BY STEVEN BENSON
{ pictures to come, if I can wade through the techno unhome}
Eurovision popped up
The Pride House was a pop up
Home-for this homo-was moot/liminal, as usual{I cannot even fix on a tone or style here}
A new neighbour-Godsquad-moved in; the fear of the unknown{the church-of which she was a member-was homophobic}; she “gave out” leaflets to coax us, then, as the linked website proclaimed, us gays would be bullied into seeing the true light/life.
So, I needed Pride House.
I have ALWAYS needed and forever WANTED Pride House. Whether it shall come to be- in any permanent form-is in the laps of the gods of Mammon and lgbtq politics…and, perhaps, some agency by me, and true others…
As, I said, it popped up: one Monday night, in May, it was launched. It had a rough approximitisation to all my gay male and queer psychogeographical templates and projections:
It had:
a cafe, run by a gay man;
a children’s/young adult bookstall, which showcased, on this occasion,
LGBT/QUEER young adults’ books{I wish I had had those when I was a boy/teenager}
events and workshops:
The Proud Marys’ lgbt Choir, singing poignant and joyful songs of GAIETY.
Lady Sian, of local drag queen fame, with her “psychic” bingo, aka just bingo{but such fun….}
Our Creative Writing Group facilitators running ‘zine and Queer Joy workshops.
A session on Polari, including writing a poem in that fabulous hybrid language created so that gaymen could talk to each other-sex and gossip,across the void, the abyss-of legal and social illegality and ostracism.
And an LGBTQ read- aloud -and- discuss-your-reactions-to-the text session.
We sat at our stall-MERSEYSIDE LGBTQ Groups- about 10 of us in total: we coaxed people from the outside INSIDE; we talked to people re our radiant groups; we captured people who really just wanted the toilet{next to our stall!}; we got many to engage in a Peacock/Phoenix writing challenge: music they loved and were inspired by , attaching the slivers of paper to emulate the tails of the boisterously-coloured birds(Eurovision- I forgot to say the stimulus for Pride House was Ukraine’s Liverpool Home {sic, used ambivalently}to host Eurovision {in reality, Ukrainian stalls were hemmed into a dingy corner of the massive Eurovision, mainly capitalist superpower; how sadly ironic}; we worked as a TEAM, Merseyside LGBTQ I mean. I thought we were the most homely yet beautiful stall; no corporate logos.
It was an extravagant blur(certainly looking back a week later).
I think think was because a lot happened in a short time(particularly in the second week); the twelve days of Gay Christmas.
LAURIESTON HALL Gay Mens Weeks are the only equivalent (in MY life, hitherto, anyway) for any sense, AT ALL, of continuity-spatial and temporal- of GAIETY and QUEERNESS.
Advertised as a safe space (for all) it was, according to an Article in the New Statesman(who interviewed LCR Pride’s CEO), the FIRST dedicated OVERT lgbt safe space in ANY Eurovision year EVER. That is some achievement. Of course, thehetcisheghog says, Eurovision is, de facto, an LGBTQ safe space….This is, of course, the favourite tired old speech-threat of the glass-closet/hiding-in-plain-sight brigade of (internalised) homophobes; we accept you; you are there; just do not thrust it down (“our fey, straight throats, ostengaitously”{quoting myself}…), announce it {this is platform 3, for all stations to gay and queer and lesbian and trans); you know the specious spillage the hetcisheghog cannot help but spew.
Parading, gloriously, around, dressed as a walking glitter-ball is not the same as OWNING a very intrinsic and important part of your selfhood.
NO, we NEED a safe space…to do this fully and, well, safely….On this (first occasion) we got one.
I mean, dear, vada the lallies on that lily-law polone; yes, the police WERE there(including hordes of cadets): to guard us? I suppose so; but, then, they HAD harassed and bullied us for years and years…complex…Anyway, they kept stealing our sweets….. reparations, I call it, as I eventually told one we were running out of them, so they could NOT thieve any more… Mind you, quean, I DID get a lovely free book from the winner OF GAY/DRAG bingo, a lovely policewoman; the title:”Queer Spaces”; oooooh, the irony.
______________________________________________________________________
{I am really going with the flow here; but it is all so tempting to want to wrap it up; it happened for twelve poignantly precious days, then it was gone in a puff{sic} of smoke, dismantled ruthlessly, the crowning laying-to-rest being(yes..)-Evangelical cult leaflets left ostengodsquadly on a remaining Pride House totem; they tried to get us; one of 69 reasons we NEED a safe space….(that is a depressing thought-so I probably won’t ever write it-post in itself)}
Oh yes, then I wrote about it and signed it off to oblivion at worst, affectionate memory at best.
————————————————————————————————————–
But, there MAY (there also may be NOT…) an ejaculatory THRUST into the future of the seminal idea…. talks may be afoot; they may not.
Meanwhile, let the GAIETY/QUEER train{I SAW the Pride train at Crewe only four days after the demise of the Pride House, in some odd, redolent after-capture}rest awhile, at Adlestrop or Liverpool: I hope not unwontedly or a one-off call at an obscure stop-on-request station. Because, all the birds (Liver and more..) of Merseysideshire sang for a while as they flocked to their lost home,and roosted there, claiming it back as theirs… and ours…
RIP Pride House; long live Pride House.
towardsutopia 