whats your code?!

This is the hanky i made for the hanky code party thats happening in a couple of weeks! try to guess what im flagging!?

The Hanky Code is a traditional form of signaling to others what your sexual preferences and interests are. Gay men used this code to communicate with each other in the noisy and distracting environment of gay bars. Although not as widely used these days, it is still a worthwhile resource and is, among those who know, a great conversation starter.
Hankies are usually worn in either the back left or right pockets, however, they can also be worn around the wrist, around the ankle or leg at the thigh above the knee, or around the neck with the knot/tie going either right or left. Other objects can also be used such as keys and key chains or watch fobs and even a set of handcuffs (Bondage), to let people know if you are 'top' or 'bottom'. Left = Top/Active and Right = Bottom/Passive. If worn in the back on the center belt loop, it translates as 'versatile'.

a rant about cabs

i was tired and stressed. i had money to catch a cab to the airport but was guna catch it only to the train station. at the last minute i changed my mind. thinking i had that sweet cash in my hand and two huge bags that were too heavy to lug very far.

the cab driver seemed friendly and we started chatting immediately. he was an older big burly man. maybe into his fifties. within five minutes he'd told me about coming out of the closet in his middle age and how his mates at the meat works had taken it. he told me about friends that had committed suicide struggling to come to terms with being gay. and how friends and family had come to terms with his sexuality.
he told me how he had been so worried about telling his pastor that he was gay because he loved the church and was sure he would be kicked out. but still needed to be honest about who he was. the pastor told him god loved everyone including gay people and eventually with the help of pastor from another church set him up with his current boyfriend who he now lives with.

it was so great to talk to him. he was so open about who he was and what he'd been through. he told me he thought i looked just like Cyndi Lauper, which was awesome!! and we ended up talking about music that we loved from the 70's and 80's.

sydney was another story though. i kinda get anxiety in cabs. i just feel like im being fucked with or something. most times i get cabs from the airport and people assume i dont know the city well and try to take me some stupid long route. the first cab i got in i asked the driver if he knew how to get to my suburb, which is only 15mins away. he said nope. and i said how do we get there then, cause he didnt have a gps. and he shrugged his shoulders. so i took my bags and got into another cab. this guy had a gps but when he found my street it was a one way street and he couldnt drive into it from where he was. he tried to get me to get outta the cab then. it was so freakin annoying to have to tell him that he had to drive me to my house and that we'd have to find the way into the street. annoying. seriously. so we had to double back and it cost me so much more money. i have an intense thing about cabs, i just cant understand how their is no basic level of service at all. it kills me.

so now im in sydney and its grey and really wet and cold...

'Tell me,' I said at last, 'is there really no other way for you but this? To kneel down forever before an army of boys for just five dirty minutes in the dark?'
'Think,' said Jacques 'of the men who have kneeled before you while you thought of something else and pretended nothing was happening down there in the dark between your legs.'
I stared at the amber cognac and at the wet rings on the metal. Deep below, trapped in the metal, the outline of my own face looked upward hopelessly at me.
'You think,' he persisted, ' that my life is shameful because my encounters are. And they are.
But you should ask yourself why they are.'
'Why are they - shameful?' I asked him.
'Because there is no affection in them, and no joy. It's like putting an electric plug in a dead socket. Touch, but no contact. All touch, but no contact and no light.'
I asked him: 'Why?'
'That you must ask yourself,' he told me, 'and perhaps one day this morning will not be ashes in your mouth.'
-Giovanni's Room
James Baldwin