October 30, 2007
Where’ve you been?
Well first they thought I had lymphoma but it turns out I didn’t. I did, on the other hand, have PCP, which lingered a while. Since I have chronic lung problems to begin with, it lingered a l-o-n-g time. I was really weak mostly and coughing a lot. In fact, I’m still more shot-of-breath than I should be.
I was in Atlanta for a week, too, staying with a friend of mine who is having chemotherapy because he does have lymphoma. I mean, I felt lousy but he has cancer for god’s sake so I offered to go down for a while. Believe it or not, I had fun and he’s doing really well after two rounds.
Anyway, I’ve been sick and busy and not in the mood to write. The good news is that I’m feeling better and I’ve weaned myself off my anti-depressants so my dick is working without chemical help. It really has a mind of its own lately too which is lots of fun.
I’m listening to “Shitscheissemerde (Part 1)” from Louden Up Now by !!!.
I’m listening to “You Tripped at Every Step (Chuurch Studios Version)” from Brutal Youth 2 by Elvis Costello.
October 8, 2007
The body and blood of Christ, now in convenient Take-Out packs! They should just put a vending machine in the lobby.
I’m listening to “Dream Kitchen (7" Mix)” by Frazier Chorus.
Why do you think they call it “dope?”
From gay.com chat:
The_Myth: damn stoners
seek9: whats wrong with stoners??
HighStrungLoner: this is wrong with them, seek9 (read your own bio line): “anyone in the CC cuty area, near browd or front stm”
seek9: I’M NEAR FRONT. I live at 5th and passyunk
seek9: that bio line is like 2 years old, sorry i don’t update regularly
HighStrungLoner: you haven’t corrected the spelling in two years??? STONER!!
seek9: so sue me, i don’t update my gay.com profile
HighStrungLoner: seek, you are so proving my point
seek9: well, i just wish i knew what that point was’
seek9: i guess thats why my husbands don’t stick around
I’m listening to “Breathing In Fumes” from Remixes (81-04) by Depeche Mode.
October 7, 2007
At the baths
I went to the Sansom St. Gym two Saturdays ago. I was only half thinking about going and then I chatted with a very hot guy from North Jersey online who said he was going to meet a friend there around 8 pm, so that sort of made up my mind for me. He said he was going to slam some crystal meth first so I didn't take his timeline very seriously.
I got there much earlier than I normally do, around 8:30-9:00, and the first floor was already sold out. I don't like the upper floors of this place much and the room they gave me was the last one in a dead-end hallway. Thanks, guys.
Anyway, I got undressed and wandered around a bit but there was nothing much going on, really. Where was everyone? Usually I get some action right away at bathhouses and then nothing, nothing, nothing for a while and then a long stretch of fun before I leave. Tonight we went directly to Step Two.
I went back to my room and lay on the bed trying to look alluring, not that anyone was going to be passing by.
Eventually a guy came in and started sucking my dick. He wasn’t my ideal of beauty but he was a good cocksucker. We re-arraged ourselves so that he was on his knees and I was sitting on the edge of the bed. That was better. He really liked getting my PA as deep into his throat as he could and holding it there. He could keep it in for longer than anyone I’d ever seen. I was even holding his head and fucking his throat really hard. He didn't even flinch. Amazing. Again we changed positions to more of a 69-ish thing but I knew he didn’t want me to suck his dick. I stuck one, two, three, then four fingers in his hole. He was wet with J-Lube. He got on his hands and knees and I knelt behind him. Getting my entire hand in was easy and I fucked him hard with my forearm for a long time. My hand began to cramp and I told him I needed to take a breather. He said he was in the sling room and I told him I’d stop by later. I slept for a few minutes.
Downstairs, things weren't much better than when I had arrived. I said hello to a guy who might have been the man I was supposed to meet but i wasn’t sure. He didn’t seem that interested so it didn’t really matter if it was him or not, I guess.
I made myself comfortable on a bench along the back wall of one of the group rooms and stroked myself. The guy from the sling room came in, got on his knees and began blowing me again. A really hot Latin guy laid down on the platform in front of me. His hairy ass was beautiful. I leaned forward and started to finger it. He rose up to meet it. I stood up and the sling guy said "You want to fist me now? Right here?" I told him I wanted to get some of this Latin ass first. And I did.
Luckily my dick was already hard and he was already lubed. As I mounted him and began entering his hole he again rose to meet my cock. The hair around his hole felt great and I paused there for a bit but he wasn’t having any of that. He said “Fuck me” and pushed his ass into my groin. I got on one knee, grabbed his hips and pounded him hard. He was loose and lubed enough for me to be able to pull my dick out completely on each stroke but not so loose that it didn't feel good. He was a really active bottom and made it easy for me. Men started to gather around us, stroking. There were two older guys in a dark corner who caught my eye. One of them might have been the slammer but I still wasn’t sure. They were watching me, stroking each other and playing with each other’s nipples. Being watched makes me even harder. The Latin guy was now flat on his stomach, holding onto the edges of the platform, moaning with each thrust as I continued plowing his hole. I was close to busting but I couldn’t decide if I wanted to shoot. Then a hand reached in to tweak my nipple and I couldn’t help myself. I let it rip. After I shot, he wouldn’t let my cock go, squeezing it with his ass and grinding into me. Finally I pushed away and went upstairs.
I cleaned up, threw my clothes on, grabbed a coffee and went outside for a smoke. Then I went back to my room and closed the door. I needed to recharge for a bit.
To be continued…
October 6, 2007
Sharon Jones is the real thing. She and the Dap-Kings make authentic, non-ironic 60’s R&B that literally makes me think I’m listening to an old 45—a great old 45, too. Their latest recording comes with an extra disc of songs from other artists on Daptone Records, a label that specializes in reviving this sound—and they release actual 45s!! Each and every one of them is good. Check her out on iTunes.
By the way, Amy Winehouse used the Dap-Kings on her album. Amy’s stuff is good but this Daptone shit is the real thing.
I’m listening to “Nobody's Baby” from 100 Days, 100 Nights by Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings.
Technorati Tags: music
October 2, 2007
At the Copa…
I was walking past the Copa Banana at 40th & Spruce St., two blocks from me, around 1 am this morning. Suddenly this HUGE (tall and round) man with a white t-shirt that ended around his knees came flying out of one of the side doors, nearly knocking me to the ground. The door almost came off its hinges. He was holding the crotch of his pants (which I’m sure was nowhere near his actual crotch) with both hands and he ran behind me towards the corner. The 40th St. side of the place is a row of glass doors and I slowed down to see what was going on. Some people tried to pull the door shut but the bottom got stuck and the door looked really bent.
I could see through the glass that there were a couple of guys violently holding someone in a red plaid shirt down/back against the bar. He was really struggling to get away. Then the guy, the one who almost knocked me down, ran back up the two steps, pulled the door open and went back inside, mumbling. He pushed past some women and knocked over a table on his way across the room. He ended up standing in front of the plaid shirt man, screaming and gesturing wildly. At this point, some patrons, mostly women, began leaving though the side doors, screaming things like, “I’m getting out of here before they start shooting!” And, believe me, they were GONE! Great. I just stood there gaping like a moron, all 5' 4" of me, with my Fresh Grocer shopping bag in one hand, the other hand popping Mega M&M's into my mouth. I must have looked like Norman Bates and his peanuts only not as nervous. I could only have appeared more stupid if I had been yapping on my cell phone.
I glanced north on 40th St and saw a UCD “Safety Ambassador” sauntering up the street, walking her bicycle, maybe 30 feet from the rather noisy melee. Then two very large and very cute bouncers forcefully escorted the guy in the plaid shirt out the door. He kept yelling, “I’m gonna air you out!” (I think), whatever that means, as he backed south on 40th St. One of the bouncers said “Go ahead!” while gesturing with his little taser wand thing. By the time the UCD woman got it together to put her radio to her lips, there was already a Penn Police car backing down the street. The “perp” had taken off his plaid shirt and was walking at a normal pace towards Pine St. The bouncer told the Police,“ It’s him. The guy in the white t-shirt,” (so much for the costume change and trying to blend in with an empty street). They nabbed him before he got to the corner.
I couldn’t make out what the officers were saying to him but I could hear his responses from across the street. The gist of it seemed to be that he was trying to pick up some women (“bitches”) and he was cock-blocked in some manner by some men (“motherfuckers” and also “bitches”). The officers began to pat him down—he seemed cooperative, if a bit mouthy—and a Penn Police SUV pulled up beside them. I kept walking. “Show’s over, folks. Move along.”
Call me old-fashioned, but it seems to me that talking to the police using language and gestures learned from hip-hop videos isn’t the best way to garner sympathy and get them to listen. (There’s a wonderful line well-delivered by Justin Timberlake in Alpha Dog, “The only thing those guys ever shot was a video.” Hilarious, and the whole movie really, in a delicious bite-size chunk.) When I was arrested I was all “Yes, officer. No, officer. Thanks for the cold fried egg sandwich, officer.” and “Yes, Your Honor. No, Your Honor.” Is that really so hard? I mean, I could tell right away that, whatever I had to say, true or not, the cops had heard it a million times before, so I’d better just shut it. Watching and listening, first to the people around me in the holding cell and then to my incessantly chattering overnight cell-mate and our immediate neighbors, gave me new respect for law enforcement officers. I don’t know how they stand it. I guess that’s just one of many reasons I’m typing this at home instead of San Quentin. That and my bringing-upski. Thanks Mom (and Stephen Sondheim)!
I have noticed that Penn students have kind of abandoned the Copa this year. Last year, I swear, it was packed with students every night of the week. Then, during the summer, the patrons were more neighborhood folks. Im not sure if incidents like this one are the cause or the result or neither. Maybe it was a one-off. I do know I don’t like it. (The Copa is the closest good burger to me and I really don’t want to be dodging bullets while I eat dead cow on a roll and spanish fries.) No, I haven’t fallen for UCD’s “clean and safe” fantasy either; this isn’t that shocking to me. On the other hand, I was just standing there staring in just the kind of situation in which bullets fly in Philly far too often these days, staring blankly like it was on television. Maybe the summer of Dick Donato has numbed me to physical as well as psychological violence.
I guess I’ll be calling UCD for a Safety Ambassador to walk me and my M&M's home from now on. I’m really dreading it, not only because I walk to the Wawa nearly every night, but because I just hate making small talk with strangers. (Really. That’s why I stopped going to barbers.) Seriously, I’d rather be hit over the head repeatedly with a rubber mallet. Maybe I’ll pretend to be deaf!
I’m listening to “I Don't Want to Hear it Anymore” from Dusty in Memphis by Dusty Springfield.
October 1, 2007
Miller High Life
Concerned Women for America and The Catholic League were offended by this poster for this year’s Folsom Street Fair. The former said the fair was “reminiscent of biblical Sodom and Gomorrah” and the latter is calling for a boycott of Miller Brewing Company because of their ongoing sponsorship of the event. Miller says they’ll continue to support the fair but asked that their logo be removed from this particular poster, saying it would have been their policy with or without the complaints from religious groups. Good for them. You can see a larger version of the offending artwork here.
I’m listening to “Ruby Baby” from The Nightfly by Donald Fagen.
From Messiah, masih.malakut.org, Sept. 25:
Dude, someone should take Ahmadinejad’s hand and take him to Daneshju Park in Valiasr Crossing. No need for explanation. Just hold on firmly to his hand so that he does not get too excited. We all know that when he is among different people and ethnic groups, he tries to blend in and considers becoming one of them as his undeniable duty. So be careful, God forbid, that when he is in Daneshju Park, this feeling of duty might arise and cause him trouble! Unlike those boys who have gender confusion in that godforsaken park, a president cannot pluck his eyebrows, or wear tight-fitting clothes, or put on blusher.
I’m listening to “Kudala Besifuna” from The Lion Of Soweto by Mahlathini and the Mahotella Queens.