Will spring sail in on a night wind? The lilacs, in spite of recent photos here, have yet to even swell their buds. We exist only in a lilac dream – the stuff of lilac fairies – the stuff of lilac fantasy.
Somewhere in Hollywood’s glamorous past a starlet strikes a pose of seduction, bedecked in lilac chiffon and not much else, while squeezing the fringed bubble of a perfume atomizer. Scented mist disperses like a sweet cloud of floral essence, invisibly traveling around the room, and she wears it like an ethereal robe.
Singing through the sadness, dancing through the madness – maybe a musical number is all we can muster right now, and maybe it’s an exercise in fatal futility, but let’s go out dancing, let’s go out living, let’s go out loving…
Let’s go out in lilac glory – on a Saturday night, and every night.
Be beautiful in the face of awfulness. Be beautiful in the face of ugliness. Be beautiful in the face of flying fucks.
Could beauty ever render hate into something meaningless and petty? Or will hate do that eventually on its own?
Isn’t the enchanting power of a lilac’s perfume more potent and convincing than any bigot’s vitriol? One way may be louder and more noticeable, but the other can more charmingly engage and disarm. You can catch more flies by sucking them off than a swift knee to the same nether region. Which holds more sway? Which affects more lives, more memories?
I choose to remember the lilacs.
I remember the hate too, but I remember the lilacs more.
You always have a choice in which memories you cultivate and which you let die.
A choker of lilac, a choke of lavender, a choker of amethyst deep and sobering – a rope of purple and prettiness intact, and it feels so good and looks so right you don’t even realize that it’s strangling you from the inside out – as if all those luscious pearls had slid down your throat and re-assembled themselves into some strand of beautiful asphyxiation.
Some men accidentally kill themselves while masturbating, trying to come close to choking themselves, literally, just to get an extra sort of high when they approach climax. I’ve had hands around my neck at such moments, so I get it, and to die at the height of ecstasy seems in some respects a perfectly marvelous way to go.
If you’re not quite ready to permanently depart, leave the choking to the pearls – purple and pink and pretty enough to do their work with the pleasure that comes purely from being beautiful, damn it.
It wasn’t long, long ago I fooled the guards, but someone tipped them off But all my cards aside, the bells still rang No charms, no claims No good for goodness sake
White asparagus is not just some variant form of the green spikes most of us know so well; it’s just green asparagus that has been completely starved and deprived of light during its growing season. That doesn’t mean it is less; in fact, it contains much the same levels of fiber and nutrients and all the good things that asparagus supplies. But it looks different. It’s been through more.
Oh, I don’t wanna run and hide I don’t wanna live a lie I?need the spotlight Like a bird inside a cage Exotic, but covered up with lace If what they say is true There’s no place for me and you But when I walk my walk When I put my makeup on Look at me, look at me Don’t you see your queen?
When mother left, the halls did cry As for the world, it went on like before But time passed, and the band began to play First, there was light, then there was sound Then all the stars came out
Some have warned that this is not the time to speak out and attract notice. Some have said it’s better to be silent, to take no side, to make no noise. Some have never even more wrong. This moment in history calls upon us to be more ourselves than we’ve ever been before. To boldly proclaim our right to exist, to live, to love – and to defy anyone standing in our way. Live and let live, or perish trying to prevent us from doing the same.
Oh, I don’t wanna run and hide I don’t wanna live a lie I need a spotlight Like a bird inside a cage Bright-eyed and longing for the stage If what they say is true There’s no place for me and you But when I walk my walk (But you better give up before you die) When I put my makeup on (Doesn’t matter who you are) Look at me, look at me Don’t you see a queen?
Too often we diminish ourselves, making our existence smaller to please others, dimming our own light as not to over shine anyone else. Fuck that. Fuck all of that in the most fucking heinous way possible. Skull-fuck it through the goddamn eye sockets of anyone who sees it that way.
There’s an empty seat That’s where you’ll find me There’s a broken heel That’s where you’ll find me If the sun doesn’t shine on you Break your glass and cause a scene And tell the world, just wait, you’ll see There’s no more time to cry when the crowd’s right there
While the Lavender Scare gave no reasonable or sane reason to fear gay people, the Lilac Scare is here to turn that on its head – because people should be scared, very much scared, very much afraid and very much in terror about what we will do when attacked. But do not worry too much – it will be done beautifully, it will be done fabulously, it will be done gorgeously – and you won’t even feel the prick of metal slicing through skin until it’s too late.
When I walk my walk And when I put my makeup on Look at me, look at me Don’t you see your goddamn queen?
It was during the mid-20th-century when something termed the ‘Lavender Scare’ was spreading across our great country. A ‘moral panic’ about homosexuality resulted in thousands of gay employees being fired or forced to resign from government employment. Branding gay employees as a national security risk due to the ignorant idea that we could be vulnerable to blackmail didn’t happen that long ago, and it doesn’t feel far-fetched at this present moment to think of something similar happening again. Look at all the persecution, threats, and violence that trans people face, some of it supported by the politicians in power.
I lost myself on a cool damp night Gave myself in that misty light Was hypnotized by a strange delight Under a lilac tree…
I made wine from the lilac tree Put my heart in its recipe It makes me see what I want to see Be what I want to be
Rather than repeat the Lavender Scare in these parts, this spring’s theme is a treacherous turnabout of the idea. This shall be the spring of the Lilac Scare – our own personal rising up against all the hate that once fomented the Lavender Scare, turning anything and everything on its head that might in any way be an attack on the LGBTQ+ community and its allies. The Lilac Scare is not some moral panic about the dangers of homosexuality – it’s a panic about the complete absence of morals in those attacking us – a panic about the hypocrisy of hate disguised as religion. This is a panic that will be instigated by the people who have been condemned and stomped on for so long that we are fed up and fighting back.
When I think more than I want to think Do things I never should do I drink much more than I ought to drink Because it brings me back you
This Lilac Scare Spring will be about the pretty, pastel, prim and proper lilac too, but do not be fooled by it perfumed beauty. People forget, or simply neglect to realize in the first place, how incredibly hardy the lilac is, how indestructible they can be with some lasting well beyond a century. They refuse to acknowledge lilac’s diabolical insistence on surviving and thriving and delivering magic and fragrant wonder every spring. They ignore the insidious way its shoots and suckers gradually strangle out a well-manicured lawn, and the stalwart, gnarled trunks each tree eventually develops as proof of its tenacity and testament to its endurance. They pretend away lilac’s ancient history, how it refuses to yield to time the way all of us must at some point do. They underestimate lilac’s power and potency, fooled by the sweet flowers and how seemingly benign they be in their fleeting duration.
Lilac wine is sweet and heady like my love Lilac wine, I feel unsteady like my love Listen to me, I cannot see clearly Isn’t that he coming to me nearly here?
They forget that lilac can be a lethal poison flower – not in any literal sense, we drink the lilac wine without harm, don’t we? – but in the way lilac calls to and captures those who happen upon its perfume, who sniff it thinking it’s such harmless stuff. Lilac enthralls with nostalgic childhood memory, spinning a sweet spider-web-like strand of silk that seductively pulls us back in time to happier, more carefree moments, lulling us with endless sentences and songs from our youth, and leading us to believe with exquisitely mesmerizing fashion that all is hope, all is possible, all is beautiful, and all is spring.
And then, sooner than its blooms turn to brown, sooner than its beauty begins to decay, lilac snatches it all away.
Precisely that for which the present moment is so desperately clamoring.
Lilac wine is sweet and heady, where’s my love? Lilac wine, I feel unsteady, where’s my love? Listen to me, why is everything so hazy? Isn’t that he, or am I goin’ crazy, dear?
Lilac sees your war, has seen your wars for centuries, and lilac knows how you are only sending your children to their deaths. Lilac sees your history, has seen your history for centuries, and lilac knows how your history is one of hate. Lilac sees all that you are doing, and all that you aren’t, in your silence, in your complicity, in your turning another blind eye to the deplorable criminals around you. Lilac offers its pretty perfume, its pretty flowers, and lets you have its beauty for only a moment, fooling you into thinking things will be all right, that things aren’t the bad, that spring will always come again. But lilac knows… and so do we.
This Lilac Scare shall be retribution for the Lavender Scare. We’re better than you, we’re stronger than you, and we no longer fucking care. I’m ready for the fight, I’m ready for the battle, I’m ready for the war to end the hate once and for all. Above all else, I’m ready for the love – the love that dares to speak its unabashed name for the entire world to hear. Love that has yet to be vanquished. Love that has yet to be defeated. Love – and only love – that shall last.
Lilac Wine, I feel I’m ready for my love Feel I’m ready for my love
Our Winter Obscura comes to a close tonight. When I think back to the very first day of winter, it feels very far away. Those first few days passed slowly, but it would actually get slower as the season waned, and the sustained cold and growing snow cover grew more unbearable. Something told me this would be a winter of obscurity, something said so in the stars, so I gave myself room for that, room for the unresolved, room for the confusion, room for not knowing. When you begin to acknowledge that you may never know, you come closer to the truth.
Rather than recap every blog post of the winter (those days are done) I’ll give you the highlights – though if you’re anything like me you won’t be revisiting this winter anytime soon.
Grogu at the Oscars is the energy and attitude I will be bringing into the spring season.
Now, I haven’t seen any Mandalorian shows, and I don’t even think this is the baby Yoda (just the same species?) so if this creature is not someone to emulate, pretend this post never happened.
This post should come with a profound and poignant quote about the end of winter, something that speaks to a new beginning, the restorative power of a winter spent fully focused on slumber and rest, but you’ll have to Google elsewhere for that, as I got nothing.
So much of this season was spent in obscurity and shadow, encased in the darkness of snow and ice, and not even granted any semblance of a January thaw. All we could do was go through it – inhabit the cold and dark, and just keep on going through it. This winter made us work in that way, so it didn’t exactly feel as restful as I would have liked. Winter work can be maddening when all you want to do is sleep and be silent. Still, we went through it. We got through it. At the end of winter, sometimes that’s the best you can do.
Thought I have yet to encounter anyone who truly enjoyed the recent ‘Wuthering Heights’ adaptation, I know plenty of people who appreciate a shirtless view of Jacob Elordi.
Just as I was mulling over which Louis Vuitton fragrance to request for a possible wedding anniversary gift (the heart is currently drawn to ‘Meteore’), Tom Ford’s company releases something that speaks to so many of my comfort and crave zones. See and sniff the sun-kissed brilliance of their latest release ‘Taormina Orange’.
A natural offshoot of their summery Portofino line, this one sounds like it has all the makings of a happy summer dream. A few of my favorite Ford fragrances are in this freshie vein – the original ‘Neroli Portofino‘, the exquisite ‘Mandarino di Amalfi‘, the spicy ‘Costa Azzurra‘, and the emotionally-weighty ‘Azure Lime‘ come to mind.
While my preference is for more potent bottles when it comes to the Tom Ford price point, I forgive a lot once the calendar turns to summer, and no one wants a clingy, cloying perfume to stick to the skin during the sweaty season anyway.
With its blood orange center and promised bitterness to take the sweet seas, the note palette here touches on some of my favorites – from cardamom and orange flower to earthy oak moss. As with most fragrances, just because all the listed notes align with scents I love, that doesn’t mean that they will make beautiful music together; this one could sway cloyingly wayward, or the blood orange might veer off the path of pleasant – all of which means I’ll be sampling this before requesting or purchasing it myself. We don’t have the financial fortitude to blind-buy anything these days.
That said, I’ll be clearing space on the Tom Ford shelf of the cologne cabinet just in case.
It’s been a hot minute since we crowned a Dazzler of the Day for purely superficial reasons, but it may be time for this silly and superficial blog to get back to its thirsty roots. Enter Max Kramer, a male model recently featured in the Dietz underwear campaign. That’s all, and that’s more than enough.
It has come to my attention that ‘Gaelic’ means something totally different than what I assumed all these crazy years. (Turns out not everything is about being gay – whoopsie daisy!) So on this day of shamrock shakes and pots of gold and little bearded green-suited men, here’s some music by Tulua, and a few pics of green heaven.
My one and only visit to the Emerald Isle was an enchanting one, and I still recall a very specific brush with the sublime there (and the eloquence I earned from making out with the Blarney Stone).
May your day be filled with magic and luck and all the charms.
Fresh off his Oscar-winning performance in the should-have-been-Academy-Award-winning-film ‘Sinners’, Michael B. Jordan fulfills a long-promised crowning as Dazzler of the Day first so salaciously teased about in this scintillating post. It’s been a long time coming, as this tease will also attest.
