Interviews

10/11/2008

guilty pleasures II

i quite like some Bimbo Jones stuff.

It's awful, painfully, screamingly gay music that channels everything camp about disco, electro, every genre of dance music ever even funky house - which is possibly the most repugnant formulaic music ever made.

But I like it. I like it in the same way I used to secretly listen to the non-stop Almighty Remixes on the Queer As Folk soundtrack that I taped from the library, which i would listen to, absolutely ridden with GUILT. I'd use headphones so it couldnt be heard to anyone else but me. I felt guilty twice fold; it was a dirty gay faggy cd and is was cheap, generic lowest-common-demoninator electro pop music - all the stuff I listened to at this time was guitar based britpop.

And the other thing I've been thinking about, especially after a weekend of voguing in liverpool, is how i've been dressing up more on some nights out and what magpie tastes I have in loving anything with sequins on. And how abosrb guilt about dragging up or being too glittery. I love doing it, but I'm scared to do it more than i do, yet i've nothing inside me which feels guilty but every time I'm reminded of how its only okay to do it as a performance, as a OTT stereotype drag queen. (comment at the bar: "Oh you're so brave to dress like that" i couldn't get any explanation of of him aside that he'd probably fancy me "as a boy" ) and even work mates or flatmates gently police me with comments of 'you're so crazy' or making jokes about stuff i wear, but each time it's like traffic warden slapping a parking ticket on me. Subconsciously I absorb that I'm not supposed to park there. In public there is less gentility, like when buying a drink in my local corner shop the guy is so horrified by my glittery red nails its like he doesnt want to take my money in case wearing nailvarnish is infectious and literally drops the change in my hand.

anyway its nearly 2am on a sunday evening, i'm having a weird bout of exhausted restlessness and was drawn blogward... I'm blaming 5 hours on a train, then 7 hours in heels, then 5 hours on a train...

oh it's not finished. I've a birthday coming up, if you were wondering what to get me I want this:



NB: NOT THE CHILD. LORD HAVE MERCY, NOT THE CHILD...