photo by Paul Sepuya
26 February 2010
25 February 2010
The Bubble Burst
I find myself practically in a relationship, in love against better judgment, with a boy.
Shoot went well. Apparently, I am like a "breath of fresh air."
We had our first lil' tiff, if you want to call it that, tonight.
My boy started complaining how his millionaire father doesn't give him enough money. I mentioned maybe his dad should have died when he was eight so he could live off the life insurance (until it runs out your sophomore year of college)/(so your mom can buy a new house and promptly move in the boyfriend you hate and the boyfriend's son you hate even more, but the boyfriend's son has a dick, and he wants you to suck it, so you do because you are eleven and hot and horny and it is all you can get. When you are not sucking your dick you are trying to make his head catch on fire or at least implode... layers of skin fall off to reveal mucles and tendons falling off to reveal bones and joints and... SLUGS? THAT IS WHAT WAS UNDERNEATH THERE? SLUGS?) money, until it runs out before it is convenient for it to run out.
I started doing that thing that one should never do. What would my life be like now if my dad had never died. I would be gay, that is for sure... but I'm not sure if I would have pushed my boundaries of gayness as far as I did. I don't think I would have pushed myself so far in any way. It's so weird to understand my father never heard me play my sax (I studied with a jazz saxophonist for about ten years... he wanted me to carry on the legacy of old jazz masters like himself) or bassoon (my bassoon teacher, the studio bassoonist for Disney, told me once of a fifteen year old girl [I was sixteen, and slacking hard] who was performing a bassoon concerto. He told me that I had more musicality in my right pinkie than she had in her entire body and it killed him to know she was getting a concerto and I was fucking my talent away when clearly my future lied in the realm of bassoon, and I should quit sax, quit sports, and devote the rest of my life to this dying art--bassson is considered one of the most difficult instruments to master. They are as expensive as luxury automobiles, have wait lists, and the craftsmanship of something as simple as a double reed could take a lifetime to master), and I really thought that was where my life was headed until I was sixteen and my house burned down at 4am, my father's birthday... just a few hours before I was to catch the train to go to all-state honor choir (I was a 2nd bass, and had scored highest from my school. My voice doesn't really sound good, but my perfect pitch, ability to sight read, transpose keys, etc. but me at a serious advantage). I gave everything that had to do with music up. It was not my thing.
Neither was the ridiculously delicious food I was learning to cook, with the opportunity to learn the business of owning a restaurant from the inside out. It was not my thing.
I don't even want to talk about the fashion thing. The dude that moved me to NYC and I decided it was better for me to quit my fierce restaurant jobs and gigs around time as the hot new piece of ass in NYC nightlife to assist him. That lead to an old, dear, dear friend from Berkeley/restaurant days working at a magazine to get me to intern for that magazine. Six months later I was hired as Fashion Market Editor, with no experience, no college education, no nothing. Just. Something. I was believed in. I don't know. I guess I've had a lot of daddies. A year later, I'm working with people I idolized when I was a kid and they are asking my opinion about their fashion line; I'm fast on my way to becoming HOT SHIT. It was not my thing.
If my dad had been there and forced me not to give up, would I have, every time, for either fear of success or fear of failure?
Would my mom still be in the same fucking hopeless threadbare relationship with the same fucking asshole that I still fucking hate (let's not forget his disgusting hairdresser date-raping son)?
Would my sister's husband have killed himself ("this is because of you, bitch [BANG]")?
Would I have become an HIV+ escort, go-go boy, stripper, and future bareback porn star for the good part of a decade?
I'M AN ARTIST GODDAMNIT!
Everyone has it. It's what you make of it, right?
Just for the record, I think I would have ended up owning a successful chain of old-school pharmacies/ soda counter with treats/variety/gift stores, on the lower end, and on the higher end completely changing the way western medicine looks at prescription drugs and drug companies and their role in our continued/future illnesses, after a stint as a symphony musician/cool cat in a jazz band. At the very least I would have graduated college.
I love you Frankie. I am not completely sure why, but I don't think I need to know yet.
If this doesn't work out I will still love you. I refuse to begin loving anything that I may regret loving/not love in the future. That is not worth it for me. If we stop being active lovers, know I still love you all the same.
Is this what I'm really trying to say?
Love is eternal?
Shoot went well. Apparently, I am like a "breath of fresh air."
We had our first lil' tiff, if you want to call it that, tonight.
My boy started complaining how his millionaire father doesn't give him enough money. I mentioned maybe his dad should have died when he was eight so he could live off the life insurance (until it runs out your sophomore year of college)/(so your mom can buy a new house and promptly move in the boyfriend you hate and the boyfriend's son you hate even more, but the boyfriend's son has a dick, and he wants you to suck it, so you do because you are eleven and hot and horny and it is all you can get. When you are not sucking your dick you are trying to make his head catch on fire or at least implode... layers of skin fall off to reveal mucles and tendons falling off to reveal bones and joints and... SLUGS? THAT IS WHAT WAS UNDERNEATH THERE? SLUGS?) money, until it runs out before it is convenient for it to run out.
I started doing that thing that one should never do. What would my life be like now if my dad had never died. I would be gay, that is for sure... but I'm not sure if I would have pushed my boundaries of gayness as far as I did. I don't think I would have pushed myself so far in any way. It's so weird to understand my father never heard me play my sax (I studied with a jazz saxophonist for about ten years... he wanted me to carry on the legacy of old jazz masters like himself) or bassoon (my bassoon teacher, the studio bassoonist for Disney, told me once of a fifteen year old girl [I was sixteen, and slacking hard] who was performing a bassoon concerto. He told me that I had more musicality in my right pinkie than she had in her entire body and it killed him to know she was getting a concerto and I was fucking my talent away when clearly my future lied in the realm of bassoon, and I should quit sax, quit sports, and devote the rest of my life to this dying art--bassson is considered one of the most difficult instruments to master. They are as expensive as luxury automobiles, have wait lists, and the craftsmanship of something as simple as a double reed could take a lifetime to master), and I really thought that was where my life was headed until I was sixteen and my house burned down at 4am, my father's birthday... just a few hours before I was to catch the train to go to all-state honor choir (I was a 2nd bass, and had scored highest from my school. My voice doesn't really sound good, but my perfect pitch, ability to sight read, transpose keys, etc. but me at a serious advantage). I gave everything that had to do with music up. It was not my thing.
Neither was the ridiculously delicious food I was learning to cook, with the opportunity to learn the business of owning a restaurant from the inside out. It was not my thing.
I don't even want to talk about the fashion thing. The dude that moved me to NYC and I decided it was better for me to quit my fierce restaurant jobs and gigs around time as the hot new piece of ass in NYC nightlife to assist him. That lead to an old, dear, dear friend from Berkeley/restaurant days working at a magazine to get me to intern for that magazine. Six months later I was hired as Fashion Market Editor, with no experience, no college education, no nothing. Just. Something. I was believed in. I don't know. I guess I've had a lot of daddies. A year later, I'm working with people I idolized when I was a kid and they are asking my opinion about their fashion line; I'm fast on my way to becoming HOT SHIT. It was not my thing.
If my dad had been there and forced me not to give up, would I have, every time, for either fear of success or fear of failure?
Would my mom still be in the same fucking hopeless threadbare relationship with the same fucking asshole that I still fucking hate (let's not forget his disgusting hairdresser date-raping son)?
Would my sister's husband have killed himself ("this is because of you, bitch [BANG]")?
Would I have become an HIV+ escort, go-go boy, stripper, and future bareback porn star for the good part of a decade?
I'M AN ARTIST GODDAMNIT!
Everyone has it. It's what you make of it, right?
Just for the record, I think I would have ended up owning a successful chain of old-school pharmacies/ soda counter with treats/variety/gift stores, on the lower end, and on the higher end completely changing the way western medicine looks at prescription drugs and drug companies and their role in our continued/future illnesses, after a stint as a symphony musician/cool cat in a jazz band. At the very least I would have graduated college.
I love you Frankie. I am not completely sure why, but I don't think I need to know yet.
If this doesn't work out I will still love you. I refuse to begin loving anything that I may regret loving/not love in the future. That is not worth it for me. If we stop being active lovers, know I still love you all the same.
Is this what I'm really trying to say?
Love is eternal?
19 February 2010
Preparation: Meat Scrunchy
It was quite possibly the biggest dick I've ever seen. I took it like a champ. Last time I'm having sex or ejaculating before my scene tomorrow. My mind can rest knowing that my ass can take A LOT. I forget sometimes there is a reason why I am considered a powerbottom.
18 February 2010
I Make the Porn
Got a shoot coming up this Saturday for a studio I've never worked for. Got a shoot coming up Monday for a studio I worked for once but I was only like fist #14 or something. Exciting, no, that I make the porn?
16 February 2010
"Being sleazy is having the ability and the willingness to become whatever is necessary to get what you want. Or, conversely, to somehow make whomever you're with into whatever you want — or need. It implies a very basic malleability of selfhood, a flexibility of identity that's less depersonalizing than it is repeatedly repersonalizing. Take what you're given and make it work. This is the exercise of sleaze."
Christopher Rage
Bad Hair...
great fucking.
That is the title to a post I was writing in reference to my hairstyle in Manplay-17, but I can't figure out how to embed the video here so fuck it. Hey guys guess what I am having special feelers for someone and right now it's at the point I feel I need to tranquilize myself a little bit just to stand it!!!
That's not really what I'm here to talk about. I have decided to grow some balls and accept things might be discussed in a bad way but in the end I have to stay true to myself, my character and my self-expression.
I want to be a bad-ass in love.
The inclination is already there.
If there is reciprocation by another bad-ass, even better.
I was talking to a friend about doing an anonymous cum-dump type of scene, and I said it was not my cup of tea, but I could imagine doing it if I had a lover that was really into it and got turned on by whoring my hole out indiscriminately... which I immediately said was weird. My friend asked why it was weird to want someone to look out for you. I couldn't come up with a good answer.
That is the title to a post I was writing in reference to my hairstyle in Manplay-17, but I can't figure out how to embed the video here so fuck it. Hey guys guess what I am having special feelers for someone and right now it's at the point I feel I need to tranquilize myself a little bit just to stand it!!!
That's not really what I'm here to talk about. I have decided to grow some balls and accept things might be discussed in a bad way but in the end I have to stay true to myself, my character and my self-expression.
I want to be a bad-ass in love.
The inclination is already there.
If there is reciprocation by another bad-ass, even better.
I was talking to a friend about doing an anonymous cum-dump type of scene, and I said it was not my cup of tea, but I could imagine doing it if I had a lover that was really into it and got turned on by whoring my hole out indiscriminately... which I immediately said was weird. My friend asked why it was weird to want someone to look out for you. I couldn't come up with a good answer.
10 February 2010
Everything You Do
Should be done with conviction and confidence.
The only times you make a misstep are when you think twice where you are stepping.
I realized something tonight: I have lost the capacity to miss people. Do we actually lose the ability to feel certain emotions or do we cast them aside when it suits us? Selective hearing. This may be redundant but I don't miss missing.
What do you do when your emotions become a highly efficient angerconverter and any emotion that pops up in you end up expressing itself PISSED OFF? What if you get part of your strength from your anger, your beast, your self-proclaimed worst enemy, and the world is going to end and only you can save it but you aren't sure if you have the strength and the advice you seek tells you IT IS NOT ENOUGH and to save the world you must embrace your worst enemy and let it become an even bigger part of you?
If you were Buffy, you'd totally refuse to demonize your heart and soul, bust out of the chains, fight off the old ancient black dudes, and come back to reality thanks to a hot lesbian best friend, only to realize that it is not enough.
Following this new train of Buffy-thought I have a vision of a hot lesbian witch casting a spell that causes all present and future powerbottoms to release their full powers all at once... to an all-powerful metaphallus that won't know what it is hitting.
The only times you make a misstep are when you think twice where you are stepping.
I realized something tonight: I have lost the capacity to miss people. Do we actually lose the ability to feel certain emotions or do we cast them aside when it suits us? Selective hearing. This may be redundant but I don't miss missing.
What do you do when your emotions become a highly efficient angerconverter and any emotion that pops up in you end up expressing itself PISSED OFF? What if you get part of your strength from your anger, your beast, your self-proclaimed worst enemy, and the world is going to end and only you can save it but you aren't sure if you have the strength and the advice you seek tells you IT IS NOT ENOUGH and to save the world you must embrace your worst enemy and let it become an even bigger part of you?
If you were Buffy, you'd totally refuse to demonize your heart and soul, bust out of the chains, fight off the old ancient black dudes, and come back to reality thanks to a hot lesbian best friend, only to realize that it is not enough.
Following this new train of Buffy-thought I have a vision of a hot lesbian witch casting a spell that causes all present and future powerbottoms to release their full powers all at once... to an all-powerful metaphallus that won't know what it is hitting.
09 February 2010
And from the looks of your last few weeks' of postings, it looks like the sort of boners you're chasing are the slimy, tattooed, drugged-out, unprotected & poz kind... which, I think we're all in agreement on, you should most-definitely be avoiding!
Slimy, tattooed, drugged-out, unprotected... are you talking about me? I've been chasing myself! Holy fuck! I've been at the edge of this river for weeks!!!
new projects
are in the air. I've been going back and forth (in my head, but not really.... a moment of talking myself out of it here and there) but all it takes is a look at a picture and the reality of it all and I get a boner, and is a boner so bad?
04 February 2010
"My fantasy involves two consenting adults well aware of the risks. I can't help that as a neg vers/top I am turned on by the thought of taking a load from a hot poz guy. Can I ask you a hypothetical question? If both parties are aware that the top is poz and the bottom willingly takes the load does it still make it wrong? I just thought that since you have a 'piggy' side you would at least appreciate my fantasy."
03 February 2010
So Many Things
I wish I could say here... But I can't. I do not know what is stopping me. Nothing can be worse than what is already assumed about me. So what stops me? Pride? Fear that I will have a worse reputation, that any guy I go on a date with will read the blog and be immediately terrified? People already think I'm shady, but if I didn't hold anything back, well, everyone would think I am shady.
It's amazing how many guys are so freaked out by me before they even meet me. Lately I seem to be torturing myself be being attracted to lil' scruffy tattooed boys in their twenties that live in Brooklyn--a close approximation to myself--yet they are all really cautious and weary of my charms. I do not feel like I am part of my generation. There is certain conformist mentality I see rising up in the young gays, a strive towards hetero-normative ideas and morals, and I do not like it.
I don't think I'm a monster, nor do I think I'm shadier than most. I am just honest about my shadiness and I own it, and that is my problem. It becomes increasingly more difficult to stay honest when I know everyone is lying around me.
Why am I being such a bummer today? I'm actually in a good mood.
Since you guys seem to like porn clips of me... I will look for more out there. They are all really old... I like it that some of you read this without knowing any of my video work. It's cute. OK BYE
It's amazing how many guys are so freaked out by me before they even meet me. Lately I seem to be torturing myself be being attracted to lil' scruffy tattooed boys in their twenties that live in Brooklyn--a close approximation to myself--yet they are all really cautious and weary of my charms. I do not feel like I am part of my generation. There is certain conformist mentality I see rising up in the young gays, a strive towards hetero-normative ideas and morals, and I do not like it.
I don't think I'm a monster, nor do I think I'm shadier than most. I am just honest about my shadiness and I own it, and that is my problem. It becomes increasingly more difficult to stay honest when I know everyone is lying around me.
Why am I being such a bummer today? I'm actually in a good mood.
Since you guys seem to like porn clips of me... I will look for more out there. They are all really old... I like it that some of you read this without knowing any of my video work. It's cute. OK BYE
01 February 2010
Back When I was Famous
check this out... HIGHlarious. I just watched it for the first time last night. I seem so...energetic. In the unrated version I get doused with everyone's piss... ChiChi just about had a conniptions when I was started peeing in my mouth and everyone else was pissing on my asshole. Funny thing is I'm not really into watersports. I guess I say that about everything and then I go home with a hot guy and drink his pee. So basically I'm a liar to myself.
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