26.7.08
IMEEM!
Well, it took some swearing and a sober moment, but I finally got my old brain around this new-fangled computer shit. Now music comes to the Blog!
This is a small mix of some brain-searing sounds that have been getting me through the days and nights. Nothing user friendly here. Hope you enjoy!
I'm a sucker for a mix
Hey kids, here's a pretty sexy mix by Sebastien Tellier, featuring some of his glorious French sex-pop, plus some classics from Michael Jackson, Marvin Gaye, and Justin Timberlake. In fact, here's the track listing.
Hope you dig it. I do. In fact, if you do like it let's all meet up at my place an get naked! YEA!
25.7.08
It's All Sideways in a Bad Way
Things have perplexingly expanded and contracted 100 fold, and I now see where the true peril lies, and it is in the heart of the light... never before has such an exploration been so detrimental to my own well being...the ally, the Jack-A-Lope, and the fear of pure and abject failure all loom over the clouds, watching and waiting for one minuscule slip-up, and the end will rise up disguised as a 3 year old girl skipping rope on a sun-lit day... Oh, where does the hell, this personal and all consuming hell reside?... the lysergic residue on my spinal cord is effecting me in ways that were not foreseen or readily disclosed in a time shredded article in Life magazine... all I can do is keep on drinking and hope, pray, that this personal apocalypse passes me by...
23.7.08
I Live Upstairs from a Notoriously Penetrating Gay Bar
I live upstairs from a notoriously penetrating gay bar. There are two pool tables in the back of the place and the few times I have been there to have a beer or three the only balls I saw in play on them were hairy/waxed/pleasantly coiffed. I live one block east of a 3-story bathhouse. It boasts a “glory hole maze” with 38 different holes for 38 anonymous cocks to be shoved into, to be received by 38 anonymous mouths or 38 anonymous assholes, or into 38 pairs of well-lubed and anonymous hands.
My curiosity is strong as to what exactly goes on in there, but not strong enough to actually pony up the $5 locker fee and venture into its depths. I am not gay (though like all heterosexual men, I am mildly curious and open to the fact that in the right mood and under the right circumstances and with the right amount of alcohol or drugs, I could be swayed into experimentation) but I live in the city’s bustling gayborhood. It is a small neighborhood, easily referred to as a block in some circles. I am here to hide from interactions and because in this neighborhood I can do whatever it is that I want and not have to worry about raising any eyebrows.
Though I am mentally undressed every time I walk the block, it is tempered with a peculiar anonymity. No one here, no matter how flamboyant or bitchy, could be considered a stool pigeon (note to self: try to make that new slang for someone who likes poop in their sex play) as we all respect secrets, privacy, and understand, to one degree or another, flight from things best left unsaid.
For all of the catcalls and the occasional ass-swats, I know that as far as anyone outside of this area is concerned, I am invisible.
ANd that is exactly what I am looking for.
My curiosity is strong as to what exactly goes on in there, but not strong enough to actually pony up the $5 locker fee and venture into its depths. I am not gay (though like all heterosexual men, I am mildly curious and open to the fact that in the right mood and under the right circumstances and with the right amount of alcohol or drugs, I could be swayed into experimentation) but I live in the city’s bustling gayborhood. It is a small neighborhood, easily referred to as a block in some circles. I am here to hide from interactions and because in this neighborhood I can do whatever it is that I want and not have to worry about raising any eyebrows.
Though I am mentally undressed every time I walk the block, it is tempered with a peculiar anonymity. No one here, no matter how flamboyant or bitchy, could be considered a stool pigeon (note to self: try to make that new slang for someone who likes poop in their sex play) as we all respect secrets, privacy, and understand, to one degree or another, flight from things best left unsaid.
For all of the catcalls and the occasional ass-swats, I know that as far as anyone outside of this area is concerned, I am invisible.
ANd that is exactly what I am looking for.
21.7.08
DEAR DIARY: The Deleted Scenes, pt.2
:May 25, 1968:
Porn on the laptop before bed has become routine these days; a nightcap or a warm cup of milk (no pun intended) before fading off into a lonely, dreamless slumber.
Here’s my problem though. I have no shame in putting myself to sleep by showing myself who is boss or in watching complete strangers have ridiculous sex on a computer screen . I do, however, take issue with this thing that is called the “money shot,” the final price to be paid by a 29 year-old “ teen virgin.”
Every time I end up feeling dirty and used and seeing it on a nightly basis makes me question whether or not there is any decency left in my soul. The mere fact that I feel guilty about this situation tells me that there must be a snippet of hope, of faith, of life, at the very least, hanging on if not with both hands, then by a thread. At the very least.
This knowledge keeps me from swearing off self-abuse.
So, when exactly did this behavior become de rigueur and why? Is it thrilling? At no point in my sexual life has this type of behavior seemed the proper and just thing to do. I am only speaking for myself here. I realize that lots of people probably do this, the pulling out at the last second and the frenzied jerking off on your partners face. It is just something I have never ever been compelled to do.
Yet every night I see it.
I am a firm supporter of the notion that I would never ask anyone to do something that I was not capable and willing to do myself. Regardless of the fact that I am not actually asking these girls to do this and that I don’t get anything at all out of the facial, and that I sadly have no immediate plans on quitting porn, this tells me that I should experience a milky baptism myself.
I know, I could make the same argument for triple penetrations and fistings, but these are easy to avoid therefore I don’t see them. I am only compelled to pony up and experience this one element of porno. All that other shit I will leave to the bukkake and gang bang fanbase.
Let them exorcise their own demons.
Now how to go about this? Of course, I wasn’t about to go find some muscular, freakishly endowed douchebag to drop a load on my face, nor was I feeling like it would be acceptable to ask one of the roommates to jack one out on my head. So, my only real option was to do it myself…
[ed.- sadly, or fortunately, the entry ends here as does the diary.]
Porn on the laptop before bed has become routine these days; a nightcap or a warm cup of milk (no pun intended) before fading off into a lonely, dreamless slumber.
Here’s my problem though. I have no shame in putting myself to sleep by showing myself who is boss or in watching complete strangers have ridiculous sex on a computer screen . I do, however, take issue with this thing that is called the “money shot,” the final price to be paid by a 29 year-old “ teen virgin.”
Every time I end up feeling dirty and used and seeing it on a nightly basis makes me question whether or not there is any decency left in my soul. The mere fact that I feel guilty about this situation tells me that there must be a snippet of hope, of faith, of life, at the very least, hanging on if not with both hands, then by a thread. At the very least.
This knowledge keeps me from swearing off self-abuse.
So, when exactly did this behavior become de rigueur and why? Is it thrilling? At no point in my sexual life has this type of behavior seemed the proper and just thing to do. I am only speaking for myself here. I realize that lots of people probably do this, the pulling out at the last second and the frenzied jerking off on your partners face. It is just something I have never ever been compelled to do.
Yet every night I see it.
I am a firm supporter of the notion that I would never ask anyone to do something that I was not capable and willing to do myself. Regardless of the fact that I am not actually asking these girls to do this and that I don’t get anything at all out of the facial, and that I sadly have no immediate plans on quitting porn, this tells me that I should experience a milky baptism myself.
I know, I could make the same argument for triple penetrations and fistings, but these are easy to avoid therefore I don’t see them. I am only compelled to pony up and experience this one element of porno. All that other shit I will leave to the bukkake and gang bang fanbase.
Let them exorcise their own demons.
Now how to go about this? Of course, I wasn’t about to go find some muscular, freakishly endowed douchebag to drop a load on my face, nor was I feeling like it would be acceptable to ask one of the roommates to jack one out on my head. So, my only real option was to do it myself…
[ed.- sadly, or fortunately, the entry ends here as does the diary.]
Windex!
Some of the guys from the long lost, not nearly adored enough sketch show The State did some of these.
And you might know, but I'll say it for those that don't, The State spawned Reno 911 and Stella.
Anyhoo, fuck birds, indeed!
!!!
In a perfect world, a person who would do something like this would not be allowed to buy sell or trade anything, nor would they be allowed to own a car or drive one.
Call me a dick if you will, but come on people...
20.7.08
Bumper Alley
Here is a pile of bumpers that I stumbled across in an alley in the Mississippi neighborhood. It might make sense if there were a bunch of old wrecked cars around, but there aren't. If anyone has more hillbilly blood in them than I do, or if they have made a study of hillbilly culture (Unca' Jesse, I'm looking at you) maybe y'all could make heads or tails of this.
19.7.08
Flashback to Winter
There is a streetlight outside of my window. I look to its yellowed dunce cap of illumination to see how much rain is falling in these late, lonely, and caffinated hours. I can hear it pummeling the roof of this 90 year-old house, but the sound tends to be a bit hyperbolic.
______________________________
New flavor in the air freshener… I don’t know what it is as I discarded the packaging weeks ago and haven’t used it up until now. It is like those Spree candies or Pez. For some reason, that smell combined with a lonely, beery night and Heaven or Las Vegas on the stereo… everything is combining to invoke a deep blue sense of nostalgia for something I can’t even come close to grasping… it’s not even on the tip of my tongue, or my brain… just this scent, this mood, these songs, taking me back to a “then” that defies definition. I bask in it with a heavy heart.
______________________________________________________
It’s raining, surprise, and I have all the lights out in my apartment this night to be invisible to glancing, passing eyes. I am flicking pennies (where did all of these damned pennies come from?) out the window, listening to them clink and shudder on the wet and empty asphalt 3 stories below.
-October 6, 2007
S.W. 12th, #8
______________________________
New flavor in the air freshener… I don’t know what it is as I discarded the packaging weeks ago and haven’t used it up until now. It is like those Spree candies or Pez. For some reason, that smell combined with a lonely, beery night and Heaven or Las Vegas on the stereo… everything is combining to invoke a deep blue sense of nostalgia for something I can’t even come close to grasping… it’s not even on the tip of my tongue, or my brain… just this scent, this mood, these songs, taking me back to a “then” that defies definition. I bask in it with a heavy heart.
______________________________________________________
It’s raining, surprise, and I have all the lights out in my apartment this night to be invisible to glancing, passing eyes. I am flicking pennies (where did all of these damned pennies come from?) out the window, listening to them clink and shudder on the wet and empty asphalt 3 stories below.
-October 6, 2007
S.W. 12th, #8
17.7.08
Trubs in Seattle
Thanks to Mary for these pics she snapped in Seattle. This route probably works better than any "No Soliciting" sign one could ever buy in the store.
13.7.08
Totally boss!
Saw this over by the Laurelhurst the other day. Now that I have a bike I am discovering so many niblets of magic buried on side roads.
7.7.08
Defenestrate!
Dictionary.com's Word of the Day for Thursday, June 19, 2008 is my new favorite word.
I had to tell my scholar friend who has been an accomplice in all manner of drunken and sappy buffonery, and lo and behold he had heard of this word, which means that, GASP!, things did indeed exist prior to their appearance on the internet.
Anyhoo, he came across it in a class, and I will cut and paste his words (with his permission)so that his brilliance may shine. He told me that I should probably fact check it as his memory is all swiss-cheesy due to years of alcohol, but I refused to as even if this is not accurate, or even true, it is a great story.
So:
"In 1618, the Thirty Years War was started by the Defenestration of Prague. The emperor sent some diplomats to work out a sticky situation in Prague, and they chucked 'em out the window. Thirty years later, they got sick of fighting over it. Fucked up planet."
Thank you, Lord Autumnbottom, the 76th Duke of Elderberry, for paying attention in class.
Thank for Prague for tearing shit up.
Thank you Dictionary.com for keeping me on top of my game.
And thank you, Dear Readers, for always being there.
2.7.08
3636 N Williams
Currently the House of Sound (R.I.P.) is exhibiting a bunch of lazy, kind-of-white squares that have no Vision and demonstrate no Humanity.
Apparently the local neighborhood beautification committee (hopefully R.I.P someday) feels that a bunch of sloppy white buffs are better for the community's image than proclaimations of Exhaustion or Honesty.
Luckily, and this is just my opinion, the world will always have more spraypaint and poets than white paint, paint rollers, and wet blankets.
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