Queer spaces

Last week I went to a gig. This gig welcomed queer individuals of all variety. The room was a muddled mess of fishnets, eyeliner, hair dye. The space was purely for people to exist. To be embraced. To shrug off the societal pressures and expectations at the door and simply be. I'm sure for many that this is not a new experience or even a unique one, I myself have been to many queer events etc, but this one really made me feel. Comfortable. At ease. The world is smeared and tarnished but this room was pure.

During a small interval allowing a new band to take to the stage, amps were fiddled with and guitars hoisted over shoulders. I took this opportunity to make my way outside. The cool night air hitting my flushed face was an experience which often made me contemplate picking up smoking again. Standing in a door way smoking a tailor made cigarette was a girl. She had this big mane of brown waved hair and hung a red plaid shirt over her body. The sleeves hung in the air and fell down each time she lifted her arm to take a drag. Her eyes seemed distant. I asked her if she was enjoying the night and we fell into a chat about politics and politicians and the mess of it all. I invited her to join me back inside. She ordered some kind of ale from the bar. Very cool. The night catapulted us into passionate hope for the future. A room full of crazy individuals full of bright ideas and some very cool fashion sense. As the event concluded, I asked her where she was headed. She disclosed to me how she actually had no place to stay and was planning on walking to a far off 24 hour cafe and attempt to catch a few winks there. I was appalled . I couldn't believe we had spent our entire 'care free' evening with that certainty looming over her head. I invited her to my flat. We got Magnums , "Maggies" from the cornershop. I wanted to give her 'the London experience'. In my drunken haze this consisted of me buying us kebabs and ravenously tucking into them whilst siping on various alcohols. By the time morning came and my alarm blared with the reality of the 13 hour shift I had ahead of me, I ran out of the flat to catch my bus. I hastily messaged her bidding my farewell. I can still remember how her tousled hair looked. She slept until the evening. Her body was clearly weary and yearned for rest. She left a note for me which I pinned on my notice board when I got back to the flat that night. She was gone before I got back. When she eventually replied to my texts she disclosed she had spent that second night back on the street. My heart aches for her. The words she said and the tears she shed. 

That morning at work, someone uttered ugly words at passers by that looked like those same people I danced and laughed with. 

Queer spaces are so important to provide just brief refuge from the harsh reality that many young queer people face. In that room there was nothing but joy, celebration, passion and unity. After living in London for two years now I am surprised this was the first venue I have encountered that properly embodied this for me. I frequently meet people in a similar situation to this angel rock chick. It made me want to create journal style pieces to simply shout at the world. If no one reads them, I shall call this my diary. If someone does read this, at least one more person can be persuaded to maybe think the same.

I want to simply shout at the world.

I want people to know more and be encouraged to think and scream and sing and paint.

This world is our canvas. On this canvas I simply want to say hello.

Hello World. 

Nice to meet you. I'm Floss.