So This Is How The World Will End: by Rick Castro 4/5/2020
Today I’m calm….
I’m enjoying the quiet and stillness of the high desert & Bee’s cabin.
Each day I take a section of my sanctuary and give it a good overhaul. I haven’t decided which area to tackle today. I think I broke the washing machine! I’ve never owned a washing machine, or any major appliance in my life. This washing machine is Bee’s, Sears circa 1970. Its very basic, but I broke it. The washing part still works, but the spin cycle does not.
I now have to remove every load dripping wet, and drain the dirty water by hand… you can’t get more rustic than that. When it’s sunny
I use line dry, (this is something I’ve always done even in Hollywood. I don’t believe in wasting electricity).
I use line dry, (this is something I’ve always done even in Hollywood. I don’t believe in wasting electricity).
By line dry I mean I use Al’s old chase-lounge, his old ladder, the railings on the garage windows, and my sister’s rod iron window guards as clothing lines. She removed last season when they installed air-conditioning. Can you imagine wasting that $$$ in a desert home? This is not Palm Springs.
Did I tell you my sister has her own “cabin” next door?
After Auntie Nicky’s find of the land back in 65ish, and Bee’s purchase of this land in 67ish, everybody in the family bought and built cabins in the area. My sister bought an already standing cabin, which I thought was quaint, but she modernized the fuck outta it.
My brother has his cabin, A’s Cabana,, (so tacky) one street down, my cousin’s have a modest place down the street, My uncle’s and cousins each have they’re places one street up, and my auntie Nicky has a cabin the size of a ski lodge down the street. Unfortunately the only inhabitants are mice and lizards. She passed in the early 90s, her place fell into a state of disrepair. Very sad… it looks haunted. I am the only one in the family that doesn’t own their own “cabin.”
My brother has his cabin, A’s Cabana,, (so tacky) one street down, my cousin’s have a modest place down the street, My uncle’s and cousins each have they’re places one street up, and my auntie Nicky has a cabin the size of a ski lodge down the street. Unfortunately the only inhabitants are mice and lizards. She passed in the early 90s, her place fell into a state of disrepair. Very sad… it looks haunted. I am the only one in the family that doesn’t own their own “cabin.”
The reason for this I mentioned on an earlier posting. Although my family didn’t disown me, as many GLBTQ’s parents have, especially in the era of my youth- 70s/80s. The more I discovered who I was, the more uncomfortable my family was with me. To the point of zero communication with me bro, and limited, if not downright superficial with me dad. This went on for….. 30 years….
I will tell you an amusing anecdote to illustrate…
Way back in the 90s, I was renting a house in WeHo, (my how times have changed)
I turned the main living room into my photo studio with completely bare silver walls, a nod to The Factory, and also great reflection for shoots. What I did have on display was my fetish photography, Bruce LaBruce posters, ( we had just started collaborating) and approx. 13 images by Joel-Peter Witkin, (I was his stylist, art director, assistant during the 80s) so my home was dark, as in goth.
About every four months or so, Bee would talk, (force) Al into taking her to visit me. This was an ordeal for me father. He really didn’t want to be in my presence. So on this occassion I open the door, greet them politely and summon them in. Immediately me dad has a grimace. He hunches his shoulders and puts his hands up on the sides of his eyes, like horse blinders. “Does IT have to be ALL over the ENTIRE house? Can’t you confine IT to one room?” I found this suggestion rude, so retaliate, “I’m an adult in my own home, I can place an erect penis on my front door if I want.”
Meanwhile Bee is looking at a portrait I took of Tony Ward in leather, (they had met previously) “ I can’t believe Tony would expose himself that way.. doesn’t he have any shame?” “well, I respond dryly, that particular photo sells for $500 and I’ve sold three.”
Suddenly they look again, like now it has meaning, not just homo-porn. The visit was uncomfortable, we went to dinner. Bee and I did all the talking, Al sulked.
A few months later it was time again for a visit from the parents! Al was already trepidatious standing on my front porch. Directly next to the door now hung my original John Wayne Gacy that I framed myself in lime green wood, (acquired from Gacy while he was on death row). Al looks at the poorly executed self-portrait painting of Gacy as Pogo the Clown, waving with the caption in a flat balloon,
“ Hi, I’m pogo the clown.” “Finally, me dad is ecstatic, some nice, happy art!”
“ Hi, I’m pogo the clown.” “Finally, me dad is ecstatic, some nice, happy art!”
So this is how the world will end.
copyright- rick castro- 4/2020
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