White Noise

Textual Healing

I found the note you slipped in my gym locker. You wrote:

We should talk fuck

So I'm calling...

Privoy
Visionaire
Video
Good girl gone really bad

MUSIC TO FUCK TO:

Marz. Does this song kinda make you happy/sad, too?

Drake. I'd love to remake this video.

The Foreign Exchange. Kick off your "blues" (jeans).

Brandy. Do this. Please.

Semisonic. How many times did I drive back and forth between Durham, NC and DC with this album?

Polly Jean. I think you said, "I'm still dripping." 

Bird and the Bee. I fucking LOVE this version. Thank you, Montreal 2010.

BT. Nearly anything by him, but especially this song. I want to get blazed and fuck to this song played FULL BLAST inside one of those padded, centrifugal force rides at the fair.

Lifehouse. Yeah, I know. The relationship is kinda over if your ass is playing this, but still a bang worthy tune.

Jazmine Sullivan. I love this bitch's voice so much, I'd give her all kinds of dick for singing to me.

Michael Bolton. An obvious choice, but he does the shit justice.

'Ye. Don't let me get in MY (erogenous) zone, nikka.

Stereophonics. I would have gotten it on to this song in college...as well as now. Besides, I'm in love with Kelly Jones. I seem to love short, non-American-born, shit-starters.

No Doubt. This song reminds me of Instagram Sex - end of summer/beginning of fall, smoothed-out edges, diffuse lighting and billowy sheers up to the windows.

Joe. This Delicious Muthafucker is one of my favorite balladeers. This is the melody you play for your dude when he gets home at 7p from a long day at the office. He walks in wearing his suit jacket hooked over one finger, trousers fitting tight over that fat ass. You meet him at the door, kiss him on the lips, take his free hand and walk him over to the piano where two glasses of something good are sitting. Now sit your ass down and play this nice and slow.

Enrique Iglesias: This song is gangsta. Just puts it right out there. Love. It.

Soundcloud Artist: I'd like to film a different sex scene for each track.

Il Divo: GOD I FUCKING LOVE THIS SONG! Carlos is my favorite hands down: face, curly hair, unbuttoned sexiness, voice. Jesus, that voice is so thick and powerful...I'm a little embarrassed to say this (so I'll do it online in front of the whole world [yeah, cause the whole world is reading this fucking blog - not]), but I would for real put the pussy on Carlos faster than he could say "injunction." Goddamn. With all that said, the only time I've ever screamed out "I want to have your babies" at a concert was seeing Jason Mraz. No lie. I did. C'mon now. You know I did.

I'll Big Spoon you during our nap, Jayce.

Guilty Pleasure: Squidbillies
Guilty Fact: I still have the musky smell of young, juicy Latin ass on my face from hours ago.
Guilty Confession: I love the smell of young, juicy Latin ass on my face from hours ago ;)

Oooh Baby I Like it R-A-W

Raw food, raw passion, raw talent, raw emotion: Some of the most basic things in life are best with as few additives as possible. Some, but not all. As far as raw food is concerned, that one comes with an asterisk for me. I'm all about raw veggies, especially when they're blended into beet, carrot, apple and cucumber ginger juice. Trident Booksellers on Newbury Street is one of my favorite places to grab one of those, but I shut it down when it comes to raw meat. That makes sushi about a 50% experience for me. I just eat the avocado rolls and whatever else is veggie. But eel? Raw eel?!?!?! Absolutely not. The best I can do is a medium rare burger from an excellent kitchen. That's delicious. Steak tartare, however, is a hell no.

Raw passion is another easy one. Whether it makes you money or not, it's about drive and the relentless pursuit of something. I just finished reading a recent article on Ted Turner in The Hollywood Reporter. I'd say that passion pretty much sums up his entire life. It's hard to create something like, oh I don't know, the cable industry as we know it without an incredible amount of passionate mania. Other passionate manics (PM'S) are Oprah, Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, the Obamas, Mozart...Carol Channing. Look, whatever. Libra that I am, I see the benefits and drawbacks to that type of success. "Great. So I definitively created the information superhighway and I have 90 katrillion US dollars in the bank. Fine. Where's my bowl of greens, copy of Bob and Silent Jay and my nap?" Problem is, people who are that passionate and successful rarely nap. And that's racist. Black people love to nap. There's a band dedicated to rapping about napping: the Nappy Roots. Maybe you've heard of them. I don't know. Too soon? I can't be funny and fire up the bowl. Wait. Yes I can. (Thank you, President Obama. And I will be voting for you again.)

Raw talent is another. Anybody who's listened to Aretha Franklin sing Sky Lark in her early days or even watched Katharine McPhee's audition tape knows how raw talent sounds. Anyone who's seen Blake Griffin or A-Rod do their thing knows raw cuteness...talent. Talent! I'm saying raw here as opposed to the result of years and years of refinement that eventually must come to ensure the bigger deals, bigger venues and bigger audiences, of course. But one has to have the talent to even get to that level. Just to know that Jay Z has always been able to create lyrics, never write them down and yet remember them is nothing short of astounding. I can see doing that shit when You've Arrived. It's your world; that studio becomes home. It can be more comfortable in there than in public sometimes. But even in the very beginning, while having no experience in the studio, no experience with label execs and no experience with that kind of pressure, he must've had nerves of steel. Then again, he wasn't running from drug dealers and gang members like he had been. So yeah. Piece of cake. (This moment has been brought to you by Perspective.)

Raw emotion is another, but I don't think most people, myself included, really want to have too many of these moments. They come with an asterisk because they sound hard and, I don't know, unfiltered. Filtering can be a very good thing. Case in point, your brother calls and says, "Me and Katie are pregnant!" Bothersome on a few different levels, right? I mean, do you correct his misguided syntax (it's Katie and I)? Do you ask the obvious question: "how the hell are you both pregnant when only one of you has ovaries?" (I understand "we're pregnant" on a theoretical level, but still...) Or do you just get right to saying, "whoop-de-damn-doo. You stuck your dick in her, busted a nut, now you're both going to probably be really poor, aggravated, poor, sleep-deprived and poor for the next 30 years. Congrats, assholes." (Pluralizing the noun in this example is grammatically correct because, even though you're just speaking to your brother, it's true that both of them wear the Ass Hat title.) The answer? This is a trick question. You are not allowed to say any of those things. Nope. Nuh uh. Shut it. Your only possible response is "ohmygodthat'swonderfulnews!" But perhaps I'm being just a skosh too cynical.

No, that really wasn't an example of raw emotion. But I do remember being a senior in college when my actor boyfriend told me over the phone that he was moving to New York the next semester. Keep in mind we were sort of fighting, and longing for each other, and hurting each other, and wanting to fuck each other, and still being in love with each other, and still having to see each other in class every damned day...too much! So we were in the middle of that kind of situation when he called and gave me the news one night. I still can't think of that moment without my eyes welling up (like now). I don't even like that guy anymore and I've seen him within the last few years. He told me he had to hang up because his other boyfriend (longer story) had just gotten home. I hung up, laid on the floor next to my bed and wept like I hadn't in maybe 10 years. Up until that point, I guess I never really felt like I had anything to cry about. Yes, life was hardly all good, but it was still worth living. It was good enough, right? Things worked out enough of the time, right?

All of a sudden, I just didn't know anymore. North Carolina is Left Behindsville in contrast to NYC in terms of performing opportunities. To be fair, I had my share of chances to step up and be in his life in a major way. I just didn't know how to at the time. So it was what it had to be. It's almost funny to describe this in retrospect because I feel like I'm casting Kenneth Branaugh and Idris Elba in the East Boston High production of Catcher in the Rye. The height of pretension. Stipulated. Nevertheless, I cried so intensely I felt drunk. Have you ever cried like that? I was psychically, emotionally and physically exhausted. My abs felt like I'd gone a round in the ring; so did my head. But I think the worst part of all was the emptiness I felt. At. That. Very. Instant.

In a flicker, I saw the dozens of wintry days and nights we'd spent in his two-seater, listening to music, driving somewhere to just be together somewhere else. I saw the time I fucked him in a tiny piano room on our college campus (NC Central) where I was supposed to be practicing. Unfortunately, I also remember how ill-prepared he'd always be to bottom. Fucking ALWAYS! Anal sex was a rare part of our short relationship, anyway. I saw the hundreds of times I kissed him, the places I kissed him, what color his hair was that particular day (blue, green, yellow or all three). I heard and felt the countless times I told him I loved him, hearing him say it back and knowing that nothing could EVER make me happier. I also saw how we always seemed to be walking away from each other in one way or another. Again, was never going to work. Yadda yadda yadda.

I called him back and begged to see him that night. It was his time with the other guy, but I had to. The clock never stops. We don't get a second chance at making this moment. If it was over, it needed to happen face to face so we could both have closure: face-to-face closure, not over-the-phone closure. It stirred up a little shit at home, but the boyfriend eventually relented. We met in a parking lot somewhere just to get it over with. Yeah. It hurt, but you know what? I got my closure. And I never looked back. There haven't been too many of those moments in my life, but their echos still sting. So yeah. I think I know a little something about raw emotion and why I'll take mine filtered. I suspect that my literary partner in (rhyme) prose knows a thing or three about it, too.

Music served up R-A-W
Blog with Enough Juice to Last All Week
This dude is hot and funny. Again, he's my current porn inspiration.
The (Not-So-Raw) Politics Now do they both come in Magnum, or...
Cream pie a la mode
Worn out "pussy"
                                        

Gay Pride in Montreal...Remixed and Remastered (Again.2)

Friday, a friend and I headed to Montreal for gay pride. We go at least once a year, but this was our first gay pride there. We'd been planning it for several weeks. The entire drive up, I began to get more and more excited about all the places we'd go and the things we'd do. I even remember saying on the way up how much I was expecting from the trip. I think my friend was surprised by my admission. For much of our relationship, I've held most of my feelings very close to my chest. It's just something I learned growing up and it's taken a long time to grow out of that. That's a story for another time but, suffice it to say, I was excited. What did we do when we got there: nothing associated with gay pride. What the...seriously. It's actually funny. I'm not disappointed at all really. We walked around during the day eating way too much fucking poutine. (Potatoes, cheese and meat covered in gravy? Uh, YES. I grew up in the south. I don't say no to gravy.) In the evening, we'd sit in the hotel room, smoke weed and listen to Kim Burrell go melodically in-fucking-sane here, here and here. I've been a fan of her gospel jazz since her first CD. I also got to see her Boston last month. I'm glad somebody videotaped it. I think I passed out when she riffed UP :)

That was a long way to drive to miss all of the DJs and events, but it wasn't all for naught. I met a few handsome men. One in particular was a super cute, salt and pepper haired, baby-faced beauty. One look in those blue-green eyes and I was very glad I agreed to meet. It looked like we weren't going to be able to, but he had been pleasantly persistant; I'm so glad he was. I also took notice (very good notice actually) of those hard pecs underneath that polo. My chest definitely does NOT sit up like that. Given our lack of time and suitable space to get acquainted, he took me to the only place he could: a secured storage unit inside a public parking garage. No details here, folks. I will say two things, though: 1) His ass was beautiful and 2) he was an amazing kisser. *Insert huge ass-eating grin here, here, here and definitely all up in here.*

Later when I met back up with my friend, he took one look at me and said, "You've got dirt all over your back and on the back of your head. Where the hell were you?"About an hour later at lunch, he looked across the table and told me I had something on my neck. (Yeah.) I couldn't seem to wipe it off. So he reached over and did it. You know, that's what a great friend will do: tell you when there's toilet paper stuck to your shoe, something hanging out of your nose, tell you when to "leave his sorry ass 'cuz he ain't no good anyway, gurl" and yes, even remove an opal necklace your clavicle. Good. Mother. Fucking. Times.

Don't watch this shit while high. Nobody warned my ass. So I'm warning you.

Milf banged by god. I said it.

I vote for this guy...with my dick :-D

My birthday is in two months. See what you can do about this.

Inspiration: The porn actor James Deen will be starring as a lead with Lindsay Lohan in The Canyons. Yeah, I probably won't watch it either. He's a funny guy with a sexy, very well-written blog of his own.

DILFBERT

FADE IN

INT. GAY CLUB - NIGHT

The camera follows a COUPLE and their friend, MYLES (all in their 30's) as they wend their way through the crowd and eventually find a spot to drink and talk. They're soon joined by another, slightly older COUPLE and their twinky companion, THE KID, who happens to be celebrating his 21st birthday that evening. Following a round of introductions and awkward conversation, THE KID turns to MYLES and hands him a marker and removes his own shirt.

THE KID

I want you to write on me. 

MYLES

Seriously? Like what?

THE KID

Anything you want. (wink)

With a slight eye roll, but grinning, MYLES writes "why am I writing this???" on THE KID's chest. Others take the opportunity to pen much more sexual things across THE KID's chest, back and torso. As the evening progresses, the other COUPLES wander off and leave MYLES and THE KID to talk alone. 

MYLES

This is kind of hilarious, but why do I feel like we're third wheels?

THE KID

Because we are. 

(grinning)

That's not so bad, right?

MYLES

I guess not. (long awkward pause)

MYLES and THE KID (simultaneously)

So...

MYLES

Sorry. Go on. 

THE KID

You should come back to my place.

MYLES

Aren't you crashing on LARRY and what's-his-name DAN's couch tonight? How is that supposed to work exactly? 

THE KID

I am staying with them tonight, but I'm not sleeping on the couch. They have a spare bedroom I always use when I'm in town. 

MYLES

Look, kid. I'm flattered, but I'm just here to hang with my friends. I'm sure you're a lot of fun, but I think I'm a little too old for you.

THE KID

(unfazed, steps into MYLES, speaks directly into his neck; lips barely grazing the skin)

Thank you, but I think I know what my type is. And

(bumping their crotches)

I think you're just the right age to handle this allll night. Tell me I'm wrong.

MYLES

You know; I've been down this road. I think I'm all set. Happy birthday, though, kid. 

(pats him on the shoulder as he walks past)

I'm going to find the other guys and say goodnight. 

THE KID catches up to MYLES in the stairwell.

THE KID

Hey, man. I think you're hot, handsome, whatever and just want to get to know you. If not tonight, then some other time. Can we start over?

(extends his hand)

I'm George. 

Not long in the tooth, just long

Young and full of, well, a LOT of guys' cum

23 year old creampie

And a MAN shall lead them

"I feel younger as I'm getting older..."

Seven Years: Amount of time it's been since I had a boyfriend.
Seven Minutes: Amount of time that's passed since I finished dinner.
Seven Pounds: Amount of weight I hope to gain :-)

New Favorite Sneakers - Rainy Day Remix

They're beat up but, like most high-quality luxury items (from cars to ass, I guess), these Paul Smiths still look fucking cute as hell. I added the spikes. Speaking of things that improve with getting beat down, broken in and/or aged...

Fruit of the Vine

Cured* Meats (*Play on words, you say? Hmm. Maybe just a little *grin*)

Cheese

Black Pussy. I meant Leather Goods...(and black pussy).

I Threw A Wish In A Well

Don't ask me; I'll never tell. I looked at you as it fell and now you're in my way. I trade my soul for a wish, pennies and dimes for a kiss (I'm a cheap slut). I wasn't looking for this, but now you're in my way. Your stare was holding, ripped jeans: skin was showing. Hot night: wind was blowing. Where do you think you're going, baby? Hey (!) I just met you and this is crazy, but here's my number. So call me maybe. It's hard to look right at you, baby, but here's my number. So call me maybe...And all the other boys will try to chase me (naturally), but here's my number. So call me maybe.

You took your time with the call. I took no time with the fall. You gave me nothing at all, but still you're in my way. I beg and borrow and steal at first sight and it's real. I didn't know I would feel, but now you're in my way. Your stare was holding, ripped jean: skin was showing. Hot night: wind was blowing. Where do you think you're going, baby? Hey (!) I just met you and this is (like totally) CRAZY, but here's my number. So call me maybe. It's hard to look right at you, baby, but here's my number. So call me maybe...And all the other boys will try to chase me (no pressure, but you better get on this like NOW), but here's my number. So call me...maybe?

Before you came into my life I missed you so bad and you should know that. (SO not stalking you or anything.)

CMM...

Naked Love - Exquisite Corpse Slow-Dub

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadnesss. They can scream and shout that they've been sold out, but it paid for the cloud we're dancing on. Circles and triangles and now we're hanging out with your new (boy)friend. Since (Hay zoos) came into my (w)ife. I have been bound by the shackles of love and I don't mind if I die tied up. When you hold me, I'm alive. HABIA un tipo igualito a mi. Excuse me if I'm sounding crazy: I'm not myself tonight*. The world goes 'round and 'round.

Ba da DA da ba da da da DA da.

Bitch, PLEASE! It's not what I didn't feel; it's what I didn't show. Nothing new. Just a quiet crisis I'm going through. Something inside me has changed and I think I might be start(ing) over. Forever we will stay like a

Favorite Janet Live Performance
Favorite Janet Video Concept. This video is everything. And yes, it's really done in long take.
Favorite Janet Make-Up

*This chick is HOLLERING before 9 in the morning. Good evening!

Great Gay Performances

This month, I'm back with the original band with which I cowrote Are You the One. The tune is by the same composer who wrote Apathy and Little Known Distractions. All the songs presented on my SoundCloud page are demos. In other words, none of them have been professionally mixed, mastered, or recorded on high end professional equipment. Trust me; it matters. And in some cases, you're listening to first drafts. I'm happy to report that we're taking two tunes to a professional studio to rerecord by the end of the month (neither of which are public or can be made public until they're finished). I was looking over the lyrics for one of the songs today and it has the word "her" in the line. I emailed the composer, who is also a professional friend, and told him we'll need to change that. The new line won't have to read "him," but I'm not singing a romantic song about a woman.

As an actor, I've relented to playing straight. It's my job to be all kinds of people. I now see the joy (and challenge) of that. I also had the beginnings of a major subconscious heart change when I watched Season One Episode Two of the DL Chronicles. If you haven't already, watch it and tell me what you think. There was so much unexpected passion in that sex scene, I was just staring at the screen afterward. "Robert" is actually straight in real life. I thought, if he can play the other side so convincingly, then I can, too. Still, he wasn't forced to play that role. There's no lack of material from the straight perspective.

Also, when I'm singing, I'm not anyone else. I'm telling my own story from perspective numero uno. Yes, I get flak about my choice to change lyrics, but fuck the naysayers. It's homophobic to challenge me about my refusal to indulge hetero normative ideals. No one would criticize Jay-Z for covering a female song and changing the pronouns to "her." Why should I be? I'm in this head space because I just saw Cheyenne Jackson's latest video. I don't have any problems with it at all. He's beautiful to look at and can sing the leaves off the trees. (I WILL be covering this song.) He could be in the video singing to a tube of toothpaste and I wouldn't care. But his choices are his and mine are mine. Granted, I can't say for a fact that I wouldn't change my tune if the options were "make a straight video or no video." I might just make a straight video and bitch about it to the end of the time (and bitch about it I would...all the way to the bank.)

A similar situation occurred during the making of Interview with the Vampire. Remember that? Tom Cruise refused to play the gay scenes that were originally in the book. It was reported that Brad Pitt was fine with the characters as written. Anne Rice was furious, but it was either remove the obvious gay element or lose Tom as part of the project. Say what you will but, as bull-headed as I am (I have Taurus rising), I probably would've made the decision. Tom is huge, even though he is a Scientologist. (Why does scientology have nothing to do with science?)

Speaking of gay performances, you're invited to come out tomorrow to Club Oberon to meet me and the cast of an upcoming theatrical soap opera from 2p-5p. I'm keeping it realz and playing a gay character. It's non Eq (for all you theatre snobs), but it's fun and hilariously written and acted. If you want to see me in an Equity performance, you'll have to wait until the fall when I'm in Anne of Green Gables. In the meanwhile, tickets for Sunday's event are $30-$75.

Cheyenne Jackson's Latest Video and Song. Bought it!
More gay music. I couldn't get the player to work for the performances. Maybe you can. I hope it's good stuff. I didn't get to hear yet :-(
Favorite Cazwell Video
Kim Burrell isn't gay, but she will be in Boston tomorrow with others as part of a free gospel fest. Will I be there after the Oberon engagement? YES! Will she be singing this song? NO! But I listen to this rendition e'ryday.

The F.A.M.E.: Reflections - (re)Abridged

Entertainment is like a mirror; there really are (at least) two people. You standing there and you looking back at you. Which is real? Which would you like to be real? It's all a matter of perception really. And like a mirror, depending on which direction the sun (attention) is shining, it can reflect beautifully or burn the shit out of you.

I'm constantly fascinated with the cult of personality*, living inside the entertainment bubble and why people are famous in the first place. (*For some reason, Jerry Hall always comes to mind when I think of the term. Yes, I'm showing my age.)

What is fame, anyway? On some level, I think it means people get to (feel they) know you before they meet you. Problematic? Possibly. Based on those very loose parameters, for better or worse, thanks to blogs like this and other social media, increasingly more of us are achieving some level of "fame" with incredible ease. Major recording companies use amateur video blogs as a legitimate means to scour talent. Major news agencies now look to twitter as a source of really knowing what's happening on the front lines. Yes. Times they are a-changin'.

Speaking of fame, a few weeks back while high (uh yah i know: not a surprise), I fantasized about David Arquette. Why? Because I was high. That's my answer for almost everything, B.T. dubs. Anyway, I always thought David was cute. But I really love him now that he's a little older, grayer and fuller. He looks like a crazy ass stoner. So of course I've got wood for the dude. The fantasy the other night started well enough, but it quickly devolved into me worrying about having our relationship inevitably discovered and dragged into the tabloids. No. Bueno. (Drug-induced paranoia. Again: uh yah.) But you know how it always goes when humans try to mate with gods. It never bodes well for the mortal. We've seen this story all the way down from Zeus and Danae to Ralph Fiennes and that Qantas stewardess. Both women were, shall we say, fired like Brunnhilde. Mmmmmm HMMMP! The media always finds out about celebrity scandals. I saw it all flash before my eyes: I'd be tracked down and confronted by a porch and sidewalk full of reporters and cameras when I opened my door. I know exactly how the headline would read and, trust me. It wouldn't be flattering.

If people feel they pre know you, they also feel welcome to pre judge. It's been brought to my attention how public and open I appear to be living with this blog. I'm an attention junky. I admit that's true at times. I'm an entertainer. Shocked? It's a fine line, but there IS one. I'm careful about outing people here (whether they're gay or not). Also, what I write here is such a small part of my life, but I get to decide what info is released. If I were under the microscopic scrutiny or reflected in the mirror of a Hollywood scandal, there's no way I'd be able to control professional journalists finding out EVERYTHING about me. There's no wonder people want to be anonymous. Still we go ever towards the light (Carol Ann) of stardom. What is it with us? We're a world of exhibitionists and voyeurs every one of us. And I couldn't be more pleased :-)

Black Spark seems to have discovered a quite tantalizing middle ground. It's almost like watching a music video, which is an art form that still wields a lot of power. When I see celebrities' videos, movies, international concerts and interviews, beauty and clothing campaigns, I just have to take a moment and think "what that must cost to be EVERYWHERE." Glad that's not me. Then I get random texts from friends and others saying "Hey. Hope you're well. Just saw your (dick, face, ass, video, whatever) on (some random ass blog, tumblr, etc). Did you know about this?" Actually, not always. I was quite surprised to be told that the infamous multiple loads video is still floating around the blogosphere (not mine). I completely wasted the energy deleting the video from Xtube :-) I don't even have a copy of that one anymore. Oh well. Hopefully, I'll look back on all this in 60 years (days?) and say, "I had it going on then."

More Anonymous

Not So Anonymous

Eponymous

I Love the Way You Lie...

Next to me. Forehead against the back of your head. Soft baby curls all gone. Greedily inhaling the defiantly cute bristles. Lips touching the back of your silky smooth neck. Breath lightly moistening your nape. Your furry little ass warming my thighs under the covers. Ice cold air blowing over us. Heat index steady and humid without. Stealing kisses from your warm neck in quick succession. (One. Two. Three. Four.) Careful not to wake you. I want to eat you alive. You know this. My arm so tight around you my fingertips rest sleepily in your armpit. My hard dick flick-tapping a sticky Morse code on your ass: "Let me in. Let me..." (Five. Six. Seven. Eight.) I want to fill you with milk. My milk. Decorate your insides with Pure Unadulterated ME (Number 9) just because I want to. I groan the thought that Dalí was right:

I want to consume you.


Instinctually, you want to allow yourself to be. Consumed, that is. We both know. It's why you tease me. (Because you can.) It's why I let you. You and I still in this dance. After. All. This. Time. Descendant of Dionysus and progeny of Pan that I am, I have no inhibitions claiming my rightful place among such illustrious Pagan heritage. I'll wait for my proper invitation, should that ever come. Despite my leaking tribute and sweaty ripeness, neither hedonistic reveler nor goat god will I be tonight. I've taken the form of mere mortal just to hold you. (Because I can.) I like our dance.

Strict MACHINE - Version 9:11

I'm usually one of the last to know about a LOT of things, especially music videos. I'm the lone nerd standing with my ear phones enthusiastically rocking some tune from 9 years ago yelling "OMG this song is fucking AWESOME!" Yeah. I'm still doing that. Exhibit A: this song. The video is definitely perfect for the stoned, which was exactly my state when I first saw it. I haven't been this moved by a bass line since Mirwais' Disco Science. (Remember when it was in the Victoria's Secret commercials?)

Bet you can't guess the first thing to really grab my attention in Strict Machine. Nope. You're gross. It was the Siberian Husky-headed men. (Maybe you did get it right.) In addition to the why of the head choice, I wanted to know who the choreographer was. (The SONG has its own wikipage.) I love that choreographers not only design dance moves; they also create and direct motion in general. In the video, these dogs represent domesticated (suited: provider) danger (shirtless: fuck monkey). Huskies can rip your throat out sure, but aren't they just our pets, too? Kinda like having a Doberman or being friends with Nene Leakes: It's all fun and games and "ooh look at me. I'm living on the edge; I'm a bad ass. Whooo!" That is, until you get your ass eaten alive by one (or, realistically, both). The result? A pretty good time by my account ;-)

Speaking of music, I recorded with these guys a few years ago. I don't know what happened to the track I recorded. It could've been terrible, but I'd love to hear what they did to it. This group is the reason I went to Rise for the first time. I know my readers come from all over and do lots of different things. If any of you are into music production, engineering, promotion, writing, etc PLEASE contact me to work.

Naked Music (with a side of Spanish uncut sausage)

I Met Fucking JAMES MORRISON Today!

He was just walking around State Street where Borders used to be: no security at all. He didn't even appear to be with anyone. I saw him walk into the 7/11 on the opposite side of the street and I was literally standing there thinking "wtf do I do?" I wouldn't necessarily characterize myself as shy, but I do not roll up on people. But I got it together, thought "here goes" and crossed Washington. By the time I got to the door, he was making his purchase and I just said, "I love your work." He smiled and shook my hand. "Enjoy Boston" and I walked out the door. I think he knows how much I love him. And yes, fucking JAMES MORRISON  is short, too. We were eye to eye. I'm done. I can't even think of a porn site to link today!

The fucking JAMES MORRISON Official Site

My favorite fucking JAMES MORRISON video

No, this is my favorite fucking JAMES MORRISON video.

AND fucking JAMES MORRISON is British.