an Uffizi Galleries postcard of Cranachs
Adam saying that he had read and liked my review of his tapes and wanted
to know if I knew where else it could be published. He suggested The
James White Review or The Advocate. He also invited me to dinner
another time.
A little more than a month later, James sent me a typewritten note dated 8
June 87 with the epigraph Garlic cures every infirmity/ except death
where there is no hope. Inside he wrote that he hoped Id had success in
placing the review because he thought it was valuable and essential
reading. And he added an invitation saying that if there was a festschrift
for my birthday next year, it or another piece by you, would certainly be
welcome.
On 10 June 1987, I sent James a postcard of View from the Pilgrim
Monument, Provincetown, Massachusetts. I thanked James for your card
of 4/28 and confirmed I did enjoy writing the review of your tapes and
that Ive sent the review to Phil Wilkie at The James White Review. I also
said that I hoped Joels show had gone well. I also confirmed I would
like to come back for dinner that Id be out on the West Coast again on
the 20th of July for about a month.
The next communication I received from James was on the back of a Pitti
Galleries postcard of St. Sebastian by Giovanni Antonio Bozzi detto ill
Vercelli. James wrote that he was delighted to see my review of his tapes
in the JWR. Praise and thanks. He also wished me well.
By January 1988 I was living in Silicon Valley and working for an insurance
company in San Jose. In order to learn the trade practiced by poet Wallace
Stevens and composer Charles Ives, I was required to spend one evening a
week in insurance classes for the next year and a half and to study at home
for at least two hours every night in order to pass the three, four-hour
written exams (included calculations which could only be done by hand)
for my general insurance certificate. As a result of all this work and living
an hours drive from San Francisco, I had to drop out of the literary life up
North. I received an invitation from James for the premier of his new film,
Scattered Remains, made in collaboration with Joel, at the Castro Theater
on 26 March 1988, but I doubt that I attended. On the back of the
invitation, James wrote his Good wishes. Later that year, in October,
James kept his promise of inviting me to his schriftfest when he sent me an
invitation to read at his 75th and Joels 40th birthday celebration at the
San Francisco Art Institute on November 10, 1988. For that evening, I
wrote and read the poem below:
Birthday blessings for James Broughton and Joel Singer
by Bryan R. Monte
A white house on the side of a hill
high above San Franciscos lights
holds the home of two lovers and friends
we gather here to honor tonight.
A house of Beauty, a house of Mirth
where Loves books are reinvented
cook, write, film, fuck, sleep
two lovers by Zeus cup demented.
A man and a youth they once began
almost thirteen years to this night
the young pupil and the wise teacher interchangeable
twin novitiates of androgyne delight.
For three days they stayed in bed
two lusty monks on spiritual retreat
and fed Loves thirst through sweat and tears
sweet nectars of their bodies meat.
They taught their hands to sing Hermes hymns
to fashion a world for lovers delights
and wrought in film, photo, word and deed
the lives we celebrate tonight.
May we be eternally as silly as they:
forever as blessed
forever as blissed
forever as full of life.
On the copy in the KSU archives, I wrote at the top: by Bryan R. Monte
11/10/88 and a personal note: Happy Birthday! James & Joel. I hope you
enjoy your new home up North. The audience howled with laughter and
applauded my poem, which was good. Just a few minutes before, though, I
had mounted the stage with knees knocking so badly I didnt know if I
would be able to stand up and deliver my poem properly to the audience of
nearly 300. It was good training. I was able to keep my nerves under
control and it gave me extra confidence for my Walt Whitman Bookshop
reading a fortnight later.
I invited James and Joel to my reading at the Whitman on a Friday
towards the end of November. In response to my birthday poem and my
invitation, James sent a postcard dated 17 November 1988 with a painting
of Shelly composing Prometheus Unbound in the Baths of Caracalla,
from a posthumous portrait in oils by John Severn from the Keats-Shelly
Memorial House, Rome. He said he loved my tribute, asked for a copy
and thanked me for taking part in his birthday celebration at the Art
Institute, which he referred to as our little vaudeville. He also said he
couldnt make it to my reading because he had another appointment.
At the reading, I premiered some of the poems Id written at Brown,
including the long poem, Neurotika, about sexual longing, the AIDS crisis,
and the probihitions against LGBT rights around the world with aural
backing from Brian Enos Ambience. On November 28, I sent James and
Joel a card with my best wishes. I told them I had had a good time at the
Institute reading and his birthday party and I that enjoyed his films
especially Window Mobile, Shamans Psalm and the nude interview series,
which Id never seen before. I also told him that my reading was quite a
hitthere were about 25 to 30 people in the audience and my Neurotika
piece caused quite a stir. I also mentioned that: I realize by now that you
may be in Port Townsend. I hope your mail is being forwarded and that
you receive this copy of the birthday poem, (and the picture of Joel I took
last year at your house at the dinner party with my friend Dennis (Green)
and Steve Abbott). Good luck up North and Happy Holidays.
In response to my letter I received a card with two men on a bicycle, one
doing a handstand on the handle bars, with the caption in the upper left
Please Stay in Touch with James & Joel and their new address and
postbox in Port Townsend in the lower left. On the reverse, James thanked
me for my delicious poem and said he would put it prominently in in
his archive. He also told me about his travel plans after Christmas which
included stays in SF in April and June.
During 1989, James and I dont seem to have corresponded. In September
of that year I moved up from Silicon Valley back to San Francisco and into
an apartment in the Mission at Valencia and 19th with a view of the
apartment I shared with Harry Britt at 20th and Guerrero from April 1983
to July 1984. Here I wrote my weekly news stories and scripts and
prepared questions for my bi-weekly interviews on KPFAs weekly
Wednesday night Lavender News on the Fruit Punch radio hour. From this
base (and my day job as a computer technician in SFs Financial District), I
trawled the Castro for the LGBT news alone or with photojournalist Rink. I
covered demonstrations, AIDS memorials, protests, school board
meetings, baseball games, art exhibtions, etc.anything of interest to the
queer community. Every other week I interviewed gay writers, politicians
or commentators such as Stan Leventhal or John S. James.
At this time that I also began attending poetry and prose readings in the
Mission, the Castro and Berkeley. I started my own weekly writers
workshop with regulars such as Donna Kreisle Louden, Edward Mycue,
Ronald Linder, Richard Linker and Andrea Rubin. It was Ed in fact, who,
according to my 11 November 1989 journal enry, told me about a reception
for James on Green Street and said that my invitation had probably been
sent to my old address in Silicon Valley.
My journal entry for that evening reveals clearly the happiness and beauty
that surrounded James and Joels lives and their willingness to share that
with me.
James greeted me wearing his ubiquitous pin-purple square oriental pill
box hat, a light blue scarf tied around his neck and a darker, blue
cordurouy shirt. He put out his arms immediately (to embrace me) . . . The
first thing he said was: Its a been a year since Ive seen you; a year
exactly. He was right. He told me I looked good. I told him him he was
(as) full of life as ever and as always, happy. He told me he worked at being
blissful every day
Joel asked me if Id like to go to dinner later and I said yes. We ended up
with about six people in our party: Hal Hershey, a Berkeley book designer,
John Carr, critic for the BAR, Michael Hathaway who hosted the party for
James that afternoon and, of course, James, Joel and myself(at) a
Japanese restaurant on Fillmore and Union. We sat upstairs around a low
table and I was on Jamess right hand. Joel described some Native
American ornamentation hed painted onto the side of their new house. (I
also heard that Joel is working on a series of watercoloursHe says theyre
in the style of photomontages). I asked James the secret of his longevity,
but he just smiled.
My training as a radio journalist gave me good training for my writing.
From the press releases, books and reading and event announcements, I
was aware of what was going on in the gay community. All this, of course,
was happening whilst the AIDS crisis was decimating the LGBT
community. At least once a month I announced the death of a prominent
man or woman I had known personally who had died of AIDS. In addition,
one quarter of my radio stories were about AIDS fundraisers and support
groups. I felt useful providing this information weekly to the gay
community. And it helped me hone my skills as a writer to go out and get
stories, sift the facts from the gossip or outright lies, and shape it into the
type of telegraphic language necessary for radio news. I soon discovered
that for every minute on air, I needed to spend at least an hour preparing
my script either at home or gathering information on location.
The next piece of correspondence I sent to James and Joel is a letter dated
January 6, 1990 from my Mission District apartment. I wrote It was a
pleasure to see both of you during your recent visit to San Francisco. I
enjoyed having dinner with you at the Japanese restaurant and listening to
James read at the Intersection. I hope both of you had a good holiday. (Did
you throw a winter solstice party?) I had a great time on Christmas and
New Years. On the first holiday, I went to the Fruit Punch party, and on the
second, my roommate and I hosted an open house in our apartment. I
enquired further about their welfare and asked if Joel is still painting
Native American designs on your new house? and How is Special
Deliveries coming along? I asked James when his book came out to send
me a review copy since Im doing 10-20 minutes of news, reviews and
interviews on Fruit Punch. I ended the letter saying that I was thinking of
travelling North to Port Townsend with Rink to visit James and Joel.
James responded about three weeks later with a This is It Syzygy Press
poetry postcard dated 26 January 1990. James wrote he had just returned
for the Yucatan with Joel and that he was working on the final proofs for
Special Deliveries.
The next time I saw James was at the OutWrite! Writers Conference in San
Francisco in March 1990. I covered the conference, speaking with Allen
Ginsberg in addition to James.
James Broughton and the author, OutWrite! Writers Conference,
San Francisco (March 1990). Photo by Rink 1990. All rights reserved.
In response to the above photo in the 4 April issue of OutWeek, James sent
me another postcard of a 60+ man logging crew standing on top or next to
an enormous tree trunk which it is strapped to a semi-wagon saying that he
liked Rinks photo of beauty and the old beast. He wrote would be
sending a review copy of Special Deliveries and would be in town for Gay
Pride at the end of June to read. He signed the postcard: Big Log.
Once again there is a gap of at least a year when James and I did not
correspond. During this time, I moved from my flat in the Mission to one
in the Outer Sunset from which I could hear and see the Pacific Oceans
breakers. Here I had hoped to get away from the problems of the City,
especially the AIDS crisis. A receipt from A Different Light Bookstore from
11 November 1991 indicates I purchased James Androgyne Journal the
morning of his reading, and his signature in the book along with the
message for Beloved Bryan. Rejoice in Oneness with Love. James
indicates that I must have attended, but unfortunately I have no journal
entry for this day, nor any memory of James reading.
Unfortunately, it was also at my oceanview apartment that my new
boyfriend, who Id met in April 1991 and moved in by July, coughed
through Christmas with pneumocystis. During the holidays, my new, next-
door neighbour abandoned his apartment to die in the arms of his family.
By February, my boyfriend was in hospital. Then one Friday evening I
came home from work and found he had moved out without giving notice
or leaving a forwarding address. In addition, the things hed left behind
were scattered around the flat, including a plant whose soil hed swirled
over the white livingroom carpet.
After my ex-boyfriend left, I kept the AIDS crisis at bay by teaching four
times a week after worktwice a week to Russian migrs out in the
Avenues and once a week each to technical writing students at the
University of California Extension and to my own writers workshop in my
living room. Previously this moonlighting had been contractually forbidden
by my daytime employer, but once the company went from 17 to 12 to
seven to five offices in four massive reorganizations in two and a half years,
no one cared as everyone scrambled to find new jobs before they lost their
old ones and their homes or apartments.
I remember driving home on night from the UC Extensions Menlo Park
campus at 11 PM along I-280 in thick fog. I was so tired I had rolled down
the window and turned the radio up so that the cool air and loud music
would keep me from falling asleep behind the wheel. I also remember
coming home one night at 10 PM, surprised to feel I was choking as I ate
my supper hot out of the oven only to discover I still had my tie on that Id
put on for work that morning at 7 AM. The death of my neighbour, the
impending death of a second ex- and the loss my job, all of this was on my
mind when I corresponded with James in 1992, one year before I was
forced to leave S.F. because I couldnt find a full-time job or combine two
or three jobs that would pay the bills.
The first missive is from James dated 23 January 1992 on James
Broughtons Port Townsend stationery and sent in a Holiday Inn
Aeropuerto envelope. He welcomed my suggestion that Rink and I visit
him and Joel up North, but he said he couldnt host us at the moment
because he had a family visiting for one month and some brutal dental
surgery the next. He also reminded me that it was a two-day drive from
San Francisco to Port Washington. He ended his letter with I love you &
send you my love & welcome too. Be sure to flourish. Joy from James.
I must have sent James another letter talking about putting together my
poetry collection because I received a postcard of a young man with a
muscular torso and legs holding a mirror dated 2 March 1992. It
announced a visit by James to San Francisco in mid-May and said he
hope(d) you are getting it (the poetry collection?) all together.
Then about a month and a half later, I received a flyer from James in an
envelope postmarked 16 April indicating his readings and screenings in
May. On the 14th James had a reading at the Art Institute sponsored by the
Cinematique and City Lights Books. The flyer also mentioned that besides
the readings, signings and parties, two of Broughtons films, Scattered
Remains and Dreamwood would be shown. James wrote a personal note
on the flyer indicating the precise dates he would be in San Francisco and a
telephone number in town.
I dont know if I saw James this time. I may have because I sent him an
update of my poetry collection that I had first sent in 1988. This Neurotika,
however, was twice as long as the first because it included my performance
piece of the same name about the AIDS epidemic.
James responded on 2 Aug 1992. He wrote I had packed a lot into my book
because he thought it was really two different books: the first poems and
the second part the prose paragraphs of the Neurotika section which he
felt is almost of a book of its ownan impressive picaresque elegy.
Broughtons critique of the poetry (first) section was that it: often
dropped words so the sense of the line is unclear He suggested I not
capitalize (the beginning of my) lines so it would be easier to distinguish
when a new sentence occurs. He reassured me, however, that: You have a
genuine gift for nuance and impression, for phrasing and shaping.
He also commented that he was a hard-hearted reviser of his own writing
and that he was now on his third revision of his memoirs. He advised me:
when in doubt, cut. Broughtons letter ended on an encouraging note:
You have enormous potentiality.
I responded to James letter on the 10th thanking him for your
suggestions, especially those concerning the (non)-capitalization of (the
first word in) my lines and for his encouraging words about the Neurotika
section. I also asked if he would provide a book blurb.
On November 2, I received the following blurb from James: Neurotika
does not belie its title. On the contrary it pushes sexual neurosis to painful
lengthsThe neurotic fear of sex that pervades governments and
communities around the world provides a concurrent theme. This is a sad,
savage, sorry chronicle.
By that time I had finished Neurotika, however, I had lost my job. I had
to choose between staying in the City and living from my unemployment
benefits and free-lance teaching (which, unfortunately, wouldnt pay three-
quarters of my expenses) and to self-publish Neurotika from my savings, or
pursuing my vision of a new life in the Netherlands, which I had had since I
was a graduate student.
I purchased an Apple PowerBook laptop and a journalist quality camera
and applied for teaching jobs in the Netherlands. Luckily, just after my job
ended in San Francisco, I got a job in the Netherlands as an Apple
computer system administrator and a substitute English teacher, which is
how I began my now 23-year stay.
From James I learned the ropes of writing businessboth backstage and
on stage. Through his correspondence and books, he taught me how to
improve my visual communication as well as my word choice. He provided
opportunities for me to create and present work, and, through his and
Joels hospitality, I learned the value of good food, conversation and
company. As a result of this, the time I spent with James and Joel were
some of the happiest and most fulfilling I experienced as a writer in San
Francisco in the 1980s and 90s during a very dark period for the LGBT
community.