Category Archives: destroying the shackles of heterosexuality

asshole

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I had just bought a perfect Vol De Nuit vintage boxed extrait; an imperfect Infini; a Kenzo deodorant stick ; and my first ever full bottle of Rochas Byzance

 

(Burning Bush is already desperate to wear this musky, tuberose tribute to Poison and Ysatis)

 

 

 

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[pre- Covid Cabaret,on stairs, last Sunday}

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{ – the shit heap where D parked his bike today }

 

 

 

– and had met D after work for shenanigans.

 

 

 

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Admittedly, like the British louts we probably are, we were drinking a can of surreptitious lager down an unfamiliar street in Kamakura post work

 

 

 

 

 

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– minding our own business near the mossy steps of a closed down library and what looked like a decommissioned school.

 

 

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When rude old Japanese men approach and start speaking their version of English, clearly egging for an insult, I usually try to avoid them : run a  mile. Naturally, as with any segment of society, there are ‘good apples and bad apples’; and people are generally so dignified here that they would never intrude on your personal space in the first place.
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{ sometimes I think it would be most amenable to just be able to transform into BB in the split hair of a microsecond to scare away mouldering bigot invaders without having to endure their intolerably stupid and impolite versions of conversation }.

 

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( a truly groanworthy pun, but this bakery DOES do a delicious brown spongy loaf ).

 

 

Anyway, if this kind of thing hadn’t happened before. I wouldn’t say anything; just laugh it off as ‘amusing.’ However, moronic, othering interactions are legion here, as I am sure Michael and Emma will attest. D is too polite to ever say anything : I tend to cut these assholes short with my sharp, seething snake tongue.

 

 

ASSHOLE (A) ‘ America ‘?

Neil and Duncan ( ND) ( ….. already extraordinarily bored as two minute complete failure to communicate ensues; English not understood; Japanese not computing, as is often the case : the disbelief that the foreigner could possibly be uttering words in the native language).

 

The UK.

 

England.

 

 

( A) : ?

?

 

 

ND :   Igirisu.

 

 

A : Aaah, England. I have been to your country three times

 

 

( Neil Chapman, incredibly bored; eyes rolling into the back of the hollow sockets ;  speaks in low tones, knowing what is coming, flat as a pancake )

 

 

: oh really how was it

 

 

A :

 

 

Are you drinking Japanese beer ?

( looks at Kirin and Sapporo cans of beer ; peepholes register recognition of domestic brand ie utterly pointless comment)

 

 

ND ( politely praising brewery companies, even though we actually rate them VERY low compared to other countries: Japan is definitely near the bottom internationally in terms of beer, but what is a boy to do ? )

 

( slightly raised, optimistic voice in order not to offend )

 

 

in unison, like the twins in the lift in The Shining

 

 

YES. IT’s VERY NICE.

 

 

A :

 

English beer is terrible . Warm !

German beer is so much better !!!

 

 

(Shelley Duvall and Jack Nicholson ; )

 

 

YES ( demurring with fake laughter ):

 

Mild, Bitter, etc but there are also

 

ASSHOLE CUTS IN TO DUNCAN’s SWEET REPLY

 

 

– –   and the food is very

 

 

 

LOW LEVEL.

 

 

 

So simple ! Not delicious, like France

 

 

( Burning Bush starts murmuring within, dreaming of whirling machetes )

 

 

 

ND ( bored to death )

 

 

 

– staring out like slugs in slime

 

 

 

……..

 

 

 

A:

 

 

But your country does have one good thing

 

 

 

( four eyeballs stare out like cold boiled potatoes willing the intrusive cretin away)

 

 

 

whatisthatthen

 

 

A:

 

 

Your country controlled the world !

 

 

Very powerful !

 

 

( yawning abysses itch their knuckles)

 

 

How long are you here in Japan ?

 

NEIL CHAPMAN:

 

 

THREE DAYS.

 

( unable to contain extraordinary Maggie Smith depths of irritation)

 

 

ASSHOLE

 

 

SO SHORT !

 

 

I hope we meet again

 

 

 

NEIL CHAPMAN

 

 

I HOPE NOT.

 

 

 

 

( Loping fool cycles off )

 

 

 

 

****

 

 

 

 

Obviousiy, this was not a particularly harrowing incident. It is just stupid. It’s fine. We have experienced it many times before. It’s just extraordinarily dull, and I look forward to that generation dying out.

 

 

It is not that I am the nationalistic type: that much should be obvious to anyone who reads this blog. The old fart is entitled to his opinions. I also prefer German beer on the whole, because it is utterly delicious, drunk cold from the bottle; though it has to be said that the British beer/ ale culture is a centuries old tradition, and there is every type imaginable, from chilled lagers to room temperature mild and bitters to craft beers, but anyway ; it is like talking to a piece of plasticine : an unthinking imbecile.

 

And yes : I also vastly prefer Asian food on the whole, but the tedious, so familiar put downs of British food are also very unjustified ( the point, obviously, is why does this asshole, like many before him, feel the need to say all of this in the first place to complete strangers ; why be so offensive ?)

 

 

The British Empire ? What can I say?  Practically every problem that is unfolding in the world today is connected to it ; I have never been an imperialist (and let’s not even BEGIN to talk about what happened in Asia with the delightfully kind Japanese Imperial Army).

 

The point is : all of this was completely unnecessary. By reducing us to a crude national stereotype this poor bewildered fuckwit created a highly unpleasant atmosphere that sent my blood roaring (WHY, asshole, WHY?!!)

 

 

I honestly can’t imagine walking up to strangers in the UK ( or here ); finding out what nation they ‘come from’, and then deliberately trying to rile them, out of the blue, with banal, and prejudiced TRIPE.Tripe that dribbled from this quivering fucktard’s lips like a drooling banana.

 

 

 

FUCK YOU !!!!!

 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

Naturally, I should probably delete this crass, unseemly ‘Black Narcissus Post.’ I might. This might be an on fire limited edition burning Bush. I can’t be arsed to go back and edit like I normally would; if there are errors blame it on the Creature. In the scheme of things, I of course realize that this is PRECISELY NOTHING compared to being shot to death, beaten; having a cold fascist with his knee to your throat placidly watching the life drain out of you in a callous, act devoid of common humanity. And black people get it SO, so much worse also here as well ( and let’s not start talking about China, where the current situation is HEINOUS in that regard – people running from African Americans when they see them in the street etc; legitimate foreign residents having to be airlifted out of their racist environs). I am profoundly aware of the difference. This was just an afternoon quibble. A tidbit. I brushed it off. We had a good old bitch about how tired we are of these ‘rogai’(or old assholes): it is nothing new. They can’t help their stunted vision; their reductionist idiocy ( I suppose, even though I actually think that they can). Still, they stain the air around them. All bigots do. All racists do ( seriously, fuck you). Grow a brain. Become human. Think. Philosophize. Realize the human condition. Learn that we all come the same shared DNA. Stop othering ( so fucking dull ; just TREAT PEOPLE AS INDIVIDUALS, WITH RESPECT. DO NOT LIMIT YOUR PERCEPTION OF THEM. DO NOT FOIST YOUR TEDIOUS PRECONCEPTIONS ONTO THEM; USE YOUR HIGHER INSTINCTS, NOT YOUR BASE ONES, AMOEBA).

 

 

 

Not that I wanted to talk to this dickhead in the first place, but you know what?

 

 

We could have had a perfectly pleasant conversation. It was a nice evening. We were loving the balmy Kamakura June night. The infuriating exchange was totally unnecessary.

 

 

 

 

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We had a lovely dinner, at that same Chinese place again. Packed. Full of young people. The atmosphere was thrumming and delightful, and the food was delicious.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After, we went up our beautiful local hill in contented silence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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POISON AND THE FLOWER OF DEATH

 

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The smell was too much. Vintage Poison Esprit de Parfum in the hair and clothes, and Rogue Perfumery’s Flos Mortis poured liberally on the neck and body. Sweet. Tawdry. But somehow perfect for Marc Almond, as I emerged from the karaoke booth as Burning Bush and we made our way to the concert.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Bottles were caked in face paint (I had neglected to put lids back on in my fur coat pocket), and both flacons emerged later as though through ectoplasm. Smeared with the evidence of the evening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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(  convenience store clerk encounters a creature she didn’t suspect)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The thing with perfume is that it stays on your hands, it stays on your clothes; it soaks up a memory while creating it. So the next day, the combined smell of tuberose remained on everything, in the kitchen despite of me, and Flower OF Death is now already quintessentially the smell of Saturday night. I have been overworked these last six weeks and really needed to let go; clad in uptight citrus the whole time  I was ready for something more outsized and ridiculous, more Soho Pink Flamingo, and it worked.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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(BB makes its way to the stage……….stage left       )

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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And although at first I was skeptical – the stage presentation, the volume, the choice of songs, the everything, after a while magic started to happen and I rushed forward to the stage even though you are not allowed to and actually sang Say Hello, Wave Goodbye with him AT THE STAGE ………………………….he physically handed me over the mic for the ‘goodbye’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Filed under destroying the shackles of heterosexuality, Flowers, for those who need to hide, Tuberose