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It felt from the beginning like a total capitulation, an inoculation of the gay order-structure from the eros of the boy, an inoculation of the eros of the boy from its very audience. (Plus, the music and overall aesthetics of the thing were just so patently gaudy and tasteless, as sexual liberation has tended to be, its apotheosis now found in the pierced rainbowed tattoed hip-hopped drugged-up gender-queerdom of the last decade, trans at the top of the pile; the aesthetic epiphenomenal disasters of our technological obsessions...) But yes, I guess it did let the beauty of a boy shine -- something terribly rare. I don't think the resurrection of that light is going to come through any sort of mass-media star-phenomenon. It can't anymore. The boys that shine and dance will shine in little corners, will dance for a small audience, will not be televised. We will have private dinner parties. Let's read Hakim Bey! |