Jim Allio "Little Boy Lost" Lyrics

Lyrics for this song from "Second Chance," video storyboarded by writer Kate Britton, to be shot and directed this week by Britton, look for it on youtube.com and facebook soon.

LITTLE BOY LOST

The cars swoosh by in the middle of the night
The cars drive by with their boomin' systems
The wind whistles down 14th Avenue
The fog rolls in
And I feel sad
Disappointed
I feel sad

Little Boy Lost, little boy blue
You came to the big city
In search of someplace you could do you
Little Boy Lost, little boy blue
Out here on your own
And you don't know
No, you don't know what to do
Little Boy Lost, little little little boy blue
Thought you found true love
But that love wasn't true
Little Boy Lost, little boy blue

(Latin Party Interlude)

Little Boy Lost, little boy blue
You've lost your way and realize
No one's gonna rescue you

You thought you found the pot of gold
At the rainbow's end
All you really got is a lot more old
You were bought and sold
And bought and sold again
Just the same old fool's gold
You can't even find a friend, my friend
No one's gonna rescue you
It's all on you
So what you gonna do
Tell me, what you gonna do

Little Boy Lost, little boy blue
You came to the big city
In search of someplace you could do you
Little Boy Lost, little boy blue
Out here on your own
And you don't know
No, you don't know what to do

Little Boy Lost
Little Boy Lost
Little Boy Lost
Little Boy Lost

copyright 2009 by whitchoc38music, written by James A. Allio

Ladies of the Lake (Merritt)

Twelve years ago I quit smoking because my best girlfriend, Alyssa, had quit and I was, I think now, feeling competitive. At the time I was smoking three packs a day, and it was another bad habit that needed to go. They told me that every cigarette smoked represents a feeling stuffed and not felt, so I shouldn't have been surprised when I fell into depression. I got help from my physician and one of the things he recommended was exercise, so I began walking around Lake Merritt, the beautiful lake in the heart of Oakland. Eventually I began jogging and loved it, but more on that later.

The first Wednesday I walked the Lake, I noticed two rowboats in the center of the Lake filled with women dressed in white with blue scarfs and sailor hats, just rowing around the Lake. What a trip! I thought. I wonder who they are. For the next several years, every Wednesday morning that I was down at the Lake, they were there, too, and I got curious

Turns out they are called The Ladies of the Lake, and they are a group of women who have been dressing in sailor uniforms and boating on the Lake since 1916. Damn! 1916!?! Over the years, generations of women from the same families have taken up the mantle, and there are always ladies interested in joining. Sometimes one boat is out there, frequently two and once in a while, you spot three of them. Unless it's raining, you can count on seeing them. They're so goofy, such an atavism in a city known more for gang wars and urban blight than genteel activities, but that's the real Oakland for you, a city full of paradox and beauty to match the rough side the media emphasizes.

A couple of years ago I was in a bad car accident, injured my left foot and was left with what doctors told me was a permanent limp. They also told me I would most likely never be able to jog again and would just have to adjust, particularly since my job involves intense physical labor for several hours a day. They said I could walk the Lake occasionally but that was it.

About five weeks ago, I was doing just that when I realized I was no longer limping and thought, "Hey! Let me just try jogging again!" Five weeks later, I'm almost all the way around the Lake (3.5 miles) without stopping and I am ecstatic. I was a regular at the Lake and every day I run into folks I used to see on the daily and we are so happy to see each other. It feels so good.

And nothing felt better than the first Wednesday morning I was back at the Lake and spotted the Ladies of the Lake, rowing their boats, chillin' like villains and assuring me that this day, like so many others, would be chockfull of unexpected delights and joys, if only I pay attention and keep my mind open. I love me some Ladies of the Lake!

Forever Michael & Farrah

When I heard Farrah Fawcett died yesterday, I was saddened even though it was not unexpected. I remember seeing Farrah in this great old sci-fi flick, "Logan's Run," and immediately being taken with her, and then of course she took over everyone's imagination as Jill in "Charlie's Angels." Teenage boys' bedrooms - and not a few teenage girls - were not official without her famous racy-for-the-time poster. She always reminded me of girls I went to school with, grew up with, worked with, hung out with - pretty, funny, down-to-earth and fun to be with. Over time she completely surprised me by morphing into one of our finest serious actresses, blowing my mind particularly with her scorching performances in the grueling "Extremities" and "The Burning Bed." It became evident that beneath the sunny ultrablonde prototype was a woman with issues, insights and a lot to say. At times over the years her acting career was overshadowed by her eccentricities and personal difficulties, but her pure talent was never diminished. It was undeniable. When I heard she had passed on, I thought, ahhh, I hope now she is at peace.

Then I learned Michael Jackson had died. At 50. So young. I was at work when I learned and we all were shaking our heads and speechless. I was a little bit in shock, a little bit incredulous. As the day moved on, the memories came flooding in. The Jackson 5 on tv, Michael a ball of fire with a prodigious vocal talent. The way that group ruled radio for a time. The time when I was off work for three months with hepatitis and went into San Francisco and found his early solo LP, "Forever Michael" in a record store on Polk Street for 99 cents, brought it home and fell in love with the songs and his transitioning voice. I learned that album by heart and, years before I had even a glimmer that I would be singing and composing myself, I would stand up in the living room of the cottage I rented in Daly City and perform the entire record to entertain myself.

Then there was the time I was on the first post-trick date with Bob, who later became my partner for a couple of years, and we went to a disco below North Beach in the City frequented by bisexuals, open-minded young straights and gays, and heard and danced to "Don't Stop Till You Get Enough" for the first time. That electric percussion avalanche that opened up that record snared me immediately, and his work with Quincy Jones ("Off the Wall," "Thriller") captured my imagination as well.

Yesterday was a sad day, and it got sadder as the day got longer. There had been great things happening earlier in the day that had me happy and smiling, but by the time I got off work, I had been on the verge of tears several times, feeling the loss. I watched the news when I arrived home and saw that hundreds of people had converged on the Embarcadero in SF and had a spontaneous dance party with Michael's music. It was still going on when the 11 PM news aired. I wished I hadn't been at work. I felt connected to those folks.

This morning I woke up and I could feel the tears close to the surface again. As I jogged around Lake Merritt, they came up a couple of times and I let them. Fuck it. There's nothing wrong with feeling grief, even for people I don't know personally, especially true icons like Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett. In their own unique ways, both artists informed, inspired and shaped my dreams, and I'm grateful for them. I hope they're at peace after all their trials. Their legacy will live on, and I can tap into their spirits through their art whenever I choose to, or, like today, when I walk past an open door, and "Thriller" is washing out into the street.

Deadlee, D'Lo, Sean Dorsey and the Fresh Meat Festival

"People don't look past the skin," said transsexual pioneer Lou Sullivan. I may be paraphrasing, but the sentiment resonated with me over and over as I attended three out of the four Fresh Meat Festival performances at Project Artaud in San Francisco this past weekend.
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Chatting with one of the board members at intermission on night 3, the affable Stacey, I was asked why I had been to three of the shows. I told him that I am a huge Deadlee fan and he rarely rarely plays in these parts and I was taking advantage of the opportunity to immerse myself in his live show. I had never seen him in person before and had heard he was great. Plus I had a list of questions in my wallet that I planned to ask him if he consented to be interviewed for this blog. But more on that later...

So Fresh Meat Festival is a yearly event, akin to an old school variety show, of the cream of the crop of queer and transgender perfomance. I really had no expectations beyond seeing Deadlee, and to my surprise and delight, my mind was blown by each of the ten acts showcased here. The Taiko Ren drummers opened the show on a fierce intense note, combining rhythm and athleticism and merging the two with pure joy. Zoe Balfour and Citabria Phillips seemed to lift off the floor in their frenetic ballroom dance stanza; the Barbary Coast Cloggers were exhilarating and exciting, even bringing Gwen Stefani and Pharrell into clogging bliss territory; Mind Over Matter Dance Company, which closed the show, had us cheering, laughing and seat-dancing throughout their too-brief set.

ryka aoki de la cruz was enchanting in her "Alternator Domme" piece, which began with a broken alternator on a drive up Highway 5, transitioned through searching for an auto mechanic, getting the money by doing a dungeon domme gig involving a feisty chihuaha, and ended with some sweet revelation, musical and otherwise. StormMiguel Flores sang two evocative and musically sophisticated songs he wrote that had me spellbound. Shawna Virago also sang two numbers.

The Sean Dorsey Dancers (Dorsey, Juan de la Rosa, Brian Fisher, Nol Simonse) did an excerpt from her suite, Lou, that transported me to a whole other place, putting the entire evening into a spiritual context for me. Yep, I said spiritual.

D'Lo, a Tamil Sri L.A.nkan-American, was almost my favorite of the evening, proving herself an astute social commentator and a consummate actor, emerging as her loving and conservative mother in full Sri Lankan dress, and morphing into her b-boi persona, dispensing mordant ruminations on the importance of friendship and connectedness in a world that is often hostile.

Of course, if you read this blog, you know my feet were barely touching the ground waiting to see Deadlee perform live. He began with an angry spoken word piece written during a college tour, and moved into two of my favorite Deadlee 2213 songs, the dance anthem, "Nasty" and the riveting and erotic "Carnival in My Mind." Deadlee was straight up ferocious! He not only exceeded my expectations and hopes, he proved himself a superb performer, able to bring the goods in any venue, gay or other, and left me hella hungry for more. Now I can't wait to see him mount a full show. Hell, I'd travel to see that one!

And the interview questions in my wallet I planned to ask him for this blog? After the first show, we met and clicked hard, talking for an hour, and hanging out post-show the next couple of nights. I did ask him plenty of questions, but it wasn't really interview mode. It was more like two gay men talking candidly about their lives and experiences, and getting to know a new friend. Man to man, artist to artist. Pulling stuff from the time we spent laughing and chopping it up doesn't feel appropriate. The interview will have to wait until another time. The questions are still in my wallet, though!

At intermission one night, I was chatting with the ASL person, Jenny, and enthusing about how much we dug Deadlee and wondering how she was going to sign some of his more explicit lyrics. It struck me then and there just how grateful I was to have followed Deadlee to this gig to encounter a whole world of thought, art and performance with transformative powers. Fresh Meat, I will be back!