The best lesbian ever

On my first day of vacay, I started writing Barack Obama a letter, cuz I have to take him to task for so many things.

One of which is his completely lame–one might say legless-refusal to overturn DADT, which he could, in a stroke.

But, lounging around after swimming today, I went back up to my apartment, and started listening to my records. Which inevitably include the late great Laura Nyro.

Here was a “blue-eyed” (which she wasn’t) soul girl that absolutely captured romance for me. Captain St. Lucifer.

And the gnawing love so many of us have for big urban centers that we grew from. New York Tendaberry: “Sidewalk and pigeon, you look like a city but you feel like religion to me”

I was listening to probably her last album(?) “Laura Nyro, Live at the Bottom Line”

And I swear I heard her sing, in the initial, phrase:

“Won’t you marry me, Jill!”

When Laura Nyro died in 1997, at the age of 50, she left behind, not her only one child born, but Maria Desiderio (d. 1999), her lover of 17 years.

Inevitably, my thoughts roll to thinking on how much more females are accepting of gays than males are. Oh yes, the “fag hags”, of which I must consistently be counted as one.

Is it our female experience of being underrated that engenders empathy for the sexually outcast?

We knew the “fairies” liked art stuff, and the lezzies were tough and stood up for themselves. Yes, caricatures. But out of those early perceptions, we grew.

Years ago, I got in touch with an old grade school friend. In the course of our discourse, she informed me of her bisexuality. At that time, she was with a woman.

And I was happy to get back in touch with her again, and realized, she was this person, one of my oldest friends in the world, and who she was having sex with made no difference to me.

You know that this president is smart enough to realize the same. Shame on him for his obesiance to the army folks. (and, btw, England & Israel let their soldiers be openly gay) What the fuck, didn’t the brits fashion gayness? (trippin on stereotypes)

Oo la, la, la, oo la, la, la, la.
Emily and her love to be, carved in a heart on a berry tree.
But it’s only a little farewell love spell, time to design a woman.
Touch me, oh wake me, Emily you ornament the earth for me.
Emily, you’re the natural snow, the unstudied sea, you’re a cameo.
And I swear you were born a weavers lover, born for the loom’s desire.
Move me, oh sway me. Emily, the ornament, the earth for me.
Emmie, your Momma’s been calling you.
Who stole Mama’s heart and cuddled in her garden?
Darling Emmie, la, la, la, oo la, la la.
You’re my friend and I loved you, Emily, Emily, Emily, Emily.
She got the way to move me, Emmie. She got the way to move me, yeah.
She got the way to move me, Emmie. She got the way to move me, get up and move me