Alright ladies, theys, and those who love us, it’s a wrap. Arguably the most popping weekend (and month) of the Spring/Summer transition is now past us. Are you exhausted from all the joy? Good. I would hope we’ve rested and reflected on our love for one another, the space we occupy on the land we stand on, and what feels good this past week and a half. Not like gluttonously good (that’s for Taurus season) but nourishingly good. That feeling after you eat something substantial, something with green and red and orange. What does recovery look like to you? Yes, from hangxiety, but also from strife, from a long Winter (holy shit did not think that would end), from struggle? How do we maintain? What does it feel like to overextend? Who is expected to do so?
The Monday before, I had no plans for Pride weekend, I knew things would just shake themselves out because New York City. If you’ve been here a while, you know I do this a lot. I made a conscious effort to rest, rest, rest and mostly play with pussy for pay to insure drinks for the weekend. The constantly stellar programming of the city has been hard to keep up with, but so rich, you really don’t have to. There’s several programs I’ve been granted the pleasure of being a part of that I haven’t even gotten the chance to publish yet, because the mind is slick trickster when the particles begin heating up in the Summertime (see: ERROR: *OVERHEATING*) and I just got back to having a desk after seven long months of being without. I would like to emphasize that I never wanna work in a coffee shop again, but I digress.
By the end of the week, I had confirmed plans to attend Papi Juice’s 12th Anniversary at Elsewhere, Dick Appointment at The Chocolate Factory, and a beach day, to close it out the only way you can (unless u went to Papi Juice 101 or Bodyhack, gr8 closer options as well).
Papi Juice is inarguably one of the juiciest BIPOC queer institutions we have as a collective right now. Gorgeousness seeps through every corner of the venue during all hours of the container, and the gorgeousness looks like you. As a Black non-binary Femme, it’s a hunt to find a space that names our prioritization and explicitly asks guests to prioritize how we are experiencing the space.
I was able to go due to the generous offering of free tickets to those who filled out a Google form and were selected by the organizers. Here’s a photo of my responses:
Now, we all know words aren’t worth much and haven’t been since about 1989. But most events labeled as queer will put a muscle gay as far before you as possible, because our community is experiencing a moment of extreme splinter, Miss Papi Juice is not one of those functions. At the #100, I had the pleasure of bumping into the illustrator of the Papi Juice trio, **insert name**, and I was given such a soft sweet look for someone who is a very cool and important person at one of the coolest and most (culturally) important events in one of the coolest and most important cities in the world. I’ll never forget a moment that I feel truly seen and valued. More of this please!!!!!!
The space fills all your senses with sweetness and candor, none of that Basement pretension, but we’re all still looking so beautiful (wc), and we’re letting it be known.
“You’re just fab, I had to let you know”, breaks through Archangel’s beats in the hall that leads to The Hall. I respond by pretending to be coy and giving the admirer a smirk. This weekend I was so pretty. I can count on my hands the amount of times I’ve known.
Dick Appointment had a fucking narrative arc. The friends I came with went home, and I proceeded to experience all of a relationship in that club. The introduction, the honeymoon, the resentment, the climax, and the departure. All this while Tia Corine and Yvesdropper and other sex symbols tried there best to pump the party up. Honestly, that function needed some serious help. There’s such a stark difference between Pride during Gemini season and Pride during Cancer season. I also think everyone is just so fucking tired from the month of excessive socialization.
The girl I met at the function had found 2 grams of perfectly packed coke that fell out of someone’s pocket (or something), so you know I was down to clown with shorty. It was good, and so, we shared. As it happens when drugs get involved, things shifted from there.
The Chocolate factory is…not my favorite venue, okay. The smoking section is like not actually fully outside and is genuinely the size of a closet. At the climax of conflict that initiated me and this stranger’s end, we go outside because she keeps saying it’s too hot (I keep telling her it’s packed, the whole building is gonna be steamy). I light a cigarette, because I am me and accidentally blow smoke into her face because I am me. She let’s out a gasp and b-lines for the exit into the club. Everyone, including Telfar Clemens (hi), is witnessing this. The weirdest part was someone I don’t know going “sorry Jupi,” as I attempted to take me and my cigarette out of the spotlight. Brooklyn is so small.
She still finds me on the dance floor and we dance more, but eventually, we just get tired of each other and split.
The Pride finale at Riis will stick with me for my entire life. Like do you see this?
I was picked up in Adder’s car. We grabbed some sandwiches for our day and headed out; Down Fulton, and then Utica, and over the Marine Parkway Bridge toward Our Little Paradise. The landmarks on the way always get me excited. Seeing that shiny diner about fifteen minutes out from the sand reminds my body what I’m headed toward. Soon enough, waves are crashing against my body as I grip my hat and shades to #PreserveTheLook. Everyone I’ve shared a club glance with all in one place, how lovely (it was easier for me to type lonely than lovely hate that)! There was flagging, the yellow kind, and attempts at shenanigans that didn’t exactly work out, but much of the fun of impromptu kink is in its attempts. We’re all closer because of it.
I felt like the hottest bitch on the beach, I can’t lie.
Most of my life I spent in a minimizer bra and a sweatshirt. To look back, and tell myself that my boobs are even bigger and saggier and I try to hide them even less would probably make The Old Me cringe, but it’s a good thing I’m not them anymore. Riis Beach is a sacred public space that continues to face attacks from our police/surveillance/plantation state. There are few places for someone like myself and those like me to exist without fear, and our current world order seeks to completely annihilate all spaces of non-assimilation. If you’re in NYC, consider joining the Riis Bloc Association to support your neighbors and community peace more broadly.
What I Read This Week:
Coming Out Like a Porn Star: Essays on Pornography, Protection, and Privacy edited by Jiz Lee
You all should know by now I love an anthology. This one platforms some heavy hitters in the industry in service of them sharing their stories of “coming out” and what that means for them and the ways they walk through life
Porn: An Oral History by Polly Barton
Journalistic juiciness in the form of questions posed to ordinary folks about the art and media that shapes an unignorable portion of our lives
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