Archive for May, 2006


May 31, 2006

I would love to kiss you.

The price of kissing is your life.

Now my loving is running toward my life shouting,

What a bargain, let’s buy it.

My well is dry today. I wish I had more to give you. I find myself desiring shelter. Today I must be strong, and find shelter within. Here is some poetry of Rumi, songs to the Beloved.

In your light, I learn how to love.

In your beauty, how to make poems.

You dance inside my chest,

where no one sees you,

but sometimes I do,

and that sight becomes this art.

Be loved,




May 30, 2006

September 1, 1939, excerpts
All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.
-W H Auden


I’m waiting for the UPS delivery guy. I missed him Thursday. I know because he left a note on my office door, during lunch siesta. Friday I kept the office door open and stayed close by, to make sure I didn’t miss him. At 3:00 when I stepped out to open up the gate for the afternoon, I saw a note on the door, telling me that this is the third time they’ve attempted to deliver this package, and now I have to call them and pick it up myself, a fifty mile drive, one way. I was being punished by UPS for not being attentive enough to their needs.

I was sitting not fifteen feet away from the door. If Delivery Guy had knocked with any energy at all, I would have been there like a flash. It was the DVD of BrokeBack Mountain. I was Jonesing really bad for that package.

So I called up their “hot line(that’s a major joke)”, and ranted at the sexy recording(Would you like to press my pound key?) until a human picked up the line. By this time Delivery Guy was long gone to the next dusty little town. I was politely informed that I was SOL.

After a little more ranting, it was decided by the Package Gods that perhaps an exception could be made in my case, and I wouldn’t have to wait until June 12.

Delivery Guy would be dispatched to my home/office as early as Tuesday, May 30, with instructions to knock this time.

Would this be considered cause for a “just war”? Just kidding, En. Does that mean righteous kidding, in the same sense as a just, or righteous war? Or is it “just” war as in, “it could be a lot worse”?

Doe I owe more allegiance to a concept we call a “Nation”, or do I owe allegiance to humanity?

Do I owe allegiance to some more than others? Do I owe more allegiance to Canadians than to Iranians, for example? Canadians look more like me, and they’re funny because they’re so, well, Canadian. They’re kind of cute, in an uptight kind of way. Except for the Quebecois. They’re just cute. I like the fact that Canadians come in at least two flavors. What about Mexicans? They don’t look like me, at all. And they speak differently. What’s the cutoff point for allegiance? How alike do we have to be for me to be loyal to you? To protect you?

The idea of a “Nation”, was only invented about 500 years ago. It’s an idea with definite drawbacks. Nations are corporations, and were created to control the flow of money and goods. I think it’s ironic that one of the major principles of Free Trade as a policy, is unhindered flow of money and goods. The second principle is keeping people contained on their side of the fence.

Before Europe started incorporating during the late Renaissance, there were just spheres of influence, marked by language and culture. Borders of most countries changed all the time. Here in America, we seem to believe that God drew the boundaries with an indelible marker. How could I ever give allegiance to that notion?

Defenceless under the night

Our world in stupor lies;

Yet, dotted everywhere,

Ironic points of light

Flash out wherever the Just

Exchange their messages:

May I, composed like them

Of Eros and of dust,

Beleaguered by the same

Negation and despair,

Show an affirming flame.

I don’t have answers, but I’ve heard that in the long run it’s more important to have the right questions.

My package is here. ‘Bye for now.

Be loved,



May 29, 2006

I spent most of the day putting together a massive collage of war pictures and quotes about war. I never could get it to go just right, and finally I realized that I was doing it for myself, and not anyone else.
So I scrapped about four hours of hard work.
Have fun, be with friends, eat barbecue, drink a beer(don’t drive), use the day to catch up with loved ones.
I know that I have a tendency to escape from unpleasant reality, and this holiday has a very unpleasant reality behind it. It glorifies war, and war is not glorious.
Maybe, at one time in the far distant past, before the Industrial era dehumanized us all, war was more legitimately glamorous. Maybe there really was a time when men were ennobled by the act of killing other men. Maybe, but I doubt it.
My suspicion is that war has always been about making money, and it’s all propaganda. There never has been anything glorious about it.
People get killed for money, or power, and that’s just another way of saying money.
War is not necessary. Peace works. If Humanity is to survive much longer on this planet, we’ve got to shed some outmoded notions about “reality” and “life”. Both of those terms are negotiable, anyway. If we can’t live without war, we won’t live at all. I vote we drink a beer and eat a rib for Peace. That’s way better than glorifying war, and just as much fun, too.
Be loved, and live,

Mellow Monday

May 28, 2006

Some of the comments I received for the Super Saturday post were illuminating and sobering. One wrote that “real women never fake orgasms”. There was a barely detectable undertone of fierce integrity that got my attention. Response noted with respect and polite interest. A few fellows responded that they had faked it a time or two.
I had to rethink this subject.
I cast back in my mind and realized that there was indeed a time when I faked it, too. I was married at the time to Vera, and while we had slowed down from twice or three times a day to a more sustainable pace, making love only once a day, my work was cut out for me. I don’t even remember the day it occurred(or didn’t occur), but I remember thinking, “I just can’t do this tonight.”
So I went through the act, moaning loudly and flopping around, hoping she wouldn’t notice. Although I suspect she knew, she let it go. She was tired, too. Isn’t it funny? Now, I love a really good mind blowing orgasm as much as the next fellow. You know the kind, where you go blind and you can’t remember where you are. But for a few of my most memorable experiences, I was just there enjoying the show, so to speak. I love good entertainment. I’m a lot more relaxed about such things nowadays.
But when I researched, I came up with some sobering facts. I’m troubled for the lads over in England.

The Mirror did a survey. Of young men aged 18 to 34, a whopping 42% have faked it. However, the gals still win on this one. They report that a full 58% have bamboozled their way through a night of bad sex.
There’s a whole list of reasons that women give to explain this.

In an article for a Yale publication a journalist did extensive interviews on this subject.
1. Sympathy-One woman said, “He’s down there, working away to beat the band, and the band just isn’t playing. I didn’t have the heart.”
2. Absent minded-They started thinking about shopping. Sometimes that’s enough to send a girl over the edge.”I could get that Distressed Denim jacket. OH YES, YES, GOD YES!”.
3. Organizing- Getting caught up in planning their day. To be fair, Goethe, the German poet and philosopher used to sketch out rough drafts of his poems, while having sex with a prostitute. He wrote that he would write with his finger on her back. I guess that was the only place that wasn’t occupied.
4. Philosophical fakery- That’s when they start looking concerned and questioning, and just gently moan a time or two. They do this because they really don’t have a clue what’s happening to them.

Swedish scientists have found that 69 out of 117 times, the girl trout fibbed to the boy trout. The scientists tell us that if it’s not going right for the lady trout, she just quits, but the boy trout is so excited, she simply lets him go on ahead by himself.
In 2003, Kate Klein at the SexShow at the Skydome won out over several competitors to become the Fake Orgasm Queen. The Host and Emcee of the show said, “She really had them going.” I’ll bet.

I read the work of one feminist scholar,Bette-Jane Raphael, who questions if any man has ever had an orgasm. She hold that it’s just part of the “Male Mystique”.


Our Yale correspondent felt a need to give the men equal attention here.The truth is, women seem to have a little more fun with the whole subject than the guys. We seem to have a real work ethic going here.
One fellow, appalled, said, “We’ll just try and try again until we get it right.” That’s sweet.
Another fellow, when interviewed, reported that no one had ever faked it with him. When asked to substantiate, he stated that he knew because he had asked them. I think he’s an Evangelical.
Yet a third, a less “sensitive” type, is reported to have said, “Who cares? It’s a race to see who gets their cookies off first, anyway.” You’ve got to wonder how many second dates he gets.

I have a thought. Let’s just have fun with each other. Have a great orgasm this week. If you can’t do that, have fun anyhow.

Be loved,



May 27, 2006


Is it real, or is it Memorex?

And, does it matter?

I don’t know about the one on the left,
I think the name is Chip or Ernie,
and the one below is just some chick named Marilyn,
but the real star is the one one the right. She get’s points for Creative Boldness. Her manager and creator is Zeevic. I’ve got this thing going for Israeli artists right now.


It looks like Ken Lay and Jeff Skillings, Enron chiefs, are going to be out of the game for a while. It’s always good to know when something goes right for a change. Government and Corporate connivance didn’t succeed, for once. These guys swindled everyday people out of billions of dollars. It’s too bad they can’t be forced to repay the people whose lives they’ve ruined.

I am looking for that which is looking for me.
Sydney Carter

My trip to Mazatlan with Kirby

1. Morning wood-There’s just something so right about waking up ready for sex.
2. Packing for vacation only involves one extra pair of underwear and socks, and a toothbrush.
3. Skinny dipping.
4. Foreplay is optional.
5. Guys never fake orgasms.
6. It takes ten minutes to get ready in the morning, if you shower.
7. Never having to wax.
8. Guys have outdoor urination privileges, anywhere, anytime.
9. You’re expected to think about sex all the time.
10. Your buddy never demands to know what you’re thinking.
He knows you weren’t thinking anything.

I love being a guy.

Be loved,



May 26, 2006

Rafael Perez painted this. I think I want to sit for this guy. He can do anything he wants to me on canvas, or in front of a lens. Go Here to see more exciting stuff.

JJD of Gay Empire, one of my fave Blogfriends, demanded info on videos of Turkish Oil Wrestling. I’m always ready to lend a hand for a friend. Just follow the Yellow Brick Road. Kick back, pal, make some popcorn and enjoy.

Another BlogBuddy, Tornwordo of Sticky Crows, asked me if I had ever eaten Natto. I actually had to look this up. I told him that if he dared me I would. T, being the crafty fellow that he is, didn’t say a thing, wanting to see what I would do. I can’t resist a dare from a buddy, and sometimes I’ll even create a dare from a suggestion, just because it strengthens the relationship. So now I’m learning how to make natto. It’s hardcore Japanese food. Basically it’s fermented soybeans. It has been described as looking like hardened fox poop in a bed of snot. But to make up for that, it smells like Bleu Cheese. The problem is, it’s considered something of a wonderfood in Japan. So now I’m honor bound to try it. If anybody out there can help me get a starter kit of Natto culture, I’ll be thankful. Meantime, here’s a pic to whet your appetite. Bon Apetit!

Meanwhile, the big news of the day is that Fearless Leader, Pres. Bush was seen pouting and weeping in the Rose Garden this morning. It got so bad that Laura had to go tell him to suck it up.

It seems that Dumbya’s special buddy, Ken Lay of Enron fame, is getting sent away for a long time.

Dumbya has been hitting the phones long and hard to avoid this. Before Enron declared bankruptcy several years ago, Dumbya and Lay were on the phone together every day for weeks, sometimes several calls a day. And Lay said they “never” discussed the looming bankruptcy. Righhhht.


Hurray, it’s Friday! We made it through another week together.
Have fun this weekend.

Be loved,



May 25, 2006

Just follow this link. Do it now. You won’t regret it, I promise you.
And you may become very angry.

Be loved,
and just be who you are,



May 24, 2006


In case you’re wondering what brought this on, I ran into Karam again. Those of you who follow along know that he is a twenty something Turkish guy from Germany. In San Manuel, that’s serious entertainment value.
Needless to say, I asked him if he was into Turkish oil wrestling.

This is a great sport. In that part of the world oil wrestling has been big for thousands of years. It only became a symbol of the Turkish people, however, after 1640, when two brothers who worked for the Sultan as bodyguards, or Janissaries, were wrestling for a reward of a new pair of leather pants. They both must have needed pants, because they wrestled each other to the death. When the Sultan came back a year later to commemorate them, he discovered forty springs of water had come up around their memorial.
Since then, athletes have been gathering there annually on the anniversary of their death, to see who is the greatest wrestler in Turkey. It’s like the World Series, with dancing girls, music, and roast lamb. In other words, a serious party.

In Turkey they have their own way of doing these things.
First off, since the original prize was for a pair of leather pants, to be official you have to have leather pants. If you’re just at home practicing with a friend, you can just wear cutoffs, or even your Hanes. Moslems don’t strip down to their fundamentals, though. Big No no. All the books are very clear on that point. In fact, they belabor it strenuously, and I might add, suspiciously.
Second, one of the main ways you win a match is to pull your opponents pants, or Kispet, down, effectively immobilizing him.
Respect is really important. If a younger wrestler defeats an older, he’s expected to kiss his hand, as a sign of respect. That’s really cool.
Most traditional wrestlers take on an apprentice. It’s like a father son relationship. When the master dies, he passes the mantle on to the apprentice.
There’s a strong spiritual element to this. Shamans and medicine men in this part of the world were expected to be wrestling masters, just as in China there was a tradition of martial arts practice among monks and priests. Wrestlers in Turkey grew up and trained in “tekke”, or monasteries. The oil was partly a religious ceremony of anointing, or blessing, and partly just a way to protect themselves from the heat.

Every year, to commemorate those two guys who died fighting over a pair of pants, they compete to see who’s the best wrestler.
Ideally, I think in sports, the spiritual and physical are balanced. At these oil matches, the competitors oil each other up, and hang out together while they wait for their match. It’s really laid back. I suspect that, to a lot of these guys, it wouldn’t even make sense to them to ask if they thought it was gay, in the sense we use it here. That whole “gay or straight” business was invented in America during the 1800’s. Before the Civil War, there was no “gay” or “straight”. There was just “men”, and who you loved was your own business. Over there, they don’t care about our labels . They’re just men having a lot of fun. Myself, I think there’s a lot of guys who don’t care about labels, one way or the other. They just like to keep personal stuff personal.

And, in truth, when it’s all said and done, the best part is just hangin’ out with the boyz.
So now I’m off to my online shopping. I’m looking for for a pair of Kispet.

Be loved,



May 23, 2006

I’ve tried to go vegetarian so many times, but I always fail. I love the whole idea of being vegetarian. It makes sense economically and humanely. It’s better for your health, too. The statistics are scary.
But every time I try it, I find myself craving a hamburger by mid-afternoon. I tell myself the cow died for a noble purpose, and chow down. I’m just a “foodie”.

Where ever I go, or when ever I meet someone from a different culture I make it a point to eat what they eat. This makes a connection with people. When you eat their food, people open up to you. So I’ve eaten some pretty weird stuff. I just decided that if it didn’t kill them, it wouldn’t kill me. So here’s my list.
1. The worst thing I ever ate was Calf brains. The French adore this. Don’t believe them.
2. The weirdest thing I ever ate was “Mountain Oysters”. In city-speak this translates to”sliced and fried pig or cow testicles”. It sounds better in country-speak. This is also a seasonal delicacy, being a regular feature during branding and gelding time.
3. Squid pizza isn’t all that bad.
4.They really do have chocolate covered ants in Mexico. You can’t taste the ants.
5. I had fried locusts in Mexico, too. If you get the oil hot enough, they’re not squishy. Actually, they’re pleasingly crunchy. You put a little salt on them, and down the hatch!
6. A great party mix is dried sardine bits with slivered almonds. Wait ’til they’ve swallowed a mouthful before you tell them.
7. The foods I hated worst as a kid were canned spinach and boiled summer squash. My grandmother would boil them down until they were a slick yellow paste. I was given instructions, “You can’t get up until you eat them.” One day I decided to call that bluff. I sat there for four hours, the longest afternoon of my young life. My grandmother came in and pleaded with me, “Please just take one bite”. I refused, sensing victory. She came back later, and without speaking, took the cold, pale yellow glop from before me, and sent me to my room. I was very careful not to gloat.
8. One of my favorite things to make is Peanut Stew. It’s more like scrambled eggs, but I call it a stew because it’s a mixture, and to confuse people.It’s a west African recipe.

Heres how you make it:
1 dozen eggs
1 glass of milk
1 12 ounce jar of crunchy peanut butter
a handful of raisins
You can put more stuff in if you want, but this is the basic recipe.

Mix the eggs and the milk.
Soften the peanut butter in the microwave.
Mix the eggs and PB in a frying pan, and stir the peanut butter until it melts into the egg mixture.
Drop all the raisins in the mix. Cook it real slow so the raisins can plump up and all the flavors get mixed together.
Everybody always asks for seconds.

Ashanti proverb
“If you attend to what is roasting, it will not be burnt.”
Time for dinner.

Be loved,



May 22, 2006

I lost my mask.

Somewhere between Tucson and the desert, I misplaced it.
I think it just became a nuisance, and dropped off along the way, when I wasn’t watching.

At first, I worried. I looked for my mask.
When I didn’t find it, I looked for another mask.
But none fit just right.
The amazing thing was that no one noticed.
No one really acted differently.
They didn’t stand back.
Some actually moved in a little closer.

And I can see myself now. I can feel the sun and wind on my face.
Best of all, I gave myself permission to feel, and to love. I can be crazy.
When wildness overtakes me, I howl like a wolf.
When sorrow comes to call, I weep.
When joy stirs in my belly, I dance.
I will wear a mask, no more.

Be loved,