Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
In the late summer of 2006, Sparky T. Rabbit and I went to the Between the Worlds Festival.
One day he comes stomping over.
“What's wrong?” I say.
“I can't believe it,” Sparky says. “We've been at the world's largest gathering for gay pagan men for four days now, and not only am I not getting laid, but no one will even flirt with me. I don't get it.”
I'd been wondering about this myself. The answer was obvious if unthinkable.
“Sparky,” I said, “Everyone thinks we're a couple.”
He throws me an incredulous look.
“No,” he says.
“No,” he repeats.
“Sparky, yes. Take a look at us. We look like Daddy and his Boy.”
“F***,” he says, “You're right.”
Once we started letting it be known that we were not a couple, the problem more or less took care of itself.
Laughing about it months later, we both agreed that, strictly speaking, this wasn't really completely accurate. In many ways, the two of us actually did constitute a couple.
“The real operative question here being, of course,” Sparky deadpanned, “a couple of what?”
Photo: Stephanie Fox
Steven Posch (L) and Sparky T. Rabbit (R)
Goth Tea, Return to Avalon Festival, 1998
Hey, don't blame me: you're the one reading a blog written by someone that used to dress like that.
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