Feb 26, 2014

You'll figure this out yourself (2)

George Washington boozehound (reblogged)

Andrew Sullivan found this for us here

Indeed, we still have available the bar tab from a 1787 farewell party in Philadelphia for George Washington just days before the framers signed off on the Constitution. According to the bill preserved from the evening, the 55 attendees drank 54 bottles of Madeira, 60 bottles of claret, eight of whiskey, 22 of porter, eight of hard cider, 12 of beer, and seven bowls of alcoholic punch.




That's more than two bottles of fruit of the vine, plus a number of shots and a lot of punch and beer, for every delegate. That seems humanly impossible to modern Americans. But, you see, across the country during the Colonial era, the average American consumed many times as much beverage alcohol as contemporary Americans do. Getting drunk—but not losing control—was simply socially accepted.

Feb 16, 2014

The Hindu god --- This is heaven (teaser)


Context:  (1) A new morning has arrived, heralding Day Two of the Vampire Festival week(2) Ben (whom we met first in Part I in a chapter titled "A hitchhiker's guide to gay sex") has returned from an "outcall" and is sleeping on John's bed.  (3) Since his failed suicide last week, Alex maintains he has arrived in heaven. He also labors under serious amnesia. (4) Maurice is staying with them, still reconvalescent from the bloody fuck last week that almost cost him his life. 


“Okay,” Alex says and hands me the coffee cup. He sits down on the bed and peers through the window. The Davis Canal runs right by the condo and there’s a water tower on the other side, a tripedal contraption expecting the sun to kiss it back to life each morning.

“Do they have water towers in heaven?” I ask.
“Apparently,” Alex says.
“We’re still in heaven?”
“We’re still in heaven … a bit less though, this tower barely qualifies.”
“You knew about Ben,” I say, “before you…lost your memory.”
“Tell me anything.”




Ben moves in his sleep. Don’t ask how, but his unconscious hand is now in Alex’s lap. “Maurice knows about Ben. Everybody knows about Ben, ask Maurice,” I say.
“Ben is …” (he lets the sentence trail).

Feb 12, 2014

Find a caption




(In Seattle they have a sex cinema with a sign outside: "Veni, vidi, veni." Along those lines, how about "Fail, fame, fail?")
(Okay, just trying.)

Feb 11, 2014

Bank Kapi (2) (Mr. E.) (A year in shorts --- teaser)

Mr, E., yes, Mr. E., the mysterious blogger behind the brilliant blog 50ShadyGays has finished his book, and here's another teaser, the second part of the first chapter, titled "Bang Kapi." It's out, the book, it's on Amazon, scroll down for the link. (Artwork by Bob Bienpensant).


He is distracted and his eyes are searching for some stimulation and they come to rest upon the slender hips of our geeky-looking waiter. James’s eyelids squint a gluttonous moment of gratification, and in a hideously Freudian moment, his conversation ambles towards obscenity as he recounts the tales of his new lover’s sexual exploits.

“I love to feel his rock-hard cock inside me...”

I try very hard not to care, or even to let his words take effect, but there is something primal in imagining true horror. Already my overactive imagination has concocted a revolting picture of smooth, tanned skin greedily exploring the folds of James’s over-indulged rump. I bulk at the thought of his muscle-weak corpulence receiving the attention and the care of anyone, but why should I care? My prissy judgment says more about me than it does about him.

It strikes me that I am being hypocritical about this. In asking myself the question, “why would anyone share such intimate information with virtual strangers?” The irony is not lost on me. I have looked back at my own blogs, postings and articles, and I cannot fully understand my motivations for discussing my sexuality. Is it pure narcissism? Is it indulgence? I’ve not ruled these explanations out; however, I maintain that human sexuality is a natural aspect of our lives that frequently gets distorted. I feel to some degree that my sexuality has been hijacked. I’m not sure of the exact moment it happened, but all of a sudden, I felt the language of gay discourse no longer included me. It began to serve a privileged elite who publicly proclaimed their love and sought to marginalize the cruising that has, at its heart, an authentic engagement with the sexuality of men.



Feb 10, 2014

Why do we post this? (Green Eyes teaser: 500 million spermatozoa can't be wrong)

Because...





...we have a pretext, a clip alluding to Part I of the Green Eyes, Chapter 42 (500 million spermatozoa can't be wrong):   

An anchorman and an anchorwoman appear in the beaming studio and greet each other expansively against the backdrop of the police department’s parking lot. Assorted vehicles are still parked there, and Charleze (the local reporter), is still on location. "The top story today is so breathtaking, it is positively, absolutely, and definitively unbelievable," the anchorwoman (“Olivia”) enthuses, “Charleze has more." Charleze expansively greets anchorwoman (“Olivia”), who expansively greets back. Next to Charleze a man is standing whom we know already thanks to our interest in family blogs. Hunnsbruck is dressed this time, dressed to kill, you’d say, or at least dressed to advocate innovative punishments for police department homicides, so he’s emphasizing local roots with a light seersucker suit of modest stripes and cut. The reporter turns to the seersucker suit and introduces him as the youngest DA in the history of the galaxy: "When we arrived on the scene this morning," Charleze explains to Hunnsbruck, "having been alerted by vigilant members of the Georgia Beach community to the unsettling traffic on the lot outside the local police department, right here where we are standing, rumors were swirling that an officer has been shockingly shot dead inside and that an assistant district attorney from your office is implicated. Does the size of the CSI vehicle” (pan on the white-cubicled truck) “points to the size of the crime committed inside?"
“Splendid”—Maurice.
"Thank you for having me on"—Hunnsbruck.
"You are always welcome"—Charleze.

And now, in unison: “Thank you”—both.

A brief moment of recovery, Charleze catching some breath. "The word is, Sir, that Lieutenant Blake Jackson of the Georgia Beach police force was shot dead last night."
"Although I’ve never had a chance to meet him in person, I am convinced that he is, or was, a truly wonderful person. My thoughts and prayers are with his family and friends at this difficult juncture."

"We have to interrupt briefly for this message," Charleze informs Hunnsbruck, who gracefully cedes the floor to a risqué soda commercial with a curly-blond girl, the wind-surfer back of a hot male (only the back), and a soda bottle. When finally allowed back, Charleze and Hunnsbruck have obviously had a chance to follow the ad on their return video—so Charleze suppresses a giggle when asking Hunnsbruck: "Sir, this is a shocking crime, is it not,” (her left hand gesturing, digits splayed, dramatic nail-paint-jobs exposed, the right hand doggedly clinging to the phallic mike) “is it not a shocking crime when a trusted member of the local police force is shot dead while in full discharge of his duties. How do you feel about this?"


Are you still there? Then you'll possibly like the GREEN EYES. The first part is out now, available as Kindle book on Amazon, under this link:


Night Owl Reviews
"click"

Feb 3, 2014

A box of sleepy kittens --- This is heaven (teaser)

Context: The first festival day is already over, John and Alex have returned home, lying on the bed. For more context, refer to the earlier teasers (link below), or this post.

He’s trying so hard to be sweet---licking my face now, more lover than alpha dog up here, this after having licked my balls, and my dick, more alpha-dog down there, drawing a semi-semi erection that soon folded because I’m too exhausted after seven breathless days. Plus, him just being nice is so much nicer than him just fucking me, especially after the two pissing-outside-the-tent events we (he) had today, with the flashes of his adult part inside Albert and Godehart still fresh on my mind. “Enough atonement,” he says finally and arranges himself with the back against the pillow against the bed head, pulls the blanket over my limbs, and reaches for his iPad, caressing my tousled hair, absent-mindedly, his palm resting on my crane, two fingers fidgeting with my hairline.



This is the first time we’re just chillin’, just being there, just being a box of sleepy kittens. Perhaps I should fill him in about his past a bit, some basic stuff he needs to know, things I know, but then I know very little and want to avoid talking about his mother, especially about her death at the age of ten (his), the only thing I know about her, the catastrophe that triggered his depression.

Feb 2, 2014

How not to use dope


Make it full screen, stare at it for the duration of the forty seconds it lasts, the look elsewhere. Apparently, the Strobe-illusion tricks your brain to release the drug DMT, in small quantities, and for a minute thereafter you enjoy real hallucinations. The walls undulating, and stuff. Really works. Great. As if we had nothing better to do.

The view (of the slopes) again ...

...yesterday...

...and this morning.

Feb 1, 2014

I knew it, I knew it



"She clutches his hips, pulls on his shorts" --- This is heaven (teaser)

Context, context, folks: (1) The festival is about to begin. (2) Ben, the black guy whom we met first in the chapter "The hitchhiker's guide to gay sex" in the previous part of the Green Eyes, will run the market stand of Luke's convenience store; Alex will sell Bavarian leather shorts for Godehart. (3) Barbette Bienpensant is an expert of rapture and related events, and also the sister of Juliette, whom we met earlier in the day when she (Juliette) told us she's still a virgin but would do anything for ice cream. (4) Alex, in his previous life, dropped out of computer science because he judged computational complexity theory "bad mathematics." (5) John and Barbette just met during the first meeting of the festival jury. 


The market stands (still being put together by volunteers with bad hair when we arrived 20 minutes ago) are ready, and it appears from a distance that two young men are busy at two neighboring stalls, Ben on the left, and Alex on the right, both unpacking merchandise. They seem unaware of each other.

I halt my steps, just stand there, and wonder: How is it possible that a person of recently professed sexual insouciance ignores another person nearby that sports the toned body of a basketball player, smooth, vibrant, silky black skin, lips from Angelina Jolie, profile from Michelangelo, teeth from a dental catalog, and the movements of a Bolshoi dancer? Conversely, how is it possible that a person with a documented history of at least two homosexual encounters with me ignores another male person nearby that sports the toned body of a hunk, smooth, vibrant, silky brown skin, lips from Joe Phillips, profile also from Joe Phillips, and the overall demeanor of an alpha dog?



What happened to sexuality? People are not gay anymore. Alex is just playing nice until another angel needs his love, like Juliette Bienpensant, the morning vamp without piercings, who wears less mascara now as she comes all the way across the Surfside field to ask more questions about ice cream and virginity. Or Barbette Bienpensant, the famous metaphysicist, who is accompanying her much younger sister, pushing forty already (Barbette) but still hot enough to need Alex’s humongous dick between her shapely thighs.