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Showing posts from August, 2010


I have spent the past three months doing barely anything.
Today, I wasted time in a whole new and monotonous way.

Thank goodness for my ongoing pursuit of higher knowledge, for it keeps me riveted and delighted.

I would much rather perfect the art of nothing and be honest about it, than pretend that something worthwhile and productive is happening when it obviously isn't. And so goes another semester, the last undergraduate semester at this Fine Institution, where I will fail to make my required set of appearances and my worth in letters will drop in stock.
And to show for it, hopefully another two years of even higher learning at another Fine Institution.

Motivational Motto

If I had a motto to live by it would be this:
Come from the passion
But stay for the conversation.

Which would apply to every thing, most daily things in general. But more specifically to my private endeavours drawn in the light of dawn.

Come on over baby, cover me in rose petals and call it American Beauty.

Oh Wow Camille, You're a Genius.

You all remember celebrity death match? Yeah you do. 90s chillen.

Okay so it seems we have an overload of insanely stupid "celebrities". So, okay, it's no wonder that american culture is under attack by greasy tan loud and drunk messes of men. It's also difficult to listen to the radio nowadays, when you can autotune just about any sentence and make a song out of it. Don't get me wrong, I love autotune. I just think there's a lot of people who are talentless whores who make more money than they ever should.

Here's what we do. Re-instate celebrity death match. ONLY THIS TIME IRL!! So no claymation nonsense; this is the real deal. The audience can pick what weapons who can use, so we still have that American Idol charm where the people decide who's going to die. So people vote for who they want to see battle to the death from a list of stupid stupid fucks and then we televise this bitch. And then, whoever is left standing gets th…

You sexy thing, Hot Chocolate was singing about you

Boy. If only you knew how much good you do me when you do me so good.

Ain't no other man, let me tell YOU, who can do what you do

And my God, you do it so well.

The wait is always worth it's weight in gold.

I have to admit that I can't stand to waste time with any other guy; even if I only get to see you every once in a while, I won't settle for less when you've proved yourself the very best. It's not just the sex; it's just you.

Because goddamn, that's just the kind of woman I am. I'm loyal to the bone (see what I did there?)

Hooray for Gays! (Specifically Robert)

Every straight girl who loves men ( not that weird daddy issue shit; i mean you REALLY love men) should be fortunate enough to have a gay boyfriend.

Lemme explain. If I didn't have my long-distance gay boyfriend whom I love with all of my carbon heart, I'd be the meanest and ugliest mess ever. I'd be one of those persnickety bitches on a crusade to ruin the lives of arbitrary men. BUT I AM NOT! My love for the men is wholly strengthened by Robert's existence.

My boo, Robert, holds it down like no other man can. And I think it's because we will never have sex with each other. We might eventually get to the point when we share a bisexual Russian teenager poolside, but that's about as far as sex is going to get. But our friendship is the kind where we're both equal; no one is trying to get in anybody's pants. So I trust him completely. He has no reason to be my best; we just like each other's company. I could care less about his dick and he could give …

Thanks for NOTHING Antoine Dodson

Usually, I can't sleep because I've got 99 bitch problems, and dick is usually number one. Tonight is a little different. I made the mistake of luxuriating my ears with the sound of Antoine Dodson, the Bed Intruder muse. But I am stone cold steve austin sober and all I can hear in my head is this on a constant loop:" He's climbin in yo windows snatchin yo people up tryna rape them ...You don't have to come and confess We lookin fo you We gon find you we gon find you... run and tell that run and tell that homeboy home home homeboy"Thanks a lot Antoine. I got over my insomnia once upon a fucking time and then I have to discover you and your bed intruder wonder jam. I can't go to sleep if they rapin errbody out here!

Pretty girls, you want to be taken seriously?

Listen Beautiful Bitches. I know it's hard for you to be so damn pretty. Because no one takes you seriously, right?

When you go out with Boys they don't even care that you have a Bachelor's in communication. The only time they REALLY listen is when you've got a mouthful of dick...oh it's tragic. I know you have a lot of great make-up ideas and you know how to add very large numbers...but you can't say anything. Because it's hard to articulate your grand ideas with a mouthful of dick.

Look, I know you all are really smart. Really super smart. But if you want a boy to take you seriously, you have to wear glasses.

No it's true. 57 % of men think girls with glasses are smart. Don't even worry about that 43 % because they're the ugly ones.
If you don't have vision problems, you should try and work on that. Try not blinking for a few hours. Or just take a stick and poke around in there. Not too hard now; if you're blind you'll just look sill…

Being Sad just Doesn't Sell

What have I been doing with my pansy ass lately?!
I forgot that my main point is to entertain y'allz. Not write about my pithy little white-girl problems.

So I'll keep posting titty pictures because you need a break from the world, and I need mad hitz.
And we'll keep it to filthy sex talk and pop culture criticisms.

See, sometimes I lose my mojo or forget I even have it. Without mojo, it's nothing but 19th century sentiments and pissy pissy "Oh it's just not FAIR".

But with mojo you get: dick talk, clever insults, what-if-scenarios following my favorite ficticious gay druglord with a heart of gold, and tits.
So many tits. Let's prioritize; tits, violence, dick, violence, gay drug dealer, tits.


So next time I get in one of my "moods", I'll just go sit in on an AA meeting and feel better about my life.

Frivolous Franny ( a skeletal idea of a monologue for a witty queen _

I sip on this pineapple lychee tea (!) and it occurs to me that I have been missing one thing most recently; you see my life has been lacking frivolity. YES! That's IT!

And this tea! in all of it's absurdly exotic and deliriously decadent glory happens to enlighten me! All I've wanted was to be something beautiful Debbie.

I just need you to be frivolous and happy and decidedly carefree. Go and chase some butterflies while I enjoy the sight of you! All absurd light was cast in a shadow of rationality. In the name of sanity, I will rediscover the wonderfully unnecessary things that are fine and nice to taste.

I say, don't bother thinking. I've done it for you and it's of no use in your life at all. Go out and have a nice time.

(So I should explain; this is right before Franny decides to become a Queen. He might be talking to his wife. Or he might not be! Frank was just flamboyant and unhappy for a while, before he realizes his true calling. The play would be about F…

High Heels > Prozac

Nothing mends a broken outlook on life quite like looking fabulous. And nothing makes a gal look quite so fabulous as an exquisite pair of high heels.

But please don't try walking in heels if you don't know how. You'll look like a chicken on stilts if you don't master The Walk.

And trust me, a little sway goes a fairly long way my darlings.

So don't let it go to your head; get out of bed and put on your make-up. Go show yourself off, little lady, you'll be breaking necks without even breaking a sweat.

Cee-Lo Green is Better than Everybody

Only one man could manage to drag me out of my pity party and make me want to go dancing again.
Thank you Cee-Lo Green. You are far better than anything.

Do yourself a favor and go listen to "Fuck You". I'm not going to put it up here. This isn't a music blog; it would probably be a lot more successful if it was but you listen to me and you listen good; I don't know shit about shit except for writing shit down. I leave the music to the ..."professionals"

But really. Cee-Lo can't stop giving eargasms. He's a danger to society; we might all go deaf from eargasms if he keeps going on at this rate. But he's giving me my salt back.
All of a sudden, I just want to have a good time. I just want to choreograph a parade of Gays and brighten lives. Because that just might be what my Destiny turns out to be; gay parade organizer. Not pride necessarily; these are non-political parades celebrating men who love men and love parades.

Cee-Lo Green. Best th…

How to Resolve the Guido Crisis and Make Me A Lot of Money

Jersey Shore. Jersylicious. Snookie's Situation. It's everywhere.

Oh open your eyes America! It's not the Chinese you need to be worried about. It's the guidos.
I have a simple solution to this tanned bucket of steroids and festering herpes:
Let's turn guidos into Crooners.

There was a golden age for Italian Americans, back when crooners were revered.
I'd like to start a camp for Guidos, where I re-educate them and convince them to sing and act like crooners.

How do I propose to do this? Xanax and vodka to start and simple conditioning a la Clockwork Orange.

All I'm asking for is a couple million.

Think about it. You'd have Dean Martins and Sinatras walking around, punching each other in the face.

My Big Hat is Filled With Whiskey ( a country song)

He had left me high and dry
With the bluest and blackest eye

He broke his bottle on my heart
Drunken promises of a new start

But then he saw his fat ex-wife
And left me for another life

He took my tears and drank em up
And drove away in his old truck

Now I'm as blue as my black eye
I still love him, don't ask me why

So I'm just settin on this here stool
Watching old dogs playin pool

I Drank ten gallons from my hat
Sadder than a drowning cat

All I've got now is my big hat
And a black eye from that old rat

But should he come and waltz on through
I'll be strong and I'll be true

I'll take that bottle and find his ex-wife
And carve her up without a knife

Then he'll be settin on that stool
Watching old boys playin pool

He'll drink ten gallons from his hat
Sadder than ten drowning cats

So I'm just waitin on the day
That he ain't drunk and far away

I'll hit him flat upside the head
I'll make him wish that he was dead

But till that day does roll along
I'll be set…

I mourn the loss of gentlemen

I truly mourn the loss of gentlemen.
In the times of pornographic encounters, his cries are quiet amidst the monstrous bellows of vile brutes. Replaced by the Manliest Man, who is responsible for no one but himself. He is a rarity for he cannot survive in a world of amputated spirits, distant and ignorant of their existence despite the union of their physical vessels.
Where have all the gentlemen gone? I suppose they began to disappear when Ladies proudly painted on the masks of whores, in the name of liberation. When Ladies cease to see themselves as such, the gentleman will find no reason to be gentle to her.
And I, a lady left behind by modern times, am aching for the affection of a true gentleman. Sick to death of the awkward fumbles of makeshift tenderness. Enraged with the saccharine promises disguised as civility, a means to an end for the conquest of a body. Defeated by the deceit of porcelain romances flickering on a screen. They are a poor excuse for the death of sexuality.

How to Be Smart without the work.

Hello boys and girls!
Are you tired of being a dumbass but too stupid to know how to do anything else?
Fear not, I have a series of easy steps for you to fool others into thinking your shit for brains are really brains.
Are you ready? Let's go dumdum.

Step 1: Call yourself an existentialist. When asked to explain, simply say, " Oh it's meaningless. That's the point. There IS no explanation."
Step 2: Tell people you're good at math. If they ask you to do a problem, explain that you deal in higher math and need a very specific instrument to demonstrate the complexities of Topography. Then draw various lines and label them x,y,z, z1 ect. ect. You can also mention fractals. If asked for an explanation, simply tell them you're an existentialist and you don't believe in explanations.
Step 3: Call yourself a liberal. Make fun of religious people. Make sure at least one gay person likes you, so people will be more apt to believe you.
Step 4: When in the company of …

Only in America

Times are tough when you can sleep with someone over an extended period of time and still have no idea whether or not you've piqued their interest. I guess it's easier to give all of your body away instead of your heart. Patience, show yourself as a virtue. Perhaps you are masked as a waste of time to test of my mind. It is absurd to be sure, but absurdity goes hand in hand with whimsy. A world without whimsy is dingy and dull.
If the door is locked, I'll wait for an opening to climb in through the window.

Tom, the Boy who lived on a houseboat

This is a story about Tom. Tom was a little boy who was born to a mother and father, Debra and Harry. Debra and Harry had lived on land for years but decided it would be a good idea to sell their McMansion and live out the rest of their lives on a boat. The fact is, Tom would have a higher chance of getting into his first choice school if he lived on a houseboat. It seems that houseboats are a rarity, much like people from Wyoming.
Tom was a blue-eyed and brown haired cherub until he hit puberty. When Tom hit puberty his face exploded in oil. Tom was in love with his childhood friend,Sharon. Sharon lived in a lighthouse not far from where Tom's houseboat was docked. Puberty was much kinder to Sharon, and she filled out her mother's old clothes quite nicely. Sharon and Tom used to draw pictures in the sand together, never minding the dreary white of the sea sky. But Sharon realized that Tom was not as fortunate as she was in terms of growing into an adult body. A stockpile of …

Literally, unless I'm LITERALLY literal, don't take it literally.

I feel like this is something I need to do every once in a while:
Hi. It's camille. Just camille, not the "love child" okay? Not the author, just the chick.
I need to stress that if you know me, (because if you don't know me really, you could give two fucks and a salt shaker), don't take it so damn seriously.
Look, unless you heard it straight from my horse's mouth, you can't take it as anything more than experimental literature. It's like this; in my head I have a picture right? Okay but on this blog i have a bunch of pieces of that picture that need to come together in an organized fashion so I know what the picture is. What I do now is just spew out the pieces so that I have material to work with. It's not linear, but there is a legitmate story to all this babble.
No, it doesn't make sense but look. If something seems outrageously sad or something, don't be concerned. If something is outrageously brutal or vulgar, don't lampoon me a…

Sex as a nuisance

You know what I want to do?
I want to stroke a sad stranger's face and give them some unwarranted words of encouragement.
I want to give people arbitrary compliments and conversation.

You know what's stopping me?
The fact that if I ever did that, I'd have a titty grabbed.

See what's happened? people can't do nice things for each other anymore because we're always thinking somebody is trying to have sex with us. I'm just as bad as you are folks, I just think it's a damn shame that I can't give little bits of joy and a warm touch without an erection brushing up against me.
Look I love erections. IN CONTEXT. Just because we're talking Mr. Mister, doesn't mean I want to see your main vein throbbing while you smile at me like a cartoon wolf. Put it away.
A damn shame...

Laday in da street but a freek in da bed

Free of hormonal tidal waves, I can see my situation in the prime of lucidity:

I'm going to fuck you stupid
I'm going to fuck you blind
I'm going to fuck you into a coma
I'm going to fuck the shit out of you

But if you don't want a consistent diet of dirty sex with me, there's really nothing I can do about that.
I won't want to use my tricks if you don't stop fucking tricks, trick.

Because I'm not planning a wedding; I'm planning to leave you speechless.
So Bambino, I suggest you weigh your options carefully.

While you do, I'm just gonna sit here, all pretty like, and file my nails.

Therapy? Fuck off. Lucid Dreams.

It's no secret folks, I'm a neurotic, like most of you.

What does that mean? Neurotic? I don't know; I figure it means obsessive and over analytical to the point of driving yourself stark raving mad for no reason.

It's what happens when a romantic fool has to operate in a very unromantic society.

So instead of having to waste my time thinking about boys without actually taking any dynamic course of action, I've decided to focus my energy on lucid dreaming. I've come very close but am always just shy of the dream mark. This little realization is attributed to a conversation I had last night with a lucid dreamer, Joe.

I think dreams are a pretty entertaining way to understand yourself, provided your interpretive skills are not completely off. I don't want to deal with therapy because I don't think a stranger should be picking around my brain. It's a very private place and eludes the guidance of the certified.

So no more misery and useless energy; lucid dr…

apologies to Michael Cera

It's not Michael Cera's fault that he is who he is.
I'm sure he is very pleasant in real life. He's Canadian so that already makes it difficult for me to rip on him that hard for the character he plays in all his movies.
But really. Enough is enough. The awkward charm and unassuming pussification has its intrigue, but you're off deluding teenage boys and girls again. This time with the post modern Byronic hero. Instead of having sex with your sister and revelling in the misery of your crime, the hero is a virgin and gets unwanted erections well into his college years. With awesome taste in obscure music. A hipster without the trust-fund or coke habit.
I get it. Anti-hero for teens. Because all teens are fat and awkward and they should revel in their perfect awkward nerdy indie romances, yes? Because...we need to embrace who we are, regardless of what it is we actually embrace. Because you don't need cigarettes and heroin to be cool, just some really sweet jams, …

over active imagination

What I have is an over-active imagination. I think it's because I watched too much TV as a kid. And instead of rotting my brain it just expanded its inward creativity. Maybe I stood too close to the microwave and the radiation caused some contradictory reaction. But I guess sometimes it, my imagination I mean, gets misdirected and hypothetical things become werewolves, tearing into you at night. But it also gives you a whole new approach to beauty. To fantastic scenarios, vivid in the way things can be, but always dim as a captive of the mind.

Damage Control

If all bets are off,

I'll assess the damage and collect

chemical insurance on the flood

Control the inside so the outside

stays a blithe mystery but nobody

wants to waste their time to solve you

A shot of Novocaine shot inside my brain

would muffle the cries of dead romance

I wouldn't feel a thing unless it fit in to

the cluster-fuck of hallmark occasions


Duped by my own idiotic fantasies. I know better. But I let it get away from me.

The thought of you with everybody else does not embalm me in jealousy; it simply makes me weep.

I told my heart, time and time again, to stitch its lips so that my brain could work it out. But my heart pretended not to listen and sabotaged whatever redeeming qualities I used to have.

And I am torn. So violently ill with the thought of having to say no to you.

Don't you understand? I've always wanted to say yes. I don't want to stop.

But if it's all a matter of pussy, if you're just bored and you use me as a convenient secret, then it has to end.

It has to end because I will die a casualty of the war that started when you kissed me.

The thought of never seeing you again, the thought alone is enough to have me moaning low. It takes away the little light that I have left from this romantic theft.

On you I have projected my girlish expectations; I kept myself forcefully aloof from having to bear a…

Why you should write it down.

Here's the thing. Everybody can write. Not everybody can write well. Those who have a gift may go on to the tepid world of literatis and critics but that doesn't mean that someone who doesn't write well shouldn't write at all.

The marvelous benefit of translating your thoughts into sentences is that you begin to understand and feel less alienated from yourself. Instead of fuming unto your neighbors about problems that stand to be insignificant at best, you fume to the paper and get the weight of the world off your little chest.

You see, it's no secret that emotions are irrational. Instead of letting them infect and invest your brightly lit view of the world or imposing them on the consciousness of others, you let them spill onto a screen or a journal without any harm done. ( granted I would assume you withhold real names if you chose to make your writing public. )

So please, write it down. For the sake of yourself and the sake of the rest.

When I have a chance to disse…

A woman scorned is no picnic, but a woman pmsing is truly terrifying.

Well fuck it all and burn it to hell.

I'm finished wasting my time on lukewarm fucks

I'm sick and tired of letting them enjoy my pussy for free.

I'm sick and tired of waiting for him to finish up before he can begin

I'm fucking sick of it. I'm sick of it.

I'm going to find a rich motherfucker

Because I'll always be an object

A beautiful thing while I'm young

And a hideous one when I'm old.

I'll always be at the mercy of men

But next time, I'll have diamond rings

and a penthouse in exchange for pointless

loveless sick and meaningless fucks.

I'll have no soul to sell

But I'll have priority over the will.

Instead of embarrassment and stale regret,

I'll forget about you while I sip champagne on a private jet.

Fuck you for your ambivalence.

Fuck you and your shameless cock.

Fuck you; I'm tired of fucking myself.

Believing in God.

Soaked by the fists of storm clouds, I walked home, clutching my bag in hopes of leaving it dry. My legs trailed dirty and wet on the hot black pavement, a path cut by the virulent torrents of mud and water. Plagued with thoughts much darker than the clouds above, I dragged myself away from glory, tantalized by the temptation of an easy escape.As I watched the street unfold itself upon a neighborhood, the trees began to thin and I noticed an orange butterfly amidst the thunder's din. For all this treacherous wind and vile water that cooled my skin, the delicate brilliance flew regardless. Though drops could drown it carelessly, it appeared to me quite suddenly alive, more real than anything I'd ever seen. And for a moment afterwards, I realized I believed in God.

Melancholic Writer.

The worst of it is that i am solely responsible for my misery. There may be influencing factors but the truth of the matter is these factors only hold influence over the horrendous precedence of my emotions because of the sugar-coated delusions I warrant them. I have chosen, without consciousness, to be a means to an end of myself. I given myself the worst of my malady.

A normal human being deludes themselves from holding any accountability in unpleasant situations. Should they be at fault, they will find the situational delusion that justifies and renders them innocent, a victim of a cruel world. Others take the blame upon themselves, even if the world itself is to blame for the heavy heart they leave in their bedrooms.

An oblivious emotional masochist finds a subconscious need for punishment in their lives. Directed by their drive to suffer, they are at the mercy of their sickness. Unaware of their demise, they begin to hate the world that causes them the pain they haven't realize…

the grave

Having dug my own grave,

I began to lower myself gently in

I had gone blind being

Passionate about the sky

while the dirt got in my eye

blacken fingernails and

streaks of mud upon my face

If I go by the cliche of insanity

Then there is no hope for me.

Restless pt. 2

I could fuck a different guy every night. Sure. I could do that.
I won't.
Do you know why?
Because I'm stupid and I don't like it.
I just stay up late wishing I wouldn't think the way I do.

And you! you're out fucking your brains out.
You couldn't care about anything more but getting your dick sucked by the prettiest girl.

Still. I have a tendency to avoid situations where I transform myself into a cum rag at the stroke of midnight.

So be it. With time, I'll lose all semblance of love and trade it in for a home in the hamptons.
( mother-fucker)


What I can do, because I can't blame you for misleading me if you have only intended to utilize the wealth of my youth, is to objectify you to the point of a walking talking pair of testicles.
Granted, this is difficult provided that I am geniunely engaged. But with time and the ease of self-medication I can successfully rid myself of the weight of crushing emotions that have exhausted themselves subduing my spirit into a state of restless wonder.
I can't tell what you think. I don't want to ask because I know what I want to hear and I'm afraid I won't hear a thing. So I'll assume the worst until I can prove the best.
I suppose I've given you the benefit of the doubt. Shame, I haven't learn from my mistakes. Until further notice, I'll be wary of your smile.

How to appease Creationists.

So it seems a lot of people think science is not compatible with religion.

So what you have is a cacophony of opinions in regards to what schools should teach children.

Let me fix this.
Creationists, couldn't it be feasible that god used evolution to make people? I mean the bible is old and seven days isn't a lot of time. Perhaps science is the tool god gave people to understand their surroundings and the world he's lent to them.

So if you really want to bring religion in to it, just make sure to keep science far from slander. Think of science as the "how" and religion as the "why"; two different things. Just because science is real doesn't mean God can't exist. It just gives a different interpretation of his existence.

And if you're an atheist then just use science without god, as per usual.

But you know, I think it's a little more comforting to add the pizazz of a deity to something that can be so terribly cold and boring. You need to hav…

Sex in a public place

I only want to go on a date with you to have sex with you quietly in the back of a movie theater. We can go inside, hand in hand, and sit down in the second row from the back in the far left corner. I want to see a loud movie, that doesn't make any sense. Action packed and idiotic with a silicone heroine and steroid love affair. Explosions on the green-screen sky. I want to ignore the sticky floor, and make a mess out of you. I'll wait for the music to roar before I climb out of my seat and on to you. With your pants on , I'll push the zipper down and you can hike my skirt up past my back. You'll push my panties to the side and I'll make the best of you. I'll be writhing, swallowed by the dark. You'll sigh and your breath will warm the curve of my neck. I'll slide off and we'll be dirty in the far left corner in the second row from the back, sweating satisfaction. If they see us, they would just look away and blush.

Eaten Alive

A swarm of locusts
born of lust that placid
trapped and nervous
bit my ankles raw

A quiet murmur
growing past the
roar of din

Desire bound to one;
No substitute can
stop me from
eating myself alive.

If Basil Marceaux can do it, so can I.

Have you introduced yourself to Basil Marceaux

The name by itself is worth the weight of many elephants in gold.

Basil Marceaux is running for a political position. I don't even know what it is.

Go watch him.

Then think about this: wouldn't you like for me to be your mayor? I keep things neat. I'm a great listener. Sashes are ever so becoming on me.

If I run and you vote, not only will I give you guns, I'll finally make good on your god-given constitutional right to own a horse. And if you should choose, to marry that horse in good faith.

But only in good faith. There's a lot of devils out there.


Today, I was waiting for the metro. A stranger stopped in his tracks and stared at me. Then he asked me what I was, to which I replied, a ghost, naturally. He thought I was quite the vision.

And he wasn't weird. He was normal. As normal as the typical guy who hits on a girl like me is. So he wasn't old. He wasn't ugly. He wasn't psychotic or malevolent. Just a normal guy.

But if I stopped him in his tracks when I was wearing a rumpled skirt, I can only imagine what I can do with what I'm not going to wear when I see you.

He said maybe I was the one that got away.

Didn't get away from you though, did I ?


There is no greater satisfaction than making somebody laugh when it seems to them like life is laughing at them. If my words can bring you anything, I hope it's joy. Because you're a lamb,sir, and you deserve to smile at the devil's snarl.

charlie horse the rocking horse

camille has a rocking horse

and it rocks back and forth

And that's all I need to say about that.

Oh, Did I forget to mention he flies rebel planes with finesse?

He did anyway. He's retired now. A tired old horse.

He's not a hero, but he's from FAO shwartz

So a little like gatsby in regards to his experience in the army.

Not really a hero, but a horse built with grace. The quiet kind of charisma an aristocrat would have provided the horse is aristocratic. Ask Catherine the Great. She can tell you a lot more than I can.

Well it seems I had more to say about Charlie than I thought.


It doesn't matter if you buy me roses.

I don't care about dinner and a movie.

I just want you to tell me it isn't just sex.

I just want you to feel more than fucking.

Because I couldn't bear it if I was another

useless pair of legs for you forget in the morning

Things I absolutely cannot say to your face because it makes me nervous.

I remember the night I met you. Stealing glances in the backroom, I couldn't believe your eyes had caught my own. I was sure it was a dream. I thought I was in for an evening of quiet boredom; I wanted to leave before I even got a chance to get to where I was going.

But you asked for my name. I would have left with you, I would have gone anywhere with you but I was socially obligated to stay in that wretched place. I lay awake because I couldn't forget your face.

I waited for your kiss. Doubts cast a plague upon my bravery. Buried beneath anxiety, I found courage and courage guided me through the icy streets.

I waited for your touch. Before the last minute could disappoint us, we finally made the best of each other.

And ever since you blessed me with your affection, I've never wanted to leave your side.

The others were forgotten before I could remember them. Casualties of lukewarm affections. Meaningless sex justified by frustrated ambivalence .

But with you...all the love that …

Pornography and Why I say NAY

Here's the thing about pornography. First off, there's a difference between erotica and pornography. Erotica attempts to exemplify the beauty of sex. It's the aesthetic of lust.

Pornography is not at all an aesthetic encapsulation of human sexuality. Pornography is business. What happens is that porno takes all meaning out of sex. It renders sex to nothing but a mere series of grotesque actions performed with artificial enthusiasm by big breasted women who absolutely despise men.

Whereas both tend to be based in illusion, the illusion of erotica is more akin to fine art, to the visual depiction of something that surpasses our imagination. Note that I speak of well made erotica, not Danielle Steele novels.

Pornography gives an extraordinarily negative illusion of sex. It takes all the beauty, all the tenderness and the necessary elements of compassion that amount to amazing sex and it destroys it. It makes young men (and women to a degree) think that sex is porn.

Sex is not por…


It's exceedingly frustrating to have thoughts. Although, one might not necessarily assume that a thought is a nuisance, I should like to explore the intangible nature of grand ideas.

To start, I would like you to think to a time where you had a particularly intriguing thought or idea and simply could not translate it into words or pictures or anything at all. That's not to say you don't understand your own mind; you've simply found yourself unable to explain your thoughts to anyone beside yourself. As human creatures, we seem to have an unquenchable thirst to be able to communicate the intricacies of our thoughts to others, in hopes of being understood.

Certain ideas, however, are stubborn and mischievous little things. They make a startling appearance at the expense of a weak epiphany and leave you to wonder what it was that bore the thought. In lost phrases and images, these ideas haphazardly explode without a cause and without guidance.

You see, my issue is that I ref…


Sailing far from the seas of slumber

Memories serve me but not so sweetly

As treasured nights I keep to dream

Muted lips are only stitched by

the wildest cries of affection

Desperate I plead

to cling to reason

as your voice melts

the wax that used

to cover my heart

gay photographers, help.

listen. i need another photo series
I don't need anyhing fancy, maybe lights.
And your finely trained eye

Women or gay photographers. Please
because the other ones you end up sleeping with
And I'm perfectly happy with the guy I'm sleeping with now
Because he's no a photographer.

Anyway. Help.


Lemme ax u sumptin.

Y'all men. Y'all men like eye contact during Bjs?

When your lady is giving you the bop, you like it when she looks up at you?

Tell me, menfolk, why that is. I don't have a problem with it but you know, girls are self conscious and I couldn't think of a less flattering angle than one with a cock in your mouth.

What is it? is it...tenderness? Or is that porno thing where you feel in control or something...

So tell me, what makes eye contact during a blowjob so erotic?

I don't know why.

You know, when I first sat down to speak with you over coffee, I recall telling you that I abhor the thought of taking care of a man. That I was a free spirit and that I wouldn't mother anyone.

I didn't realize that what I spoke was a lie and I apologize. I suppose I was referring to the gallant pigs of my past, who sought to tame me for the sake of vanity.

But with you, with you it's rather different. I have never wanted to be so sweet and kind to a young man before. I've never felt such tenderness flowing from my fingertips when I have the privilege of stroking your skin. I've never wanted to take care of a man until I met you.

I don't want to be so distant. I want to confess my infatuation, though it might have already been declared by words unspoken. I am yours, you know, and I'd like you to be mine only to be sure I haven't given you anything you don't want.

I need a camera.

I miss taking pictures of myself in my bathtub.

If someone would like to take black and white photographs of me in a bathtub and make those pictures look very nice, I would be very much obliged to you under the condition that you do not try any funny stuff. Unless I'm flat out begging you. And I won't be.

So please. Help me make a photo story.

a continuation of "Bathtub Gin"... ( look it up. Give me hits)

Survey for men

I was reading something yesterday on the metro. It was about intamcy. Most of it didn't matter to me except the for the part about sex. This lady was saying that boys show their emotion through sex while woman have to have an "emotional" connection before sex. Like boys have their emotional part separate because of mommy issues or something. Not to say that a woman can't have meaningless sex. It's just that the meaningless part hits closer for home than the sex part.
So tell me men, is that right or is that wrong?

How to read OWLC

whoever has been reading lately, I trust I can give you a better lens to read this through. I've weeded out the psychopaths and chronic masturbators at this point.

I would appreciate it if you could read various posts not so much as if they were the exact intentions of the author so much as dialogue that must be written and eventually pieced together to create a marvelous story.

This does not apply to my ridiculous rants.

My ridiculous rants on pop culture are very much my own opinions.

Where I address "you", this is a dialogue for a story I've yet to write.

But please, keep reading. One day I promise you, this will amount to more than it should.

But I am selfish my friends. Read how you would like to read, I simply provide a different perspective for you to play with.

I renewed my lease on life

I must have had some kind of sleep-driven epiphany because I feel like pink champagne. For weeks I was hanging my head low, a spoiled poet mourning the loss of something I never lost in the first place.

All this useless anxiety that marred my intentions and paralyzed my actions, chaining me to my bed like a sadistic psychiatrist, has proven quite useless. A monster I fed with my own insignificant shortcomings

Well, my vicious fiend, I have defeated you. You can only do me harm so long as I allow myself to wallow in the depths of your frantic nonsense.

You see I was neglecting the life I'm meant to live. I was scared of the possibility of succeeding in assuming selective ambivalence.

But most of all, I was allowing cock to get me down. I look through the lens of sensibility now, and cock is nothing but a dribbling, blind and altogether dumb little animal that happens to be attached to the body of a man. Ah but I love men! I will always love men! no matter how cynical and abhorrently v…

what happened?

The things I do to get to sleep.

I hardly remember writing what it was I wrote below but I assure you it's ever so very much true.

But today i feel as if I woke up right after a tractor rolled off of my body.

I want to have a seriously passionate make out session today, like everyday.

And it will not happen today. tomorrow or the next.

but goddamn it all I want to do is kiss all the time until forever ends. I love kisses. I don't care about fucking. I just want kisses.

At least I have something to dream about


As much as I might want to hate you,

and call you a narcissistic fuck

I can't bring myself to the point of forgetting about you

Even if I'm nothing more than a monthly fuck for you to brag about

Even if you haven't thought of me in passing

Except when you aren't too fucked up to see me

I can't help it; I still want to shower you with all the delights my body has to offer

I just want a little tenderness; I just need one kiss to decide if it's really worth my time to suffer patience

Quitting amounts to Rage.

Today I decided I'd see how long I can go without having a cigarette.
At this point, I'd like to rip off every pair of testicles I've ever played with and shove them down the mouths of starving wolverines.
You're nothing but a trophy dick.
All I ever got out of you was a load of crushing disappointment.