Queer & Reggae

I've been learning to go out in Montréal.  

In my planner I had written: Reggae Queer! 9pm.  Salon Officiel, 351 Roy. No cover.

It's ten o'clock on a dark Sunday night.  I've been indoor all day, resting my foot and sending job applications.  It's a bit hard to get motivated, but I well know that there is no way I can miss this event...

Reggae + Queer?!  That's HOME!  Yes, those terms are tightly tied to my sense of identity. In fact, it's deeper even than that: those two words evoke images of such freedom...  likes sources connecting to ''the essence... like wells where I get to quench my thirst for pure and simple being-ness.  Reggae + Queer are two homes to my soul.

''Feel like dancing... Dance 'cuz we are free!'' sang Saint-Bob Marley.  

And in queer I do feel free, because it's the epitome of no-boundaries - or I should say: fluid boundaries.

Rue du Roy is not too far, so I decide to take a walk, hoping that a few people might already be at the bar when I get there.  There's something just so absurd about sitting on a stool sipping on a five dollar drink, waiting for a party to begin.

I tend to go warm up the dance floor pretty quickly, since my primary intention for going on is to dance.  With a few friends, it's not too bad to break the ice.  But tonight, I have no friends with me.

I came out alone, which is perfectly okay with me.  For Jah's sake, I've been doing it for five years now.  I don't see why I should change my ways and pass a good gathering just because I have the same accent as everyone else around me. 

Most of the friends I already have in this city aren't going out on Sunday nights anymore.  And they don't go to queer events either...  

I suddenly re-realize, that this is a crucial part of that subtle sense of alienation I've been feeling wary about.

''Looks good in the box...''

Tonight, it feels good to dress up by wearing a button-down shirt and putting on my running shoes. Those are the clothes I like to wear; I feel comfortable, confident, and even beautiful in them.  I'm not thinking about picking up the ladies, though it does highlight a strong yang energy, I guess.  In the end, it's nothing but another costume though, as all clothes are.  Tomorrow, I might want to wear that cute skirt I got before xmas.  But it might be too cold outside for that.

I'm queer; I don't want to deny or forget it.  The danger is there; you hang out with a bunch of hetero-normative folks for a while and you start feeling like them, you want to look as pretty as the other girls around you.  It seems that the other option is to dyke it out so it's clear what you identify as.  Or you might have a job interview and you feel the need to dress the part, to make a good impression, to fit expectations.

I just want to be myself, in all my fluidity and ... repertoire!  That's what I identify as. :)

So I decided I'm gonna have lots of clothes, so I can just pick and choose on any given day or night!  Costumes Costumes...

Sink-side Flirtation:
''I like your haircut.''
''I like your curves.''

Queer reggae wasn't after all particularly queer.  I met some people from Ottawa, some Montrealers, and a Mexican guy.  A beautiful woman was dancing in her wheelchair...
The music was aaawwwwwesssssommmmme!!! :)
It is Sunday night and I am dancing in between, San Francisco (flashbacks of those many Sundays spent at Dub Mission!) and Montreal, man and woman, Franco and Anglo, straight and gay, while the planet we live on keeps spinning on its axis, in the solar system, in the galaxy, in the universe...