Part 2: Existential Cozies, Comforts, and Joys

It’s STILL the holiday season. I’m gonna be merry or die trying goddammit. So, first of all, my daily dose of HAPPY FUCKING HOLIDAY visuals. Here’s a Christmas tree.

ahs freak dandy christmas

Oh, and Finn Wittrock’s ass from American Horror Story.  You’re welcome.

I was shared a lot yesterday. Oh, how I wish that were true in an entirely different way. However, clicks and re-posts don’t lie. You loved yesterday’s blog [click HERE for Existential Cozies etc Part 1] and I can only conclude that your concern for me, your love for me, your wish for all good things for me drove the shares: You people LOVE it when I’m happy.

On the other hand, it may have been the pictures of half-naked men. Or, fully naked men. Never underestimate the power of Ben Affleck’s penis. Or, Colby Keller’s anything and everything.

So, being an enabler from way back, and desperate for any sort of popularity — no matter how shallow and temporary — now, I give you: More things that make me happy.

COLBY KELLER (again…get used to it)

Layout 1He’s on the cover of Next Magazine [click HERE] from which I lifted these shots. I don’t know when it happened, and certainly my friends would be amazed — had I any to whom I regularly spoke — that my obsession with etiolated, heroin-junkie looking, bean-stalk, malnourished youths has evolved into unrequited longings for flannel wearing, bearded, stocky, crush-you-without-thinking-about-it bears.

Keller, Colby NEXT MAG 1 Keller, Colby NEXT MAG 2I’m not the only one who loves Colby. There is also an article about him in The Huffington Post: Porn Star and Artist Colby Keller Opens Up About ‘Colby Does America’ [click here to read & view slideshow].

Mr. Keller also has an Instagram account. I don’t do Instagram. I can barely keep up with Twitter and this blog, so, I don’t do anything else. But, here is a link to COLBY KELLER INSTAGRAM: COLBYDOESAMERICA [click here].


From Mr. Keller’s Instagram

Of course I am attracted to his body, and his open enjoyment of sex — but I’m also fascinated by his world-view, his communism, his commitment to breaking boundaries and exploring edges. Clearly he finds the reactions of the world to him — to everything — to be largely hypocritical, un-examined, full of inconsistencies and cruelties, twisted moralities and arbitrary judgments, dangerous games with plastic rules and deadly consequences manipulated by power-hungry, corrupt, unprincipled liars and murderers and opportunists. AS DO I.  I don’t consider what Mr Keller does debauched or pornographic; I think what Dick Cheney and George Bush and congress and CitiBank and Amazon do qualifies as licentious and degenerate. If there is such a thing as sin, it’s the politicians and the capitalists and the power-brokers who are going to hell. Not people who enjoy sex.

Look, if you’re not a prude, if you think you can take it, here’s an XTUBE link to Colby doing Maryland. Probably would be considered “porn” by a lot of people. I don’t think sex should be called porn. I think it should be called sex. But, so you know, he’s naked and he jacks off and all that — BUT LISTEN TO THE WORDS. It’s kind of genius. AND I CANNOT BELIEVE HE WAS IN MARYLAND AND I DIDN’T GET TO BE THERE.


Thank you, Colby.

AND SPEAKING OF HYPOCRISY…Nasty Pig (& I don’t mean Dick Cheney. This time.)

Time-Warner Cable pulled this ad for Nasty Pig Underwear. [read story here in Towelroad]  Why? I have to watch and listen to constant bullshit about erectile dysfunction, incontinence, vaginal dryness, depression, undergarments for the oversized, discount furniture all of which reclines including coffee tables,  etcetera (can you tell I watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy every night?) but and ad promoting healthy sexuality is too much for the world? Really? I DON’T GET IT!

Were I the kind of fellow who listened to advice and somehow got my own domain and built a monetized website, I’d want NASTY PIG [click HERE for their website – and buy me some underwear – in a totally socialist way, thanks as a sponsor. Instead, I’ll just free-post them. I’m sort of a communist, I guess, or socialist, or, well, pandering to Colby?

And another voice saying “LOOK LISTEN” …  Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore [click here]


Click on book to order from City Lights

Last night I finally finished reading Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore’s The End of Francisco. I say “finally” not because it wasn’t immensely readable, but, rather, because I loved it so much, was so moved by it, I kept putting it down. In ways too personal to describe at the moment, we shared experiences — not together, not in the same room, but, somehow, in the same heart and soul space. This is a memoir of a “radical queer troublemaker” — but, Mattilda made no trouble, Mattilda told the truth and had trouble then thrust upon her like shade, like hell, like what happens to people who speak from the center of the Love and Light in which they live honestly in a world where such things are frowned upon. Mattilda had courage in ways I never dreamed — or, if I did dream, I was too chickenshit to explore. I love him. I loved the book. And when it ended last night, I wept, because I felt as if Mattilda and I were finished, our conversation. I want more. You should buy this book. Read it.


Tonight, 7:30, Kennedy Center. Megan Hilty. I’m there. Early Christmas gift from my dear, A, who is going along. Megan. Hilty. This:

Tonight, she’ll be singing Christmas tunes. If only Colby Keller sang … Christmas … oh, wait … look what I found.

AND BEN … oh Ben … again …

It always comes back to Ben, doesn’t it? Just in case he’s the only reason you’re here … here. So, if you’ve been wishing for Ben’s dick for a long time — well, that can wear a person out. It’s good of Ben to share. Good Ben. Good bye. Happy holidays.



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Love and Light, kids. Love and Light.




Existential Cozies, Comforts, and Joys

capote warhol

Truman Capote hugs Santa Warhol

‘Tis the season.  For the past week I’ve been in semi-seclusion here at Sepia Fallows, wallowing in ague-fuguery. My restricted life has consisted of nose-blowing, croupe-like-hacking, head and joint achery, sleep-deprivation resulting in head-lolling-exhaustion naps, intermittent cold-sweating, off-and-on feverish semi-hallucinations, and that consciousness of, “I really need to take a drink of that water,” coupled with a staggering lack of energy or will to actually do so, the “Yes, I will in a second” syndrome: I meant to take a drink of water, really I did, somewhere around Tuesday. Here it is, Friday. I’m parched.

Yet, silver lining: I may be down, but I haven’t been out, because, through it all, I could read. Granted, Kathryn Davis’s hallucinatory, acid-trip of a novel, Duplex, was not, perhaps, the best choice given my delusory state, but, there it is. Was. Whatever. Is, was, will be, the point is that in Duplex — unlike this post, the sentences sure were pretty.

For me, long, uninterrupted (if one doesn’t count the hacking cough and nose blowing breaks) stretches of reading are like being cozied beneath a warm blankie, tucked in by a loving someone who has just rubbed Vicks on one’s chest. Books — as ’twas ever thus — get me through. Comfort and joy, so to speak (type). And, hey … I’m a giver so …

… since it seems a lot of folks are feeling a bit under-weathered, and, too, since it’s prime suicide season — holidays and what-not — I’m guessing you might need some jollying along to get you through the remaining weeks of hall decking and such.

Here you go. Wrap yourself in these thoughts and observations. You’re welcome.

hemingwriteI am obsessed with (as in, a stalker of) authors, publishers, literary agents, editors, and other TwitterLiterati. Of late, many of them have been blogging, writing, talking about the Hemingwrite. [CLICK HERE FOR HEMINGWRITE] What it amounts to is an old-school word-processor/typewriter. It’s not even MANUFACTURED yet, and everyone wants one. It’s a KICKSTARTER dream, people, and everyone wants one. LOL. So do I. Oh wait, I had one. It was a Smith-Corona electric typewriter about twenty years ago. Life. Next up, a throwback washing machine: here you go, kids!


Crazy world. And I’m not going to get into all the things in this crazy world that are INFURIATING me; like torture reports, Duggars donating and campaigning in Fayetteville to deny rights to LGBTQ folk, the Rolling Stone debacle and its resultant rape-victim-blaming-demonization, the lack of diversity in the publishing world and year-end “best of” books lists, Trayvon Martin, Mike Brown, Eric Garner, Ferguson, racism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, ageism — well, NOT GOING TO GET INTO ALL THAT – and point out the ignorance and idiocy.


Instead, look at this ignorance and idiocy. “Comfyballs” underwear is denied a trademark. What the actual ball-busting fuck? Click HERE for Huffington Post article: ‘Comfyballs’ Underwear Denied Trademark Because ‘Balls’. LOL.

Speaking of balls. Ben Affleck’s penis. [CLICK HERE]

Affleck penis

Which is all well and good, but, finally this week on American Horror Story: Freak Show, we were treated to Evan Peters’ ass. It took long enough. And, try though I might, I have been unable to find any GIFS or even screen-caps of it. WOW. I mean, in seasons past, as soon as Evan’s ass hit the screen it was Tumblr-d and Tweeted everywhere. I, myself, have frequently featured it on this blog, especially the Coven season. Remember?

Evan Peters Coven 3

Of course you do. But this season it seems Finn Wittrock as Dandy Mott is the ass-man of Mr. Ryan Murphy’s choice. And, well, it is a nice ass … and everything else.

ahs dandy buttahs freak dandy dec 2014 2

I’m not the only one noticing the butt-work on AHS. CLICK HERE FOR MTV STORY ‘7 TIMES AMERICAN HORROR STORY HAD THE BEST BUTTS ON TELEVISION’. Visuals included.

Lest you think ALL I care about is balls, Ben Affleck’s penis, and Finn Wittrock’s ass, I hasten to get all intellectual again. Well, my version anyway. Many of my TwitterLiterati — the ones I follow who, in many cases, indulge me by following back — have been linking to this piece in The Awl titled ‘The Untold Story of the Doodler Murders’ [click here]. It’s written by Elon Green — who is followed by (and follows in return) quite a few of the same people I follow and they keep linking this. So, despite the fact that Mr. Green — like Darin Strauss, Bill Walsh, Roxane Gay, and Daniel Mendelsohn — does NOT follow me (and really, why should anyone? Well, I’ll tell you why, if I’m good enough for The Duchess Goldblatt to follow, then … enough said) I still think this is worth a read. Well done. And fascinating.

joe and andyBut, wait, this was supposed to be about what gives me comfort and joy, and giving you that same cozy feeling. Ok. Well, hmm … if Santa Warhol wanted to visit me and couldn’t manage to get Joe Dallesandro down my chimney — I don’t actually have a chimney, damn the luck — then, what would make me feel good?

Simple things. My simple Christmas wish(es):

Starbucks. Can’t help it. I dream of winning one of those 10 Lifetime Supplies they keep talking about on television. And the Christmas Blend Keurig K-Cups. Oh my. Simple pleasures.

And Books. Can’t go wrong with visiting THE CURIOUS IGUANA [click here], my favorite bookstore, ever. And, too, confessions, for old books, I do the one cent shopping thing on Amazon and visit church book sales and used bookstores — like the one the Girl Scouts run where every hardback is $1 and paperback fifty cents.

And YouTube. I watch all sorts of clips for all sorts of hours when I am too tired to read. Or, in need of some Judy Garland or vintage Broadway or Julia Murney or … well, you get it.

Santa Colby Keller

Colby Santa Keller

And Colby Keller. I can’t stop myself. I guess it is — with me — again — about the balls and the penis and the ass — and when it comes to those things, porn performer, Colby, is great. But even better, he’s literate and funny and original and an artist. Check out his BIG SHOE DIARIES blog. CLICK HERE.

And quiet. And solitude. And sun. A window of my own. Yes, what I really like in life is peace and quiet. I like alone time. I like silence. No traffic noise. No TV noise. Just, quiet. I am afforded some quiet in my Crazy Potty Mouth Uncle Basement room here at Sepia Fallows, but, sadly, it’s dark down here. One little window on the other side of the basement, not near my room. I lack light. I dream of one day living somewhere with light. With a window I can open. A balcony onto which I can step. And quiet. Real, true, quiet. Actually, I will be spending much of the holiday season at Aftermath, out in the country, lots of quiet and lots of light. Me. Judah. And more time to read and fantasize about Colby and Dallesandro and ruminate on the cozies of life.

Happy Holidays, dears. Love and Light and Hemingwrites and Affleck Penis and Wittrock and Peters ass and being tucked under blankies by loved ones brandishing Vicks-Vapo-Rub to you all. I have a feeling I may be backing off posting for a bit … holidays, not my best time. Much love ….





#GoneGirl … false advertising

gone-girl-poster1Spoilers? Look, sometimes they are a public service. Like this one: Ben Affleck and Neil Patrick Harris do both show penis but the shots are so fast, you can barely appreciate the girth and length and width of their talents. I will be purchasing the DVD. Can you say: Stop. Action.

(LATE NOTE: And, if you need ANY MORE proof that we are immersed in a misogynist male-centric culture – all this discussion – AND I INCLUDE MYSELF IN THIS WHICH IS WHY I HAVE ADDED THIS NOTE ONCE I REALIZED WHAT A BIG DEAL I MADE OF THE PENI AND THOUGHT NOTHING OF THE WOMEN BEING ASKED TO DISROBE – about Affleck and Harris penis – and no discussion of the frequently exposed breasts of Rosamund Pike and Emily Ratajkowski. Female nudity is expected. Male nudity is a topic of discussion. It’s STILL okay to measure women by their breasts and still NOT okay to measure men by their penises. Or, make their penises the measure of the men. Well, except at my gym, in the showers and sauna, and . . . never mind. Where was I?)

I read the book and I marvelled at Gillian Flynn’s technical acumen. The structure and the plotting and the handling of the surprises and twists were all quite breath-taking. But, I hated the ending.

Now, I’ve seen the movie. I thought the script was well-done, the casting was phenomenal — and as my friend said, “I never thought I’d ever say this but Tyler Perry was good.” Yup. Same for Mr. Affleck – although I think he should have cried in the final scene with the sister character. I thought Kim Dickens was especially amazing as Detective Rhonda Boney. Still, I hated the ending.

I did, however, love the long exposure of Neil Patrick Harris’ ass. Would I recommend the film? Well, not if you’re going for Affleck and Harris penis (not that I know ANYONE who did go for that reason) but if you read the book and loved it, this is a very faithful, well done adaptation.

alamosI had a glass (maybe two) of wine before I saw the film – and let me say this about that. I had those glasses along with dinner at Macaroni Grill. Not a huge fan of chain restaurants but local Macaroni Grill shares a parking lot with the cinema complex. Too, the LAST time I was dragged there by another loved one for whom Macaroni Grill mac and cheese is crack, it was literally “a kick in the head”; I shared a booth-back with an out-of-control, nine or ten-year-old, barefoot brat who jiggled, jumped, and jolted so much that I spilled my wine. The ultimate affront was when the beast put his BARE FEET on the seat back and kicked me in the head. After my death-ray glare did nothing but get a sort of raised hand, “what can you do” smile from the demon’s grandfather (I think – I suppose it could have been his father, the age of whose rotted, fetid seed would explain the child’s bestial nature). When I very politely mentioned m the ongoing disruption of my dinner to the manager wandering around in his un-tucked, wrinkled shirt, I was told, “Oh, sorry, wish I could do something.” Unlike him, I DID do something. I wrote to corporate. They sent me a $20 gift card. Uhm, here’s the thing. My dinner that night was considerably more than $20. And last night, well, I had a glass of Alamos Malbec – an acceptable red that can be found for somewhere in the range of $9 to $12 depending on the liquor store and whether or not one buys twelve bottles at a time (don’t ask) – so imagine my chagrin to find A GLASS priced at $8.50 and a bottle at $36. WHAT THE FUCK? The bottle of wine at dinner was TWICE AS MUCH as the gift card they sent me for the ruination of my LAST over-priced dinner there.

Worse, the hostess did not get my jokes (and I’m funny, ask my dear-one, A.B.C.) and the waiter kept trying to be amusing but he was not.

No worries. On a sort-of-related note – this is my second under-1000-word – slash – trying to be perky/funny blog entry. Might I mention that the FIRST got about HALF as many hits as do my lugubrious, depressed entries. Hmm, maybe happy isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Whatever. Nothing can bring me down at the moment because in LESS than 24 hours I will be watching Ryan Murphy’s masterpiece starring the incomparable Jessica Lange; AMERICAN HORROR STORY: FREAK SHOW. I am ridiculously excited. Read about it by CLICKING HERE.

Truth is – and we all already know I’m so shallow I only went to GONE GIRL because I heard I would see Affleck and Harris’ dicks – my PRIMARY reason for watching AHS is Evan Peters. He is my Number One Imaginary Lover. And that is NO SMALL FEAT.

ahs evan crazyEvan Peters CovenEvan Peters Coven 2Evan Peters Coven 3 Evan Peters Coven 4ahs tate gif

Later pals.