Good stuff

Here's a nifty blog I stumbled upon yesterday.

Actually, I've seen his blog before, but I only took time to go through it yesterday. And woof! woof! What a blog it is!

This is a personal blog by a guy named Jeff (aka Amateurhunk) in the same way as mine, except that I'm not as bold as he is.

So at first glance one will go nuts over this hot guy and maybe uh relieve oneself with one of his video clips, but that was interesting for only a few minutes (or after the rush of orgasm has subsided). What really drew me in is that it is a very well-written blog.

I really go for brains and this guy has got his fair share of functional noodles in his cranium. While he doesn't really pepper his blog with politics (thank goodness for that), but little flourishes of style really adds a lot of class.

Add the fact that he doesn't really show his face and you've got a mystery. You can infer what he looks like (and according to my deductions, he's got a great smile, a strong nose and seems to be quite adorable), which is enough for me. At least he's not just a torso.

He's got the muscles and the words. Go read him.

http://www.amateurhunk.blogspot.com/

Love in the Time of Influenza

I do not get Folk'ed.

There is a thick soup in the air.

A yellow nausea that tiptoes into my space and drips all over my head, coating me in its contagious goo.

Yes, it's love in the gay world and it's cheap, free for all.

As a man who loves men, it is difficult to pigeonhole myself into a comfortable cubby that will satisfy everyone.

I do not join Pride Parades. I am not out, to a good degree and some argue that I send gaydom into the Dark Ages.


Well, Hallelujah!

Just because I don't wear my rainbow armband, doesn't mean I don't care about gay rights and all that; I do. However, just like my friend said of her religion, spirituality is not something to be displayed, it's private like dirty underwear.

While I wouldn't go as far as alluding to my spirituality as dirty underwear, but my sexuality is definitely dirty underwear.

I dare not display it, but I am aware of its existence. I acknowledge its importance and role in my life. I choose not to "display" it for various reason which I will not necessarily discuss today.

I do feel that any need I feel to ascribe to a gay lifestyle is quickly quashed by my own person. I never feel truly comfortable with other gay men. To certain degree, I do, but another not quite. This is a bizarre turn of events because I fancied myself a trailblazer in my age group.

I was quite young when I had come to terms with my sexuality and had gotten involved with someone seriously. I came out to my folks (and we all know what kind of drama that entails) and have done my little evangelization of gay rights.

So why am I in the closet? The funny thing is is that I'm not really in the closet. I act the way that I do because that's just who I am. Geeky and not quite fabulous. Friendships with other gay men don't really last. Backbiting can get even the best of them and many are quite fleeting.

Hence, I begin to think about the feasibility of the possiblity of finding love again. Frankly, things are looking bleak.

Gay love is a seasonal infectious disease, it can have terrible symptoms, but at the end of the day, most cases of it are shallow and simply disappear over time.

There is virtually no permanence. How can there be permanence when the entire dating game is plagued with superficial demands?

What is the currency of love nowadays?

1. gym buff. so much for average schmoes like me. why is it that every gay man on fashionable tv looks like the cast of Queer as Folk? the obsession with looks is frankly scary. maybe i'm just insecure. yeah, i'm insecure. what chance do i have?

2. location. are you strategically located to be loved? what happened to crossing the ends of the earth for love? chivalry is dead? not if it never existed. chivalry in gay relationships is merely a fantasy played out in bed as foreplay.

3. the right cellular phone. shallow, but people actually do care about this. quick, right on the money, easily accessible.

4. my humps - my lumps. well-hung we all need to be. sexually-gratifying. of course this is important, but to be rejected.

5. numbers - the right numbers, the right stats, the right height, the right salary.


Should I submit my resume the next time I court someone? I'll have a biopsy as well while I'm at it.

After all this is making me sick.

Love these days hits hard, leaves many empty handed, like we've never been loved at all.

And the Earth rotates once more

ANOTHER day has come and gone and I'm still online. The bizarre thing about a web presence is that you're never really there. A lot is compromised in persisting an existence in cyberspace.

Time flows forward and backwards and not by jumping through the folds and wrinkles in the fabrics of time and space, but just by slumming in the bean bag waiting for myself to turn into a pumpkin, or a glass slipper.

Having just devoured another movie about a man whose wife was murdered, I can't help but reflect on the motifs of the past week or so. Somethings are on just continuous replay. Same things said and same things done and oddly enough different reasons for why I find myself in similar situations.

Flirting with a nineteen year old? Why the hell not? I was nineteen once, in a long time ago, in a galaxy, far, far away. However now things seem more muddled, like seen through foggy spectacles.

I'm rambling. And the world is turning without me. Again.

The Twizzle of Blogs

As I sit here tonight, I wonder once more.

Why do I think too much? Brood, brood, brood.

For some reason, I feel very, very lonely. It's not that I don't have friends around. They're there, fluttering about, but something just got to me today.

I just finished watching "Memento"; you know that Christopher Nolan flick. Yeah I spent two long entries babbling on and on about "The Prestige" - a decidedly inferior according to some people (probably because it's more "mainstream") and one would probably correctly assume that I'd babble on and on about "Memento."

Not really. It was good, no doubt. Maybe it was my mood today or the fact I just saw it in my room with the distractions of the people outside my door, the PC and books. Memento didn't draw me in that much. None of the twists really surprised me nor did they beg me to unravel them.

Maybe I'll need to process it some more.

Right now I feel like dried shit that attached itself to the bottom of your shoe and couldn't be scraped or hosed out.

Like my entire life was headed for this moment: the big giant BLAH.

Of course the irony of the blog is that as I sit here, hours and hours trying to be all profound and shit about my life, the sun has come and gone and I'm still alone.

It measures nothing.

Sacred Secrets

Jamie's got secrets he doesn't confide And I'm still hurting
-"Still Hurting" from "The Last 5 Years"

The worst kept secret in the world is that everyone has a secret and that usually, it in itself is poorly kept. The fact that you share it with someone lessen its entity as classified information and that once the words escape from your tongue or fingers, it exists as its own entity. Free from your own constraints and exists as a secret that your confidant must bear. Until of course, the confidant chooses another confidant, which again, renders your prized kernel of truth, less sacred.

Thus there are secrets that we must keep hidden, even from our closest and dearest of friends, and sometimes even from ourselves.

Any gay/bi man who ever struggled with his sexuality knows this.

Keeping that part of you that you probably didn't want to acknowledge in the first place proved to be a feat of wrestling with your own Nemean lion. Since you are no Heracles, the lion probably one and that's why you're reading this blog.

So we're gay. Big fucking deal. We probably wanted the lion to win anyway. Most of us probably want to be dominated at one point or another anyway. Such are the nature of the secrets we keep from ourselves.

Clearly, it if the secret is on the foremost part of our consciousness, it is far easier to share and to divulge. At least, we have already accepted it to one degree on another.

However, what about our subconscious? When dreams grace and plague our listless sleep, are they stirring such emotions we have long buried in our subconcious? By what machinations of the id do we wake sweaty and bothered by the dancing images of full-bodied, lusty sex with partners we never thought we'd dream of.



Like coming to terms with your own sexuality. Most of the time, the initial reaction is one of repulsion.

Possibly the repulsion stems from the physical attributes of the person. We're simply not attracted to the person. Maybe he/she is quite hideous and our personal tastes are compromised by engaging with him/her in a compromising coital situation.

However the truth is that most of the time, when lustful thoughts of unlikely people penetrate our conscious mind, they're more likely to be remotely attractive to us. Deep down inside, beyond the cogs of our rational mind, we admire something in them. Still, the very thought of kissing, much less make love, that person is beyond consideration.

Why the guilt? Is it a betrayal of our own sensibilities? Like Oedipus, do we have our own Jocasta? Why do the stirrings of such thoughts make us want to gouge our eyes out and mourn for our warped sense of passion?

Does it mean that we secretly harbor lustful intents for our genetic progenitors? Our comrades? Our superiors and inferiors? Surely we can just brush such thoughts aside with one flick of the superego. However, what if - and this is the dangerous what if - what if we actually enjoy it?

That lingering kiss, that swipe of the tongue - the taste of that which has been forbidden, they all come together and form the ideal we have conditioned ourselves not aspire for, but rather avoid.

What then to do? Do we run down the road and follow them? Do we pretend they don't exist?

Neither way is right. They could be, just like any emotion, just some random chemical process and this does not merit any further exploration. However to supress such thoughts would also render us vulnerable. Rather, we should just keep it at that. Accept them for what they are.

So we remain silent. Let it pass like the icebergs in the North Atlantic. In the attempt to keep ourselves pure, let's keep the self sacred.

I'll keep my lips pursed and sealed.