Angelina Jolie and Sandra Bernhard holding the world up

In the dream, Sandra Bernhard was holding a red metallic mini-disc recorder. She wanted to record herself remembering her dreams. We knew we were already inside one of those dark mortality dreams, with that “I’m gonna be dead someday” feeling. Sandra and I were both scared, our faces and necks getting hot, like fever. Sandra held the recorder near her mouth, then decided that I should go first. I put my hand on top of hers and brought the recorder close to my own mouth. I wanted to kiss the back of her hand but was distracted by the glossy green stones in every ring on every finger of her hand, each stone reflecting the light that was coming from the end of a telescope she had stationed by the window.

“In the year 2525”, I said, leaning in against her arm, “500 citizens got quite good at switching eyeballs with each other. A Minus 425 nearsight for a Plus 1200 farsight, in diopters, got to be no big deal for them, it was the resulting emotional perception exchange that was the real gamble”.

“Yeah”, Sandra imagined, “my 20-20 for Angelina Jolie’s Minus 175, hardly a change in vision really, except for night driving, I could get by squinting when I had to…but Angelina’s emotional rub…I…no, too packed tight like a snowball in spring…”. Then Sandra clicked off the recorder and wrapped her hands around mine, “Tell me your numbers, darling”. Before I could say just how I thought I saw, footsteps sounded up from the stairwell that led down to the stage where someone had just finished a performance, we could hear the applause spilling over. Sandra and I turned together toward the doorway and waited. We were awestruck, when the footsteps stopped, to see Hillary Clinton there, grinning at us, looking smart in a long red gown that exposed much of her beautiful breasts. In her right hand she was loosely holding a pair of binoculars.

CLICK HERE for Sandra Bernhard info


Donna Newton for U.S. President 2008!

Lovely queer lady decides after much lounging and little doubt, to make a serious run for President of the United States of America 2008. Stay tuned for details!

Buddha in Jefferson Park

Juicy Planet drove to the Jefferson Park neighborhood of West Chicago to purchase all the government stickers that are required to prevent $50 tickets from being plastered to our car windshield. After taking another wrong turn at Luna, we were struck by a delicious breeze, and couldn’t help but pull over to fully breathe in the intoxicating aroma of fresh marijuana being massaged and celebrated in vast quantities nearby but that the naked eye could not see. It was not the smell of reckless addiction or the random escape from human discomfort, it was the pure smell of friendliness, sexiness, and good humor.

We waited for someone to appear and beckon to us, but the only movement was in the distance, outside in an alley, where a tattooed man was cutting open a shipment of colored plastic beads, to be used, he said, to make other plastic things that particular shade of red. The man was kind enough to inform us that Gale Street was between the fabric shop and the McDonalds. Later, while peeling off the back of the Chicago city stickers, which never come off once you put them on, we thought about the Buddha, and wondered if he had smoked marijuana, and also about how attachment to someone has to happen first, before one can practice the detachment part and get any good at it.

How to be a bully



Juicy Planet was on the F train from Brooklyn to downtown Manhattan earlier this week and sat across from a teen girl wearing high rubber boots. The girl was tired and eventually put her feet up on the bench, leaned back and closed her eyes. A group of school boys boarded shortly after. The boys wore the same matching school outfit the girl wore. The boys stood near us talking loudly about the new Mets pitcher Johan Santana.photo0318.jpg



As Juicy Planet walked away, we heard the bully and his ignorant pals saying, “That’s cuz she’s gay, she’s gay, like your Dad is gay…” Juicy Planet watched the train leave the station, hoping the smile on our face would pierce the metal and land on the heart of the sexist homophobes who have long and lonely high school years ahead of them.

I hugged Hillary Clinton in a hotel this morning


In the dream, I was spending a weekend with George Clooney and some of his buddies somewhere in a snowy Midwest ski area, where no one was skiing they just wanted to be able to ski if the mood struck. George invited me to stay with him in his hotel room after meeting me on the side of the road, where I had just slid my motorcycle into a steep snow bank, on purpose, because I knew the road was too icy to stop without getting hurt. It was dumb to be on the motorcycle but it was the only way to quickly get away from my lover, who I saw flirting with another woman and winking at her in that “my girlfriend won’t know what I’m really up to” way. So I was real glad to see George with his sweet face and understanding invitation to sleep with him, as I saw fit.

George and the gang all went swimming in a warm lovely little lake, where I had to walk in my wet underwear and Tshirt past George and hoped my skin wasn’t too winter pale for his taste. We returned to the ski slopes just as the ice storm picked up again, turning the wooded trail into a dangerous slippery mountain climbing passage. I was just about to swing open a metal gate that led to our hotel when I was struck by lightning. The intensity of the light was unnatural, blinding and complete, and the voice of lightning found the deepest place in my heart and suddenly stopped talking altogether, the silence louder and sadder than anything I’ve ever heard.

When I woke up I was laying wrapped in a blanket watching George on the end of the hotel bed rearranging his shaving kit. He stood by me and winked, kissed my cheek, and left for work. The door opened again immediately and it was a woman. She was short, dressed in business casual, and had sexy brown lipstick on. She sat on the floor next to the bed and draped her arm over me. I brought my arm out and pulled her face closer. Since I didn’t have my glasses on, I didn’t know it was Hillary Clinton until she was near enough to kiss. Her hair smelled like daffodils and leather. She said, “Thanks,” and then I sat up so we could hug better. I wanted to kiss her more, so I got up to brush my teeth. Hillary propped herself up on the pillows and started reading a page from The Onion that was strewn on the floor. I stood in front of the sink brushing for a very long time, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t get all the ground up peanut fragments out of my mouth.

“You’ll get used to it”, Hillary said.


chicken pot pie for every citizen!


Juicy Planet predicts that when the Democratic U.S. President takes office on January 20, 2009, there will be a chicken in every pot, a pot pie in every hut, insurance cards in every wallet, and queer and underpaid citizens with equal rights and opportunities on every block.

Hillary Clinton’s favorite food: olive burger oliveburger.jpg

Barack Obama’s favorite food: homemade chili chili.jpg

CLICK here for Gay Rights Forum story 

Poet Staceyann Chin visits Chicago during snowstorm

staceyann chin Lesbian poet, writer, and activist Staceyann Chin presented new work from her upcoming memoir, The Other Side of Paradise, last night at Chicago’s LGBT Center on Halsted. Chin was the winner of the 1999 Chicago People of Color Slam and was featured on Oprah last fall. The new book centers on her childhood and teen years in Jamaica, raised by various relatives, after being abandoned by her parents. The Other Side of Paradise will be published by Scribner of Simon and Schuster next month. Juicy Planet thought the combo of sexy writer, red wine, and month-old banana nut muffin was delectable and nearly undeserving.

For Staceyann Chin audio and writing samples, CLICK here