(fecal matters in street talk; you might find it offensive)
Previously on this blog, in my 9/1 posting “Send in the rabbits”:
Made it back to my apartment, at which point the enema kicked in and I pretty much exploded with shit, everywhere, in piles. Vast amounts of cleaning up to do, and I still have to get someone in to scrub my workroom carpeting, which is beyond my (dis)abilities.
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Another little posting on the minutiae of my daily life. Today: housekeeping.
Every day is housekeeping day.
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(bodily unpleasantness, much of it in street language, so likely to be offensive to many readers)
🐅 🐅 🐅 tiger tiger tiger for terminal August; send in the rabbits of September, and we can marvel (with Stephen Sondheim) Isn’t it rich? / Isn’t it queer? — that we should come to this time of the year
Yes, this is getting out a day late, but I have an excuse. It’s both painful to hear about — involving 12 hours of excruciating pain for me — and deeply revolting — well, literally shitty — so I’m having trouble framing the story for you. Then, as a kind of ghastly sideshow, various pieces of essential software (Facebook is mostly to blame) simply stopped working as they should, making it impossible for me to make my blog postings available through FB. All together, giving the Lost Blogging Day of 8/31.
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(all the way at the end, we get to some sexual street talk, which I think has exactly the right shock value for its context; but if s*cking c*ck offends you, skip the next-to-last sentence)
It starts with Steven Levine — a sparkling vehicle of joy, enthusiasm, and congeniality — roused to anger and protest, as I reported in the 8/3 posting “Two notes on gay moral purpose”:
SL breaks out in a combination of, on the one hand, genuine pride in occasions of humane concern and (to put it grandly) moral purpose in the gay world and, on the other, righteous anger at a long-standing tradition in psychology, sociology, and medicine of blanketly treating homosexuality as dysfunction and disease. With, as sideshow, celebration of the raw sexuality in homosexuality — recognizing the physical and emotional pleasures of the associated sexual practices — in the wonderful BIG FAG t-shirts created by Steven (which he’d been distributing with abandon at Amsterdam Pride).
Posted in Art, Clothing, Homosexuality, Language and the body, Language of sex, Moral worlds, Music, My life, Poetry, Social interactions, Social life | Leave a Comment »
(images that aren’t actually XXX-rated, but get as close to the line as possible while serving WordPress modesty — so some readers may choose to avert their eyes)
Briefly noted. For charging up the senses — big jolts for someone of my inclinations — on a quiet Sunday, Daily Jocks has sent out a mailer ad for thongs this morning (8/30) celebrating the male body as sexual object, close up, fore and aft:
Posted in Gender and sexuality, Language and the body, Phallicity, Underwear | Leave a Comment »
Swimming pool. Callipygian young man climbing out of it. David Hockney’s California dream. The painting:
(#1) Peter Getting Out of Nick’s Pool
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This morning, I went to get a bunch of lab tests done at the Palo Alto Medical Foundation (for a nephrologist consultation tomorrow) and discovered that a lot of the phlebotomists recognized me, greeted me enthusiastically by name, and asked about my life since they had last seen me. The thing is, I’m really visible (well, I also remember them, and facts about their lives too; they’re interesting people, and the question “How did you end up working here?”, while they are drawing my blood, elicits some extraordinary stories). Almost always wearing stunningly gay clothes (today, rainbow-flag track shorts and a honking big rainbow-colored DEI t-shirt).
(#1) The DEI shirt
The PAMF staff find these clothes cheering, which is indeed one of the things they’re for.
This makes me happy.
Posted in Clothing, Connotation, Homosexuality, Language and the body, Language of sex, Lexical semantics, Moral worlds, My life, Rainbow clothing, Social life, Taboo language and slurs | Leave a Comment »
(men’s bodies and tons of man-on-man sex, in crude street talk, so thoroughly unsuitable for kids and the sexually modest)
About a single collage of mine, call it DNMe (‘Dick And Me’). One of my XXX-rated comic homoerotic collages, eventually featured in the first of my artwork exhibitions, “They All Laughed When the Hot-Hot Man-Man Sex Started” of 2003. It is, by accident, associated with another current theme of my postings, dying and lamentation, since the exhibition came very soon after my man Jacques’s death. So I came to see the exhibition as a slap of vibrant life in the face of death: we display our dicks, we fuck, we laugh, death shrivels.
Posted in Art, Collages, Death and dying, Gender and sexuality, Language and the body, Language of sex, Lives, Marriage, Memory, My life, Names, Phallicity, Slogans | 1 Comment »
The ultimate topic here is my sleep patterns, which I will post about more systematically in a while. Here I’m trying to take some of the burden of background material off that posting by stashing it for easy reference later. Picking an item — the revival by Harvard’s American Repertory Theatre of Ionesco’s play Rhinoceros — that I also view, in desperation, as carrying an urgent message about today’s sociopolitical climate.
It will start with odd everyday routines of no consequence, but will end with contemplating literal dehumanization, staring evil in the face. I’m touchy on the point, having never fully recovered from the shock of seeing the Nazi death camps exposed when I was a child. And understanding that that could happen to me. (No, I don’t think children should be protected from such knowledge. They should be treasured and supported, as I was, but they should also see the dangers clearly, so that they can arm themselves against them.)
But first, the routines. (If you think I’m just a nutter or a pathetic neurotic in need of professional care, fuck off; it’s none of your business. I’m doing stuff that works for me; why should you care?)
Posted in Education, Language and politics, Language and the body, Movies and tv, Music, My life, Play, Plays, Pop culture, Princeton, Sleep, Surrealism, Writing | Leave a Comment »
From my deodorant history, in my 8/19 posting “Two favorite movies”:
I cut the dosage, found less aggressive deodorants, discovered that sandalwood suits my body chemistry. Most important, I stopped pumping out pheromones like a stag in rut. It got better. Ever since, I’ve been giving off essence of locker room, with (currently) a very light coconut and vanilla deodorant to moderate it some; you can now say fairly that my armpits smell delicious. )
Specifically, Native brand coconut and vanilla deodorant, in a tube that has just come to the end of its life and been replaced by the cucumber and mint flavor. And I have reordered a trio of three flavors — these two plus lavender and rose. They’re all subtle, non-irritant, and long-lasting. I’m a fan.
Posted in Death and dying, Language and food, Language and the body, My life, Smell, Taste | Leave a Comment »
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