Yardhog's Journal 1999

Trumpeter Ansyn Banks at Ear-xtacy concert.
photo by Danny O'Bryan

"I don't see how people can do anything at all without writing or painting or
something of the like, some excessive splash against the darkness. It's just
too damned dumb to sit and take it straight like most of them do. No wonder
people look, act, are do awful, awful, awful.."

Charles BuKowski


"Unless a man is continuously occupied in the creation of a form
material or intellectual modeled after the immaterial eternal form which he
either creates or perceives in his own soul...he cannot live alive, he's just
a dead object floating in space."


Allen Ginsberg's Journals

Yardhog's Journals 1999

Friday night I went to Bobby J's. I was sitting at the bar when a
young blond woman sat down next to me. We talked for a short while the band
played. All of a sudden there was a great deal of commotion in front of the
stage. An elderly man dropped like a dead raccoon in front of the band. A
woman started screaming. The bartender was trying to call 911 but all the
lines were busy. Soon, EMS arrived but the man had already gotten up and left
the room.

The blond left but not before inviting me to join her and her girl
friends in a booth in the front room but I declined wanting to watch the
action from my perch at the bar. All of a sudden there is a loud scream and
down the stairs by the bar comes a man and woman yelling at one another.
Throughout this madness the alto player in he band is wailing his ass off.
Two or three people jump in to break up the spat and the blond and a couple
of her friends return and start dancing in front of the bandstand.

I walked up to the blond and we started dancing, in her case jumping
up and down. Her girl friend introduced herself as Carol Yeager, a painter
who lives in Lexington. We had a nice conversation about California. She
lived there several years as a hippy.

Saturday night I went to the Sextacy Ball at Club X on Main St. Very
strange scene in the former home Murphy's Bar Complex. Upstairs are two large
rooms. One area was blocked off by yellow "Caution" tape. Behind stood
several domminatixes dressed in short black costumes, black nylons and high
heels. They all had an attitude. Nobody was smiling. This was serious
business. Soon the slaves were led into the room. Several not very attractive
men who were shirtless and dressed in leather shorts.

There were several wood crosses and stocks set up in the room and the
doms spent a lot of time tying their slaves to them. Mistress A was there
with a female slave, or so I thought. The she/he had long blond hair, nice
legs and a shapely ass, which the Mistress caressed liberally before applying
her paddle. I learned quickly that night I don't enjoy looking at men in
bondage. Nothing at all stimulating about it, at least for me. But young
shapely women being tied and flogged is quite another matter. Mistress A's
slave looked very appealing until she turned around and I realized she was a
trans-sexual or something like that. Definitely not a female.

I sat and watched this scene for an hour or two and could only think
of one word to describe it, dispassion. Despite the whips, the leather, the
semi-nudity and loud Xtreme music the word for it wsa dispassion. Neither the
Doms aor the slaves being punished showed any emotion. These were indeed some
strange sights. One young man was tied shirtless to a cross while a Dom
whipped his nipples, later attaching clothes pins. One of the women who was
anything but attractive, wearing a long shapeless dress was led into the room
by a male Master. He tied her to a cross and raised her skirt and used a
leather paddle to redden her back side.

Everyone in the room was dressed in black, including me in my black
suit, but I felt totally ignored, like a ghost, invisible. One fellow who
looked a little like Ron Whitehead, was dressed in an outfit that included a
top hat and a long coat. He had a large prosthesis of some sort on one hand
and was carrying a cane.

In one room they were giving bondage and s & m demonstrations. One
very attractive young girl in a very revealing outfit was all trussed up with
knotted ropes. Some kind of elaborate breast bondage.

When the Doms applied their whips they started out with light,
innocuous strokes, almost caressing their slaves with the leather. But
suddenly the rhythm and intensity of their strokes increased until the whips
landed with a solid SLAP! that elicited oohs and aahs from the crowd. The
next night I could still hear the sound in my ears.

Yardhog's Journal
9/20/99