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p.s. Hey. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi, David. Yeah, it was a really nice club. One of the few I ever liked enough to hang out in. ** xTx, Hey! Awesome! Oh, shit, the thanks are all mine! I'm so excited! The book is wending its way to me as I type, and I'm going to leap on it and devour it, and maybe I'll even eat it! Like 'chomp, chomp, swallow' eat. Congrats, great one! And it's so, so cool to see you! Big love, me. ** Steevee, Hi. Mm, I'm not sure. We're editing the film in Final Cut Pro 10, so perhaps he can do the color correction in that program? There was some talk at one point of using something called 'Da Vinci' for the color correction? Do you know that? I don't know what that is. I think Zac probably knows how K. intends to do it, but, for tech novice me, he's just going to come over and work his magic, ** Magick mike, Hi, Mike! Me too. Excited, I mean. I'm hoping the book reaches Paris in the next few days. I highly recommend 'Billie the Bull', if you get the chance to read it. That's my favorite work of hers so far, or at least until I dig into the new one. Great news about the SL release. I don't think I've ever read that writer. Is this his first English translation? Great! Let me pass along the news. Everyone, D.l. magick mike aka the superb writer M. Kitchell mans this fantastic press Solar Luxuriance, as you may know, and, anyway, here he is to announce his exciting new release. Listen and follow. MM: '[J]ust wanted to also mention that today marks the release of my press, Solar Luxuriance's first release of a work in translation! Amandine André's CIRCLE OF DOGS, translated by Kit Schluter & Jocelyn Spaar is astoundingly heavy, and I'm thrilled to have it be the first French work I'm releasing.' Get it here, won't you? Thanks a lot, man! ** Etc etc etc, Hi, Casey! Dude, I saw stuff on FB yesterday about this great review of Mark's book, and I read some samples from it put up by Mark and Ken Baumann, and I thought what I read was just fantastic, and for some reason I didn't even check the byline, and only now do I realize that you wrote it! Based on what I read, it's a really smart, knowing, very strong and good review, man! I'm going to try to get my hands on the issue. I think Shakespeare & Co. actually stocks Rain Taxi, amazingly enough. Major kudos! Everyone, Try to get your hands on the new issue of the great lit. journal Rain Taxi so you can read the review of Mark Gluth's 'No Other' written by the one, the only d.l. etc etc etc aka great scribe Casey Michael Henry! Are there plans to put the review online, do you know? I will get/try to get 'The Disaster Artist', for sure. And I need to see that Cronenberg. Maybe it's on the newish French version of Netflix by now. My back is minutely better today, thanks. I just need to walk a bunch, which I plan to do in a bit. Thanks a lot! ** Kier, Dencake, ha ha. It must be that softish vowel sound in 'den' that makes it so mutable. Well, that plus your own genius in your case. Okay, I'll retract my RIP for now, and I'll hope that the sheepling makes a daring escape or something. I bet Oslo will totally refresh you. I don't know why, it just seems like Oslo is an energizing place based on my couple of visits there. Eight hour train ride, yikes. Do you play video games or read or listen to music or how do you survive that ensconcement? Oh, wait, you said you'll draw! Best possible time usage ever. I hope everything goes incredibly great! If you find it easy and pleasing to check in while you're there, do let me/us know how everything is going. My day: Zac was still working on the replanting of Scene 1's sound, so we delayed the editing until today. So I worked other stuff, like emails and an interview I need to finish and this and that. It turns out that to rent the apartment I liked, I would need a French citizen to guarantee that I'll pay my rent. Some apartments require that. Gisele said she'd sign on, but she's unacceptable because she has this special French artist status whereby, when she's not making work and earning money from it, she immediately starts getting these special artist unemployment benefits -- man, you gotta love France -- and that makes her not acceptable as a guarantee person. And I realized that I really only know one person here with enough status and money to qualify, and that person has already been incredibly generous to me in many ways, so I don't want to ask him, so, basically, I can't get that apartment. There's another one where I don't think (fingers crossed) I need to be guaranteed, so we'll see. It's all pretty stressful. In the evening, Zac and I went to this gallery opening where Fujiko Nakaya had a piece, and that was cool, and it was really great to see her. Then I came home and did more grunt work and tried to improve my fucked up back not very successfully. I guess your day was spent mostly on a train. If you see this, if you can, how was the ride? ** Sickly, Hi, S! Yeah, it's crunched time for me right now between the film work/deadline and needing to find new living quarters, and it's slightly maddening, but oh well, right? Maybe French parents are still like they were in Proust's days? Do I even know any French parents? Maybe not. Weird. 'Dennron', right. Aw, Antonio, sigh. Howdy-do to you, pal. ** Cal Graves, Hi ... DeCal! Hey, that gets both of our names in. Not bad, right? I thought about an easy chair. That was my second choice. For some reason the word 'easy' scared me at the last minute, ha ha. Thanks for the link! I'll start there. Cool! I just try to use a dissolve or montage effect on the shit in my work. Sometimes those special effects are a good hiding place. Unless something or, rather, someone, more like, fails us, this week should be intense, but I think the film will reach full awesomeness maybe. Wow, that's quite a question, man. I'm going to go downstairs and have a quick smoke and think about it right now, and then I'll answer. Hold on. Won't be but a few minutes. Okay, while fucking, they start to realize that there's something eerily familiar about each other at which point they realize they're the same person split into two. But the split caused them to only have half of their normal level of intelligence, so, even though the magic and seeming impossibility of their having been subdivided into two people is by far the most interesting thing going on, they don't care because that's too conceptual for their downgraded brains, so they just think, 'Wow, I'm really hot', and they have great, meaningless sex, while I watch and think, 'Too bad construction workers aren't my type'. Okay, give me your answer, sir. ** Keaton, Obviously, you're contagious, or your sexual fantasies are, or something. Pancakes fucking rule! You're crazy! Pancakes are sublime! You're crazy! Still, I should see Pittsburgh, even if it's not much. I'll figure out why I should go there and do that one of these days. I love factories. I feel like there must be a lot of factories there for some reason. I like soot too. It's St. Patricks Day? When? Like, now? I don't think the French do that 'holiday'? Or maybe they do. Enjoy! ** Chris Dankland, Hi, Chris! It's really, really great to see you! I know, I know, I'm dancing on my tiptoes in anticipation of reading that new xTx! I'm good, just, yeah, crazy busy, but for mostly the best reasons. I'm excited for you to see our film! Once we get it finished, we're going to start talking to the distributors and stuff about how it can get shown, released, etc. Wow, weirdly I only have the very vaguest memory of Vollman asking me that. I remember he did. I had forgotten all about that. I can't remember for the life of me what I suggested. I'm not really the type to make specific suggestions. I think I probably just talked with him about the issue in some way that I hoped would get him to pony up with a dormant idea that he really liked. When I personally don't know what I want to do next with my writing, I try not to worry about it because I've learned 'over the years' that feeling vague and lost and unexcited by any idea is totally part of the deal. Me, I tend to concentrate on other projects, collaborations and stuff when that happens. I definitely don't force myself to start something based on what I think I should do, I just wait until something happens that makes me want to write uncontrollably. You know, I downloaded the new Bjork, but I haven't listened to it yet, weirdly. I haven't heard anything of it. I think maybe I'm unconsciously waiting for people to stop talking about it and about her 'disastrous' MoMA retrospective so I can listen to it without external noise. I do have a curiosity about the break-up aspect because, whether it's relevant or a good thing to be thinking about, I had dinner and hung out with Mathew Barney the last time I was in NYC, and I liked him as a person, so I'm curious to see him portrayed as a character in the songs now that I have my own thoughts about him or something. How are you? Are you writing? How is that going? I'd love a catch-up if you don't mind. All the very, very, very best to you! ** James, Hi, J. Thanks, man. Uh, well, the producers raised the money to let us make the film, and that's pretty big. And they'll be in charge of where it ends up being shown and how it's released and so on, for better or worse. And they co-own the film, so the film will forever be wedded to them, which is kind of scary to think about. I just think they must be accustomed to producing films that are really messy and half-assed looking and sounding, and they just weren't prepared to deal with a film that has a very meticulous look and sound. It'll be okay, hopefully, I think. Thank you, James. ** Grant maierhofer, Hey, Grant! I only saw just before falling asleep last night that the new/last Death Grips is announced, and I haven't had a chance to hear that track yet, but I'm really excited. yes! Thank you, man! ** Okay. I decided to let 181 things stare innocently at you or at the imaginary area around you today and see what happened. So, what happened? See you tomorrow.

'We are the imagination of ourselves.': DC's select international male escorts for the month of March 2015

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blowmeharder, 19
Prague

I AM OFFERING THAT YOU CAN LICK ME, LOVE ME & EAT ME

Dicksize L, Cut
Position Bottom only
Kissing No
Fucking No
Oral Bottom
Dirty No
Fisting No
S&M No
Client age Users between 35 and 70
Rate hour ask
Rate night ask



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MyButt,19
Paris

My name Dziwka, I'm 19 and I live in Nancy, Lorraine.
I am here because I seek new customers in Paris and with a preference for the 3rd district.
This announcement obviously on a certain class of people, rich and cultural.
I was a model and now I want to do something more exciting.
I don't like when you waste my time so just give me your number, address and fuck me.
We are the imagination of ourselves.

Dicksize No entry, Uncut
Position Bottom only
Kissing No entry
Fucking Bottom only
Oral No entry
Dirty No
Fisting No
S&M No
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour 100 Euros
Rate night 150 Euros



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Virginity_For_Sale, 18
Milan

I am a straight boy, 14 years old, looking to sell my virginity to a generous man that appreciates this. This would be a big change in my life and I want to live this experience. I never had sex with a man before (not even kissing) I ask and offer 100% honesty. My price is 1 million Euro. I made the photo with my own mobile.

Dicksize M, Uncut
Position No entry
Kissing No entry
Fucking No entry
Oral No entry
Dirty No entry
Fisting No entry
S&M No entry
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour ask
Rate night 1000000 Euros



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amphetamine, 21
Bucharest

im an sperm guy cause i like my cum out of my dick to relax my body and my brains allso to be prepare for the second hard fuck until you stop me or i make your cum or shit out of you, i was born to fuck a lot i enjoy more than eat i can not be with out fucking, that make me crazy if you came in bucharest you gonne see that.

Dicksize XXL, Cut
Position Top only
Kissing Consent
Fucking Top only
Oral Top
Dirty No entry
Fisting No entry
S&M No entry
Fetish Skater, Underwear, Skins & Punks, Lycra, Uniform, Jeans
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour ask
Rate night ask



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I-FUCK-YOU, 20
Munich

I love to spit on the face my client, slap Them, Their mouths and fuck ass holes, be mean, Fisting, love to pee on your face in your mouth, I don't give a fuck, but if you like to be strong I have compassion, and that is hard for me but no problem.

Guestbook of I-FUCK-YOU

Anonymous - 15.Feb.2015
i fucked him all night long and he only want 30

militarPT09 - 01.Jan.2015
I know I-FUCK-YOU for a few years and he is 1000% bottom I ever met. Let him organize his thoughts upon arrival and then his ass is a great value for your pig special.

Dicksize M, Cut
Position Top only
Kissing Consent
Fucking Top only
Oral Bottom
Dirty No
Fisting No
S&M Soft SM only
Fetish Sportsgear, Skater, Underwear, Boots, Uniform, Formal dress, Sneakers & Socks, Jeans, Worker
Client age Users between 18 and 40
Rate hour ask
Rate night ask



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HiImDepressed, 19
Chelmsford

Hi, I'm depressed. I cry a lot. I like cutting myself and getting fucked by guys who don't give a fuck about me only because it gives a reason to cut myself. I've been told I'm hot when I cry ... I don't know. I don't give a fuck. We all have demons inside of us. I have to be listening to Death Metal when anyone fucks me. I'll wear headphones and turn the volume low, but you're still going to hear it.

Guestbook of HiImDepressed

BEST-TOP-XXL-TURK - 19.Feb.2015
nice and bery goo pasiv.

Dicksize L, Uncut
Position More bottom
Kissing Yes
Fucking More bottom
Oral Versatile
Dirty WS only
Fisting Passive
S&M Yes
Fetish Black Metal
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour 80 Euros
Rate night 200 Euros



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justhot19, 20
Geneva

I'm not looking for sex. Just someone with too much money. Pay and look at me guy. I'm looking hot. High and always cute, that's the way I like it.

Dicksize M, Uncut
Position Top only
Kissing No
Fucking Top only
Oral Top
Dirty No
Fisting Active
S&M No
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour ask
Rate night ask



___________________




BeautifulRil, 19
Berlin

I am one of the escorts who are on smoking-hot sex and is a polieshed well bred intellectual. I just want to get sucked real hard and be licked. I would like to get a hot oil massage before the real naughty fun begins. I wont do anything in return except hj. Comfortable with this? I possess great command over my languistic skills and expect sanity, so try not sound bickerish. Ping only if you have balls to PAY. Please don't sound irky. Ask for the 8" toy. Don't get emotional. I am an uncomplecated boy. I just like to cum in men's mouth. No type me if you want other things.

Dicksize XL, Uncut
Position Versatile
Kissing Consent
Fucking Versatile
Oral Versatile
Dirty WS only
Fisting Active / passive
S&M Soft SM only
Fetish Leather, Sportsgear, Skater, Rubber, Underwear, Skins & Punks, Boots, Uniform, Formal dress, Techno & Raver, Sneakers & Socks, Jeans, Worker
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour 120 Euros
Rate night 500 Euros



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andywhorehole, 22
Los Angeles

As life throws more and more responsibilities on top of me, I've been moving towards something I've known since my early teens - living up to the expectations of others is something I can't deal with anymore. It's time for a serious change.

I'm an extremely hardcore bottom escort looking for very long term "disappearance" of 5 years minimum.

To be honest with you, I don't WANT it, I NEED it.

Can you keep an escort in a 8 ft deep hole outdoors in my own shit and Piss?

Are you a mental power vampire who gets off on draining a boy's mind power, weakening his brain to the point of disabling it?

Can you abuse and use me until I stop functioning ... WITHOUT ANY PROBLEM WITH LAW, FAMILY, OR CORPOREL DAMAGE, YOU CAN NEVER GO TO FAR WITH ME, BECAUSE I AM A TOTAL GHOST, NOT EXIST ANYMORE?

24/7 date only as I'm looking to disappear for five years. The price for five years is $5,000 (SO CHEAP!) plus room and board. For four years or less, my price starts at $10,000.

HATE TALKING PREFER GET MORE BUISNESS!

Dicksize S, Uncut
Position Bottom only
Kissing Consent
Fucking Bottom only
Oral Versatile
Dirty Yes
Fisting Passive
S&M Passive
Fetish Leather, Sportsgear, Skater, Rubber, Underwear, Skins & Punks, Boots, Lycra, Uniform, Formal dress, Techno & Raver, Sneakers & Socks, Jeans, Drag, Worker
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour ask
Rate night ask



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BossAssBitch, 18
Thunder Bay

Basically, my name is Matthew and I am a gay teen with behavioral problems and dropped out of high school as a 10th grader and ran away from my parents with friends I met on instant messenger.

Since then I like having sex but i much prefer shower sex n stuff like that I live in Thunder Bay.

Things that there isn't enough money in the world to get me to do are brown, bareback, boys under 4 yrs old, men under 4 feet tall.

Dicksize No entry, Uncut
Position Versatile
Kissing Yes
Fucking Versatile
Oral Versatile
Dirty No entry
Fisting No entry
S&M Soft SM only
Fetish Sportsgear, Underwear, Formal dress, Sneakers & Socks
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour ask
Rate night ask



___________________




Skater818, 20
San Fernando

GIRLS ARE FOR FRIENDSHIP, BOYS ARE FOR FUCK!!!

This is what I believe in....I had been cruising around this site, and found that People seek sex sex and sex....No emotions..

So I am done with it, and Here comes the NEW ME...

LET ME GET YOU STARTED.....SUCK,FUCK AND FUCK....

Dicksize M, Uncut
Position Versatile
Kissing Yes
Fucking Versatile
Oral Versatile
Dirty WS only
Fisting Active / passive
S&M Yes
Fetish Underwear, Boots, Uniform, Formal dress, Jeans, Worker
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour 50 Dollars
Rate night 150 Dollars



________________





blondsexdream, 18
London

i have just 2 small things to say it about me 1 i can come to a coffee compagnie 2 i dont work with xxx

SO DON'T GO ANY OTHER PLACES

Dicksize L, Uncut
Position More bottom
Kissing Consent
Fucking More bottom
Oral No entry
Dirty No
Fisting No
S&M No
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour 200 Pounds
Rate night ask



__________________




Sunny-Bo795, 20
Bucharest

I HAVE SO MANY DIFFICULTIES IN LIFE
I DONT KNOW WHERE TO START
THATS WHY I DECIDED TO BE AN ESCORT JUST TO SURVIVE
JUST WANNA LET YOU KNOW THAT I AM DOING THIS BECAUSE I JUST WANTED TO EARN, INVEST, BUT I KNOW BY DOING THIS AS AN ESCORT IS RISKY AND NOT ENOUGH TO EARN..

I BELIEVE NO MATTER WHAT KIND OF SITE IS THIS, THERE IS STILL A GOOD SAMARITAN HERE WHO CAN HELP ME AND ACCEPT ME FOR WHO I AM..

IM YOUNGER THAN 20 BTW..

Guestbook of Sunny-Bo795

PARADISEBOY - 20.Feb.2015
this boy is a registrate citizen from holland
i can make a international warrend order i i know the police in romania is corrupt but in holland not

the state of holland is gonna try to find here own people and alin bucur is one of them

PARADISEBOY - 20.Feb.2015
my son alin is not gay
let him free or i call the police

Dicksize XXL, Uncut
Position No entry
Kissing Consent
Fucking No entry
Oral No
Dirty No
Fisting No
S&M No
Fetish Skater, Rubber, Formal dress, Sneakers & Socks
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour ask
Rate night ask



__________________





YourDope, 20
Lisbon

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

About me: Im very very very very cute {thats what people say}, a little introverd, a little talkative, quite kiddish, quite mature, quite ziddi, quite understandin....
Thatzzzz how i m .....

I want to make frnzzz in every corner of world...

I m loOkin for: Educated,tall & caringggg guyssss....
LoOks does matter but wat matter most is I love guyzzz in shortssssssss(yummie)

About pics: i m not photogenic, i look better than my picsssss.....
So dont releive on 'em.....

Try MEEEEEEEEEE or REGRETZZZZZZZZ.......

Dicksize M, Uncut
Position Versatile
Kissing Consent
Fucking Versatile
Oral Versatile
Dirty Yes
Fisting No
S&M No
Fetish Underwear, Skins & Punks, Formal dress, Jeans
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour ask
Rate night ask



__________________





4truckersONLY, 18
Atlanta

Love a trucker, would love to be taken on a paid ride with a trucker to be used as a toy, temporary or permanent, either one.

Like the idea of being taken from my home, thrown into the cabin of a truck, then stored away, only being pulled out to be used by my trucker client.
Or being forced to give road head for hours on end.
I want to be hired by a trucker, be "owned" by a trucker, be used by a trucker.
Either way, I wan't to get laid by a trucker.

Don't have much of a life as of right now, so am up to any period of hiring.

I know this sounds strange, a tall order, and almost psychotic, but it is what gets me off.

Dicksize L, Uncut
Position Bottom only
Kissing Consent
Fucking Bottom only
Oral Versatile
Dirty WS only
Fisting No
S&M Soft SM only
Fetish Leather, Sportsgear, Skater, Rubber, Skins & Punks, Boots, Uniform, Techno & Raver, Sneakers & Socks, Jeans, Drag, Worker
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour 75 Dollars
Rate night 250 Dollars



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Agreed, 18
Minhen

If you are seeking for a model looking joke I'm proudly not your type. I just sign up here being a callboy, coz i need an extra income. That's all, no attachment of feeling ok?!

My name is Max, and im only got 18. Im really tall, really skinny boy ready to make true any your bad wishes.

I love human being and respect them from the bottom of my heart. I can lick human being from the toe to the top of your head that passes through your sensitive parts that bring your body to a different level.

Im in Serbia, finishing school this summer, so I want to come to Germany, to live, work. Yea, I know how dangerous this way to find someone is.

Sooo, I need some kind of sugar daddy, I guess, you need to be ritch...

Dicksize L, Uncut
Position Versatile
Kissing Yes
Fucking Versatile
Oral Versatile
Dirty No
Fisting No
S&M No entry
Fetish Uniform, Formal dress
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour 100 Euros
Rate night 200 Euros



___________________






anything_happen, 23
Nyíregyháza

An interesting guy only for you. Smart, slightly egocentric (of course), caring (can be _Only_For_You), aspiring student cosmetologist and architect at some point, and a sexaddicted bottom that can't control my own desire.

I have been my town's jailbait slut queen bee for 5 years but now my addiction is out of control.

Please, only guys with bank account with min. 0000, 00000, or preferably 000 000 (in front of the comma) :-) Still, I am serious.
Although 1.000 euro dates are not absolutely impossible, I am looking for something more rewarding.

Dicksize L, Uncut
Position More bottom
Kissing No entry
Fucking More bottom
Oral Bottom
Dirty No entry
Fisting No entry
S&M No entry
Fetish Leather, Sportsgear, Skater, Uniform, Formal dress, Techno & Raver, Jeans, Worker
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour ask
Rate night ask



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My_life_my_rules, 20
Ciudad de Panamá

¥•/•/•|BODY STATUS|•/•/•¥ ::
/Age 20 Years/ ••¿ /Height 5-9/ ••¿ /Weight - 55kgs/ ••¿
/Color Reddish brown/ ••¿ /Slim lad in d city/ ••¿ /When I'm new 2PR I measured my cock tht time 7Inch while I f**k ppl says itz 8Inch/ :-)

¿¿¿\•\•¥•\•\Sexual Enjoyment/••/•¥•/•/¿¿¿

I'll start by asking you to lay only with Ur Inner wear on your front, or what Comforts you best. I'll give u a CHOCOLATE just have it in mouth & keep tasting it.

«««•$••NOTE••$•»»»
*** LIP KISS & SUCKKING cannot be done with all even if u pay CRORES ***

• Only to FUCK you - Duration 45 Minutes to 1 hour - Charges 3350/-
• If you Wanna fuck me - 5000/-
• For Both - 5000/-
• Wild Sex: I do Use Candle Vax, Belt, Hands, Legs, bad words, stick, ties you on bed & harasses as Young master & let's you cry but u loves it at d End.
• Romantic Sex: For Hunks & Choosy only ~> I hv my style which makes u to feel ~> You r enough for me.

• I know my Tiger Stamina_power when I use it for u, u have to pay me to Re-Strength myself & for Special lotions to use for úr Ass hole to let yourself possess Pleasure instead f pain while I fuck u hard/Soft.

¥$¥***¥***¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿•••¥•••***¥***¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿•••¥•••¥$¥

Dicksize XXL, Uncut
Position Bottom only
Kissing Consent
Fucking Top only
Oral Top
Dirty WS only
Fisting Active
S&M Soft SM only
Fetish Underwear, Uniform, Formal dress, Techno & Raver
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour 100 Dollars
Rate night 300 Dollars



________________



fuckedboy, 22
Munich

may look mean but i am actually very beautiful dream man in the world.
i do not like bullshit.
insatiable, totally no frills and very thirsty.
do you like big muscles?
do you want to see my biceps and my chest big and veins?
give me a sign if you want to see what a fucking good crazy fuck is.
whatever i do i do it from my heart.
good ass ... will make you fly.
looking for the usual, specifically, and without going into our lives.
you are smart man.
show up with HEAVY POCKETS.

Dicksize XXL, Uncut
Position Versatile
Kissing No
Fucking Versatile
Oral Versatile
Dirty Yes
Fisting Active / passive
S&M Yes
Fetish Leather, Sportsgear, Skater, Rubber, Underwear, Skins & Punks, Boots, Lycra, Uniform, Formal dress, Techno & Raver, Sneakers & Socks, Jeans, Drag, Worker
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour 60 Euros
Rate night ask



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IuWANT, 25
London

A very sweet tasting ass belonging to a Soccer Player from Italy and very new to London. He was very surprised the first time he had a tongue creep up his behind. Boy did he let out a squeal. He was new in that environment but he liked it terribly. Not familiar with fucking so he's just doing tasting parties at the moment.

Dicksize L, Uncut
Position Versatile
Kissing Consent
Fucking No
Oral Versatile
Dirty No
Fisting No
S&M Soft SM only
Fetish Sportsgear, Uniform
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour 150 Pounds
Rate night 700 Pounds



__________________





GefallenerEngelEs, 18
Stuttgart

My name is Rudy. I'm 18, born in November 1996 in Epernay, Marne, Champagne-Ardenne, France. Look what follows and it is all good.

When I entered kindergarten, I was presented as the fairest and the best school my class. It always came to fight with the others. I was lonely and wanted to be a geologist or engineer at that time. So I have lived, but also with the absence of my biological father, and the everyday violence of my mother and father. Strangely, I have often thought of suicide. I've lived in a deadly environment: A village of 1500 inhabitants, of which I only saw 100 I think, with violent parents, and everyday school bullying, under which still suffer my relationships with others.

In the 10th grade, the bullying thing has done about in part: In France, the school begins here and ends in the 12th grade. At the time, I did "so excellent and unusual knowledge of German for a small Frenchman from a no Germans environment" made me free from the others due to my odd.

In the 11th grade, the school psychologist, family doctor, my whole family and the home for children with behavioral difficulties, where they are me half leave 1 year and in depression discovered that I have a much higher IQ and a very special person have.

April 2014 I leave, unhappy, sad and angry, the home that has helped to destroy my soul. I am going black to Paris by train, with the hope that my life will improve. There I discover the kinky gay world. So I discover what happens when you have a lot of freedom to a minority in society, as they will suffer, and bad acting. I have been there, seen with 17 things that will never be seen in a life.

September 2014, without the help of the French State and without the help of my parents, I said to France Holy fuck off. So I went by train to Stuttgart, black of course. One good thing is that my parents had to pay the fare increase, because I was underage.

I'm looking for an apartment, a room, something that belongs to me. I'm looking for a job time (TZ-HA) in a bar, for example. Have gathered experience in the cinema industry. I am not looking for sex date, no TG, but I have € 80 on the bench and therefore can not reject it ... I'm looking for a pretty well-built understanding partner.

Dicksize XL, Uncut
Position Versatile
Kissing No entry
Fucking Versatile
Oral Versatile
Dirty No
Fisting No
S&M No
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour ask
Rate night ask



__________________



Underthevolcano, 20
Gdańsk

It turns me on to have a old, naked man blow me and fuck me and other shit and feel myself feel dread of how powerless I am not to become a old, gross man like him doing that to some boy like me someday. That's not a very sexy turn-on, I know, but do you want to take advantage?

Dicksize XL, Cut
Position Versatile
Kissing Yes
Fucking Versatile
Oral Versatile
Dirty Yes
Fisting Active
S&M Yes
Fetish Leather, Sportsgear, Skater, Rubber, Underwear, Skins & Punks, Boots, Lycra, Uniform, Formal dress, Techno & Raver, Sneakers & Socks, Jeans, Drag, Worker
Client age No restrictions
Rate hour ask
Rate night ask




*

p.s. Hey. So, next week I'm going to very crunched working with Zac, a.o. to get our film finished in time to submit it to the Cannes Film Festival by the Saturday deadline. This will definitely hamper the blog, and here is how I know that hampering will play out at this point. On Monday, Tuesday, and possibly Wednesday, we'll be doing the sound mix starting early in the morning, so there won't be p.s.es on Monday and Tuesday and maybe, not sure yet, on Wednesday too if the sound mixing requires a third day. After that, we'll be doing the color correction and finalizing the special effects. At the moment, I think I should be able to do the p.s. during that time, but I'll let you know as soon as the plans cement. There will definitely be two or three rerun posts during the next week because my post-making time has been severely reduced of late, and that time will drop to zero starting on Monday. I apologize, but, when/if you eventually see our film, hopefully you'll agree that the temporary blog damage will have been worth it. Okay. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi. A scary Jerry Mahoney is a very scary image. ** Bill, Hi. Mm, whimsical, ha ha? So far, the searching is a bit more of a nail biter, but I think if a camera crew were following me around, viewer whimsy might ensue, it's true. Sweet score on the Kim Ki-Duk front! I guess I'm glad you're honking less. No, of course I'm glad, but, just like my apartment hunting, there's something whimsical about the image of you honking. I think it's probably just the word honk. What a complicatedly dumb adjective/noun that is. Great weekend! ** Sypha, Ligotti writes about ventriloquist dummies? I should alert Gisele. ** Etc etc etc, Oh, thank you. I can't wait to read the entirety! Oh, yeah, Cronenberg wrote a novel. I'm scared of that. I'm always initially scared of other genre writers' forays into the novel. It can work out, though, I guess. I liked Harmony Korine's novel. Have a sweet Saturday and even or even especially even sweet Sunday. ** White tiger, Hey, hey, Math! I saw your thing in my box this morning! It's gorgeous. God, thank you! I'll put it up here on next Saturday, the 21st! Sweet, awesome! Dude, that's so cool that you're a transboy! And you're in LA! Lots of greatness from you, wow! Lots and lots of love to you! ** Keaton, Hi. 'A Sentimental Novel' is some kind of handful that might be hard to handle, I can totally get that. I feel like there aren't enough factories in France, or maybe they build factories differently here, and I don't even know them when I'm seeing them. I guess LA must be dirty, but I think of it as really clean. Like sand. But sand is obviously really dirty. But it seems really clean to me. Like that. Oh, interesting, the PB comparison. I really hate that movie though. Not PB, of course. Fear of puppets is some kind of guarantee, I feel like. I don't think they scare me. I don't know. They make me stop and sink into the contemplative area of my thoughts and dwell on the horrors of mortality mostly, I think. ** Cal Graves, Hi, Cal or hi ... Califate? That's a weird one. Too weird. Stealing things for gifs is totally a Robin Hood kind of thing, so please do. I liked your answer too. It seemed like something that would happen in a video game for some reason. I mean more in a video game than in a porn. I don't know why. Oh, I'm probably going to be at least semi- to mostly MIA for the next week too, so good timing. I only drove once through Missouri really fast when I was 18 in a pick-up truck with a camper shell on the back. Is Missouri nice? I think the word 'Missouri' is a really nice word. Lamp? Lamps were at their peak of aesthetic progressiveness and beauty in the late 1960s. Glowingly, Dennis. ** Magick mike, Hi, Mike! I'm going to order 'Circle of Dogs' today before I do anything else. I've heard of Michel Surya, but I've never read him. Obviously, I need to read that Bataille bio if nothing else. Solar Luxuriance is totally killing it, man! ** Steevee, Hi, S. I've never even heard of Sturgill Simpson. Huh. I have a strange (not strange?) fondness for the country music song form. I like how it has a lot more freedom/laxness for emotional expression than the pop song form, and its rules re: the room available to move acceptably within the context of cleverness are broader. And I like the maleness of the form and how it can be subverted via play with the idea of 'macho', and I think how it can be critiqued/reinvented via gender transposition, etc. is really interesting. Anyway, blah blah, I'll give that guy a listen. That's very interesting. Thank you, as always, for your great and so often enlightening tips, sir. ** Sickly, Hi, Sickster. It is amazing because I think people who know me well think I'm super whimsical. Or maybe not, I should ask them. I feel like I employ whimsy in my every day conversations quite a lot. Wow, 'Is there -- in the archaic sense of the word -- a gayer experience of the abyss than a puppet's painted eyes?' That's so beautiful. I'm going to be thinking about that all day. Seriously, it is, nice. I haven't heard the new Swervedriver yet, but I was just going to download it. I love the early Swervedriver a bunch. 'Rave Down' is among my all-time favorite songs. It makes my eyes sparkle and close at the same time, which, if you think about it, is not something that happens to eyes every day. Glad to hear it's a grower. They're playing here. I even thought about nixing my usual 'no reunion band' gigs policy for that. Speaking of, I'm totally nixing that policy to see the reconstituted Ride, who are playing here. I'm weirdly really excited to see that. It's weird. ** Aaron Mirkin, Hi, Aaron! Awesomeness to see you, man! I'm good. I'm in a situation that I know you've been in many times: doing the final post-production on our film. Man, it's exhausting and consuming and really fun. I'll check out Gooey Gus, cool. What a name. And I will absolutely watch that kid's LDR cover as soon as I launch this post. How are you? What's up? What's your latest? ** Chris Dankland, Hi, Chris! 'The Ventriloquist Convention' is a totally literal title. It takes place at a ventriloquists convention. The performers are 7 renowned, actual German ventriloquists with dummies that we specially designed and built for them plus Jonathan Capdevielle playing a ventriloquist and plus a real German teenager who plays, and also really is, an aspiring ventriloquist. My elementary school had a ventriloquist guy who came every year and did a thing for us in our classrooms. He had a partially paralyzed face, from a stroke, I think, and so it was really unnerving, and kids used to stay home from school pretend-sick on the day he did his thing 'cos they were scared of him. I'll watch that vid of your guy, cool. Thanks! Writing slowly is okay. I'm writing really, really, really slowly, so I hope it's okay. I'm just so glad to hear you are! I've never been to a gym. It seems really intimidating, but I bet it isn't. Do you listen to music on headphones while you 'work out'? It seems like everybody does? Great about the zine! You'll let us/me know when it's out, yes? And about the eBooks! That's great! I've been waiting and dying in the good way for you to put out books. Have fun reading with Roggenbuck. Tell him hi for me, even though I only know him 'personally' from a few Facebook IMs. You have a great morning too! Make that endless mornings! I mean an endless number of mornings not a single endless morning 'cos that sounds terrifying. ** Right. A weekend full of this month's escorts array is your fate. Be with them. Like I said, I won't be doing the p.s. on Monday or Tuesday, but the blog will be here, and hopefully I'll talk to you again and catch up with your comments come Wednesday. We'll see. Great weekends!

Jake Bilardi Trajectory

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Jake Bilardi at 16


In April 2013, the HumeLeader spoke to 16 year-old Jake Bilardi in his capacity as co-founder and vice president of the Soccer for Hope Organisation — an initiative using the world game to take kids off the streets of Uganda. Natalie Savino interviewed Bilardi over the phone and said the teen was reserved.

He came across as quiet and shy, but he did seem like he was switched on,” she said. “To be doing something like that (starting a charity) at such a young age seemed quite impressive.

Former Leader photographer Rob McKechnie described Bilardi as “a nice kid”. Mr McKechnie snapped the ISIS recruit — then 16 — against a brick wall of his house wearing his Chelsea football club guernsey. “I only met him for five minutes but he seemed like a nice kid," Mr McKechnie said. “There was nothing out of the ordinary about him. He seemed slightly awkward but in a normal teenage way.

Bilardi’s charity website, which uses a web URL including his name, features a biography on the teen detailing his efforts in supporting the African cause, despite living in Melbourne.

Jake Bilardi: “I support the SHO through funding, helping to acquire equipment and by spreading the word about the organisation. I am proud to work for the SHO and will always make (the) work needed to support the organisation some of my top priorities.”





Jake Bilardi bullied


Video surfaced overnight from his school days which shows Jake Bilardi being 'happy slapped' - a bullying tactic which sees a group of people slap their victim, film it and upload it online to humiliate them.

"He was quiet and barely had any friends. Whenever you tried to joke with him he would react aggressively."

"Jake was really bright. He was quite politically aware for his age, but he never seemed very happy. I'm not sure why. He usually just listened to us and sometimes talked but rarely. He would just talk about math, etc."

"Jake was a remarkable man. Strong willed and had a beautiful nature about him when I first met him. Kind and humble, curiosity was one of his best characteristics. The guy’s observational skills, before you would approach him or he'd walk up to you, he had already gotten a good glimpse of who you are and what you would be like. Unfortunately, people didn't see such a gifted person. Only a shy, innocent kid where people could see an opportunity to make a laugh and take advantage over him."



Jake Bilardi school photo


Jake Bilardi: "I think my family is plotting to kill me. I think I'm being watched through hidden cameras."

"He always looked depressed and was always looking down. He never communicated unless it was to do with culture and beliefs or maths, he always listened to our conversations. Not many people knew him and he never opened himself up."

"Jake didn't really seem happy before he converted to Islam. Afterwards though, he seemed more joyful. He was always extremely smart, quite timid and that didnt really change after he converted."

"I've actually never seen him utter a word at the table when I was serving the food, cleaning up the table, nothing. He was the last person I would expect to actually go there."

"Jake came to school one day late in Year 10 and just told us that he converted to Islam, but when we asked him why he would give us very vague answers, 'That's none of your business' and 'I think I made the right choice'."

"Jake wasn't capable of punching his way out of a wet paper bag. He was fragile."



Jake Bilardi around the time his mother died


Jake Bilardi is an 18-year-old Australian Muslim convert from Melbourne, who went under the nom de guerre Abu Abdullah al-Australi. I interviewed him over the internet in December shortly after a photograph of him appeared online, but he asked me back then not to reveal his identity.

JB: "It's out now, I guess to be honest my biggest problem is that it's a bad photo of me, haha."

I asked him why, if he thought there were injustices in the world, he didn't seek to resolve them through democratic means.

JB: "Let's be honest you can stand on a street and scream about wanting change and wait maybe 100 years for things to happen or you can grab a gun and fight and change things quickly."

He joined IS, and says he was fast-tracked through military training as he told the group he wanted to be a suicide car-bomber.

JB: "I came here chasing death, I might as well kill as many kuffar as I can."

I asked him whether, if nothing else, he had considered the impact his death would have on his family in Australia.

JB: "I've got a job to do. I didn't come here to hand out roses and boxes of chocolates."



Jake Bilardi, 17, around the time he converted to Islam










Jake Bilardi, 18, in Iraq


"With my martyrdom operation drawing closer, I want to tell you my story, how I came from being an atheist school student in affluent Melbourne to a soldier of the Khilafah preparing to sacrifice my life for Islam in Ramadi, Iraq.

"My life in Melbourne's working-class suburbs was, despite having its ups and downs just like everyone else, very comfortable.

"I dreamed of becoming a political journalist. I always dreamed that one day I would travel to countries such as Iraq, Libya and Afghanistan to cover the situations in these lands.

"I spent every day researching online ... and I was understandably very pleased when the Victorian state government introduced a laptop-in-schools programme, meaning I could now spend the otherwise wasted time in boring classes reading.

"I had wanted to stage a string of bombings across Melbourne, targeting foreign consulates and political/military targets as well as grenade and knife attacks on shopping centres and cafes and culminating with myself detonating a belt of explosives.

"As I began collecting materials for the explosives and prepared to start making the devices I realised that the authorities were oblivious to my plans but if anything was to attract their attention it would be my purchasing of chemicals and other bomb-making materials and so I ceased the planning of Plan B and sat waiting until everything was prepared and I could exit the country undetected

"Now I am waiting for my turn to stand before Allah and there is a "current waiting list of 12 martyrdom bombers, of which I am one."-- Jake Bilardi, January 15



Jake Bilardi in February


JB: "What can my enemies do to me? My paradise is in my heart, it is with me wherever I go. To imprison me is to provide me with seclusion. To send me into exile is to send me away in the Path of Allah. And to kill me is to make me a martyr".




Jake Bilardi sitting behind the wheel of the van rigged with explosives


"Pro-Isis Twitter accounts claim that an Australian was involved in the bombings earlier today, and posted pictures show a boy that resembles 18-year-old Jake Bilardi. One Twitter user posted a picture that appeared the show the young man behind the wheel of a van and then the vehicle on a dusty street in an unnamed city.

"A second picture appears to show a white youth with long black hair sitting below an Isis flag with another man. The caption reads: 'The Australian brother who carried out Martyrdom operation in Ramadi, Al Anbar.'

"Police sources told AFP that seven car bombs exploded almost simultaneously in government-held areas of the Anbar province's capital. At least 10 people were said to have been killed in the coordinated blasts and more than 30 injured.

"In video footage and images posted online purportedly showing the attacks, thick, dusty smoke could be seen billowing from several buildings after the detonations occurred."



Jake Bilardi exploding

A spokesman for Iraq's military says the alleged suicide bombing by Melbourne teenager Jake Bilardi in Iraq yesterday had resulted in no fatalities among the security forces, only injuring several soldiers and damaging some cars.

General Tahssin Ibrahim: "This guy, he never do anything. He just kill himself. On our side ... he just destroyed some cars and injured little soldiers."




*

p.s. Hey. I'm already headlong into the first day of the sound mixing of Zac's and my film early this morning, so no p.s., and none tomorrow either. I'm still not sure about Wednesday. I'll let you know when I know. Today, think about Jake Bilardi. Thanks.

Rerun: Oliver presents ... PLEASURE FOREVER (orig. 04/23/08)

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"Songs about drugs and orgies made with 
only guitar, piano, and drum’s”




Pleasure Forever were a somewhat obscure, pretentious band that existed from about 1998 to about 2003. They played arty, damaged rock with artwork and lyrics that were filled with strange allusions to drugs, murder, the zodiac, infinity, orgies and the number 3. For a while I was totally obsessed with them.

The three members of Pleasure Forever used to be in a band with Sonny Kay called The VSS (Sonny was previously singer with Angel Hair, now owner of GSL and singer of Year Future). The VSS were associated with the Gravity records scene in California in the mid-nineties. They played what would probably then be called “emo” but has no relation to what we now understand the term to mean. They were influenced by post-punk bands like PiL and were notable for using a Roland Juno 6 keyboard that Andrew Rothbard played while simultaneously playing his bass during live shows. Their abrasive, short songs and unique style didn’t endear them to most, but it was the keyboards that really annoyed the die-hard punks who attended their small shows. People shouted “Depeche Mode!” between the songs. Years later their sound could be heard in bands like the Locust for example, or just about anyone who dared to use keyboard in punk bands afterwards.

Sonny Kay parted ways with the rest of the group after a number of singles and one album. A few tracks written at the end of The VSS’s short career featured a more stretched out, hypnotic vibe and it was this sound that the remaining members decided to pursue with their next band.

Slaves were made up of Dave Clifford (drums), Josh Hugues (guitar) and Andrew Rothbard (keyboards, vocals). The band was originally going to be a side project, but when The VSS fell apart it became their main concern. The name - always without the definitive article - was meant to convey the idea of the audience being emotional slaves to music, about the artists trying to “control all the aspects of the environment that you’re in.”





They released one album as Slaves - The Devil’s Pleasures - a collection of two singles. It was filled with obtuse references to Charles Manson, the signs of the zodiac and the 23rd of January. The artwork was as dense as the lyrics. The front cover was a translucent sheet with the band name and a collage of rectangles printed on it. Behind that was the slip cover with a choice of images. One side has the band crammed together looking at the camera, Rothbard in a black boa and Clifford wearing a Nazi-esque armband with the symbol and image of his star sign, Scorpio. The other side had a grey skull resting on white cloth. It was angled so the face looked diagonally upwards, as if in ecstasy, and made visable the hole that the spinal chord fits into. The back cover has two photos. One is an orange tinted shot of a woman’s breast, the other the left leg of a blow-up doll with a veiny blue dildo sticking out.

“I like to fuck, you know. I think that should be expressed in music”– Andrew Rothbard

Dropping the name Slaves, because people kept calling them the Slaves and confusing the meaning to be something to do with S&M or race, they called themselves first The Devil’s Pleasures and then settled on Pleasure Forever. Building on the themes from the first album they created a total concept for the band based on indulgence. Their identity was complex. Firstly, there was their obsession with the number three. The three members had equal importance in the group. Instead of having the drum kit at the back, they performed in a line and Dave Clifford spoke as much as anyone else about the band in interviews, unusual for a drummer. Rothbard’s lyrics might well be about his own experiences, but they had a collage-like style, relying on particular phrases to evoke a mood or state of mind rather than any kind of story telling. Their attitude was described well in one of their logos: a small solid circle with three arrows coming out of it, all pointing to a larger circle outline.

Their first release as Pleasure Forever was the single for Goodnight. The single featured a photograph of a plastic anatomical model of the virgin mary split open from the chest, her plastic guts spewing out. A cover of a Germs song set the standard for cover versions of somewhat unexpected material.





Their live shows, while sparely attended, were unique performances. Rothbard sang gripping on to his microphone and playing a modular synth and a keyboard. Clifford would drum so energetically that his black slicked back hair would fall on his face like a devil lock. Hugues’ rock god poses - thrashing around with his white guitar – were made incongruous by his staid clothes and poker face. As noted, their stage set-up of performing in a line mirrored their aesthetic, but also their individual performances referenced their logo: coming from the same place, going in different directions and then ending up together as a larger whole.

Almost as soon as Goodnight was released came their first album. Pleasure Forever was unashamedly a concept album, released at a time before that idea had been made semi-acceptable by irony. From the cover, to the lyrics to the music, the central idea to the album was that of decadence.

“Here's to the decadents, the seekers of pleasure, emancipated (and often undone) by their own desires - who sought the precipice because the only way to know true life is to dance with death” - Pleasure Forever website, 2001

Even though now we’re used to the theme of decadence, bored of things like the burlesque revival, back in 2001 people were seriously talking about “the end of irony” and a band with a name like Pleasure Forever - who had songs about sex, drugs and indulgence – didn’t really fit with the times.




The cover to their self titled first album is striking. The band sit in front of a table filled with food, candles, knives and booze. Each member has a glass in his hand. Rothbard holds a bunch of fat grapes like an offering while wearing a blank look on his face. Behind them a party scene like out of some priceless oil painting rages. Girls, guys and members of the band are crowded together in strange poses like a tableau memory of a drunken party. A fist punches Hugues in the face, a sullen guy holds an old fashioned telephone to his face, two girls in dresses embrace, Clifford holds a knife in his gloved hand, Rothbard plays the piano with a fag hanging out of his mouth while looking sullenly up some girls skirt. On the left, two girls are climbing up a ladder out of the top of the album cover. The words “Pleasure Forever” have the sign for infinity sandwiched between them.

“In a lot of the reviews we’ve seen, people have said that we take ourselves really seriously. It seems bizarre to me. Just look at the cover of our album. It’s completely over the top.”- Josh Hugues

But that’s not all. Inside are two anonymous quotes from a book on orgies. A portion: “Perhaps ‘orgy’ is too big a word; there were just three of us. But as someone once said, infinity begins with the number 3”. The inlay has another picture of the band in front of their feast and shows Rothbard taking a cigarette out of his mouth with his fingers that are raised to signal the number three. The band are identified in the liner notes by their sign of the zodiac. The lyrics themselves are filled with references to drug fatigue (“Ran out of bullets kept on shooting”) and more cryptic references to Charlie Manson (“Rise rise rise rise rise rise”). The album is packed with imagery. Put the cd in your computer and it plays an arty video montage of the band performing.

Reviews were mixed to say the least. A lot of people hated the name. A lot of people hated the overblown proggishness of some of the songs. The lyrical themes and arty vibe didn’t endear them to people just beginning an obsession with the Strokes.

A year after Pleasure Forever was released the band moved from San Francisco to Portland and started writing songs for their next album. Alter came out in 2003.

“They were bleak and trying times for us ... a time that I thought none of us would escape with our lives (and there are a few I know who didn't) and that if somehow we'd be able to reclaim our innocence, it would cost us everything we had.” - Dave Clifford on writing songs for Alter.

Alter’s cover was so good it prompted one reviewer to say that if a band uses such imagery they should have better music. Perhaps this is a problem a lot people have with Pleasure Forever; they are seduced by the imagery but are ambivalent to the music. To be honest, I don’t know what they expect.




The cover for Alter is like a sequel to Pleasure Forever’s. The band members stand in a bare white room behind a red chair in the same order they sat in front of their feast. Sitting in the chair is a blanked-out figure, the white echoing censored crime scene photos, explicitly that of the Manson murders. The chair is ringed with red roses. On the back is the same scene, only the figure in the chair has vanished, and it’s the band who are blanked-out white.

“We wanted to make a record that sounded like a suicide note put to music, but something that could reach that level of despair and intensity – reach the abyss – and through its/our own will to endure, convey a sense of purpose.”– Dave Clifford on Alter




If Pleasure Forever was about hedonism for its own sake and staring at the abyss drunk and laughing, then Alter is being in that same place the morning after, still stuck with the same buzzing thoughts, but cool-headed and grim. The songs are less sprawling and Rothbard voice has the same vocal effect on every song. It makes him sound like he’s singing out of a radio.

As well as Manson, the band added two more infamous – and very different - American murders to their body of reference: the Zodiac Killer and the Columbine massacre. Like most of their references they give a flavour to the songs, rather than the song being “about” them. A listener to the song Wicked Shivering Columbine could be forgiven in thinking it was a reference to the flower, if the band hadn’t posed for a photo in front of Columbine High School on Halloween, 1999. Likewise, This Is the Zodiac Speaking’s only explicit reference is the title/chorus - the first line of a note from the killer to the San Francisco Police Department - and nothing more.





After releasing Alter Pleasure Forever seemed to go quiet. A band noted for their live performances stopped touring. There were a few confusing rumours about one member of the band quitting, sometimes two, leaving the remaining to continue on. In 2004 Rothbard said “Josh Hugues and I both left Pleasure Forever after our Spring 2003 tour… Dave has assured me that he will not continue to make music under the name Pleasure Forever”. And that was that.

In 2007 a compilation of some of their rare tracks was released. It featured a number of songs from comps – including a Slaves song from a Your Flesh compilation – and cover versions of songs by Black Flag, Abba and others, originally recorded for their aborted covers album. The album cover is a somewhat dull, if appropriate, picture of the Fantoff stave church in Bergen, the one Varg Vikernes allegedly burnt down. The title, Bodies Need Rest, acted as the official explanation for the break up.


Further and Misc.

Pleasure Forever on myspace
Interview with Pleasure Forever
Pleasure Forever subpop page (includes mp3s)
Old Pleasure Forever website



Video from Forever Pleasure

Basically Slaves/Pleasure Forever were reaching for something that most indie rock bands can’t be bothered to more than glance at. I think ultimately they failed, but their attempt at inventing their own grammar of references goes way beyond the name-dropping a lot of bands go in for.

After the band split up Dave Clifford and Josh Hugues joined other bands. Andrew Rothbard holed himself away for years recording for a project called Coast Ghost. He had a weird website that had hidden pages and links that led nowhere. He seemed to be keeping up the mysterious side of Pleasure Forever, but for a while was quiet. In 2006 the first of a planned (and apparently already recorded) five albums came out under the name Andrew Douglas Rothbard. Called Abandoned Meander it sounded sort of like a jangly psychedelic version of Pleasure Forever. If you were a dickhead you’d probably call it “freak folk”. It’s my favourite of all the post-Pleasure Forever work and you can download some mp3s here.




"Pleasure Forever: a declaration of will; an incantation of transcendence; a celebration of human desire, and the evisceration of excess.

Dionysus, Saradanapalus, Aleister Crowley, Nijinsky, Shiva, Cecil B. de Mille, Darby Crash, Heliogabalus, Caligula, Marquis de Sade, Georges Bataille, Erzebet Bathory, Nero, Antonin Artaud, Nico, Balinese trancers, Charles Manson, Kenneth Anger, Jim Morrison, Jerry Lee Lewis, Brian Jones, Elvis Presley, Anita Berber, Wilhelm Reich, Nikolai Gogol, Anton LaVey, Carl Panzram, the erotic explorers of Weimar Berlin, and on and on..."





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p.s. Hey. A seemingly long lost, much missed d.l. of this blog named Oliver made this post some time back, and you can rediscover his offer of discovery today, if you like. Hi and thanks, Oliver, if you're out there! So, I was optimistic in thinking that I might be freed up enough by tomorrow to do the p.s. Instead, post-production work goes long and hard but very well. I'm going to shoot for doing the p.s. on Thursday, and we'll see. Have a good day.

Rerun: Bernard Welt presents ... Donald Britton's The Dark Side of Disneyland (orig. 06/30/07)

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' Donald Britton was born in San Angelo, Texas in 1951 and died in Los Angeles in 1994 after several years of living with AIDS. In 1975, he entered the PhD program in Literary Studies I was attending at American University in Washington, DC; he was interested in French symbolist poetry, Wallace Stevens, and Frank O'Hara and I felt pretty sure he'd been invited to the program to give me a playmate. We remained best friends until his death. In 1980, he moved to New York, where he worked for Kenward Elmslie for a while and hung out in a circle of writers that included Tim Dlugos, Brad Gooch, and Dennis Cooper, who published his chapbook Italy. After Donald moved to LA in the late eighties, he began copy-editing and writing occasonally for Art Issues, edited by Gary Kornblau, and encouraged me to write for Gary, who invited me to contribute a monthly column on popular art like movies and TV. By the time my essays for Art Issues were collected in Mythomania, Donald had died. I was very mindful of the fact that many of my friends had died before they had a chance to produce enough work for any kind of major collection, and it seemed to me that one way to respond to AIDS might be to break down the conventions of individual authorship a little, so I asked to include Donald's essay on "The Dark Side of Disneyland" in my book. It was only when I was copy-editing it in 1996 that I realized how much it had influenced my way of thinking about how to write about popular art. The American poet Reginald Shepherd has been working on preparation of an edition of Donald's collected poems.'-- BW

*****




The Dark Side of Disneyland

by Donald Britton


cel no. 1: You're standing in front of the putative "population sign" of the Old West mining town in Frontierland's Thunder Mountain Railroad. On it, you see a series of crossed-out census figures indicating that the town's inhabitants are being slowly but inexorably wiped out. The alarming implication is that they've all perished on the very runaway train you are about to board. You ask yourself: Why is it necessary for a roller-coaster ride to go to the trouble, even in this mild and indirect way, to create the impression that the experience might kill you?



cel no. 2: You're standing in the mock graveyard that you must pass through while on line for the Haunted Mansion. Here are the crypts of Trudy Departed, M.T. Tomb, U.R. Gone, I.M. Mortal, Ray N. Carnation, and others whose names punningly anticipate the ghosts and ghouls you will encounter within. You also find tombstones with creepily crude rhymed inscriptions like, "Here Lies Brother Fred; Great Big Rock Fell On His Head" and "R.I.P. Edgar R. Bender; He Rode To Glory On A Fender." As in the elaborate but decidedly unfrightening Haunted Mansion itself, you can't help wondering: Why are they going to all this effort to make human death appear as a corny, unreal joke?



cel no. 3: You're nearing the near-catastrophic final moment of Star Tours. You've just been propelled on a dizzying intergalactic joy ride. The spacecraft you've been riding in jerks to a sudden halt—narrowly avoiding a crash with a moving truck marked "fuel" that explodes into flames. You find yourself thinking: Isn't it just a little odd, at Disneyland, to find millions of dollars of engineering and special effects lavished on a state-of-the-art ride whose primary achievement is that it produces not simply an exceedingly realistic sensation of a journey through outer space, but the very palpable illusion that you are about to die—and violently and senselessly at that?



As these examples suggest, one doesn't have to look hard to see that there is a dark, even somewhat sinister side to Disneyland which is as much a part of the total experience as its well-scrubbed optimism and unrelenting good cheer. In counterpoint to its more obvious sweetness and light, throughout the park one finds evidence of a profoundly morbid preoccupation with death, violence, and human decay. Some might say that the presence of a few somber notes is a dramatic device to provide contrast, to accentuate and intensify the prevailing sunniness. But the fact is, Disneyland confronts us so frequently with images depicting death and its terrors that, though the images themselves are never really terrifying (except to small children), they are clearly crucial to what this particular Magic Kingdom is all about.

----It is important to remember that Disneyland is no more an accurate anthology of the fairy tales and cultural myths it exploits as subject matter than it is your average thrill-a-minute amusement park. It is, rather, a highly manipulative, programmed environment with a distinct vision of its own to convey. We would come closer to the truth by saying that fairy tales (and other similarly structured narratives throughout the park) are the materials Disneyland uses to express what can be called its cartoon sensibility. This is a sensibility predicated first and foremost upon the infinite elasticity of pictorial space as embodied in cartoon animation. Indeed, the generative principle at work in Disneyland is not the fairy tale at all, but the cartoon—or more precisely, the attempt to translate into three dimensions the exhilarating ductility of time and space that can be approximated in cartoon illusionism. To understand the curiously demented messages Disneyland communicates on the subject of death, you must look closely at the manifestations of this principle throughout the park. What you see is that representations of death at Disneyland express a fundamental contradiction in the park's doomed project: to bring two discrete realities—the biological, time-bound world of the human being arid the artificial, timeless world of cartoons—so close that they actually touch.



----But I'm getting ahead of myself. For now, it will be helpful to narrow our focus a bit. I'd like to concentrate on the questions raised by two of Disneyland's most puzzling but telling moments. The first question involves the symbolic content of a paradigmatic Disneyland ride, and the ways it explicitly enacts and defines Disneyland's central thematic concerns: Why is the main character depicted in the Snow White ride not the pure and innocent Snow White, but the Wicked Queen who tries to kill her with a poisoned apple?

----The answer to this question will take us only to the border of understanding, not across. In the second part of this essay, we'll push farther, and probe the way Disneyland's themes fit into the implicit conceptual structure that informs Disneyland as a whole. We will ask: Why is the reverential museum-style exhibition devoted to Walt Disney on Main Street usa paired with the rather freakish audio animatronic resurrection of the most famous assassination victim in American history—Abraham, Lincoln?

----What I hope will emerge is a deepened and more complex response to Disneyland, and especially an appreciation for what makes Disneyland uniquely Disneyland: the willful and poignantly perverse effort to make life into a cartoon.



I

The storybook rides of Fantasyland are the emotional core of Disneyland. Updated and technologically refined over the years, these rides were among the park's earliest attractions, directly inspired by the Disney animated films whose financial success made Disneyland possible in the first place.

----While all the storybook rides are remarkably well-crafted spatial sequences—positively the ne plus ultra of what might be called kinetic, participatory sculpture—they vary significantly in their individual approaches to narrative. Some, like Alice in Wonderland and Pinocchio's Daring Journey, are enchanting but awkward multimedia hybrids: three-dimensional illustrated tours of highlights from their cartoon originals, which in turn are fractured and distorted variants of their literary or fairy-tale sources, which in turn are variants themselves, etc. Other rides use characters and visual references from their movie versions only as pretexts for creating quasi-narrative environments and spectacles. They abandon linear plot altogether, fabricating instead a continuum of symbolic and highly-charged scenic tableaux formally more appropriate to a ride than to a story.



----Snow White's Scary Adventures is the most successful of the pure "ride" rides. It orchestrates fragmentary elements from its cartoon source into an entirely unique new whole, with a logic and momentum of its own. The ride thrusts you directly into the fiction: You aren't told a story, you are the story, you are Snow White. But the reason Snow White's Scary Adventures is the quintessential Disneyland ride is that its core conflict is the primary energizing drama of Disneyland itself: the threat to youth and beauty by old age and death.

----Significantly, the drama starts to unfold even before you have set foot in one of the little buggies that carry you to the cottage in the forest where Snow White lives with her Dwarfs. It begins in the little square near the main gate of Fantasyland, just outside Sleeping Beauty's Castle. Looking up at the second-floor window above and to the left of the ride's entrance, you are startled to see heavy curtains being drawn slowly, deliberately apart. Standing at the window, surveying unsuspecting tourists in the square below with an ominous gaze, is the beautiful Wicked Queen from Disney's animated version of the Snow White story. She pauses several seconds. Then, having apparently seen enough, she snaps the curtains shut; or rather, they close of their own accord, as if under the influence of a spell. The whole process is repeated a few minutes later, and at regular intervals throughout the day.

----Most visitors probably don't notice this little performance, which is all the more pleasurable for being unexpected. But it is more than a gratuitous bit of theater, or a preview of coming attractions. In a truly novel way, the Wicked Queen's surprise appearance sets the stage dramatically for our imaginative engagement with the ride. When we find ourselves coming under the scrutiny of her furtive glare, we ourselves are being cast in the role of the cartoon Snow White—secretly observed and menaced by a malevolent force. Once inside the ride, we realize even more fully that we are to identify ourselves with the Snow White character. As the ride is structured, once the character of Snow White is established, she disappears from the ensuing action as a depicted figure. In the void created, we ourselves enter the simulated cartoon created by the ride. We become the ones pursued by the Wicked Queen. Snow White's scary adventures happen to us. It is our lives that are in mortal danger.



----Considering Disneyland's sugar-coated reputation, the Snow White ride is exceptionally graphic about the Queen's murderous plans for her intended victim. It devotes a permanent installation at the entrance—replete with gargoyles, skulls, serpents, and other stock horror effects—just to illustrate the recipe for the fatal elixir the Queen will prepare for Snow White: One taste and the victim's eyes/ will dose forever / in the Sleeping Death. Now "Sleeping Death" is pretty extreme language in a ride meant primarily for small children. No wonder the strongest memory I have of my first visit to Disneyland at age 6 is the unmitigated terror I experienced in Snow White's Scary Adventures. Yet even though the ride threatens us with a lurid death, and brings us repeatedly to the brink of the ultimate moment when the threat will be carried out, we never experience the worst. Within the conventions of the storybook-ride form, the threat of death is made immediate and real in every way except one: There are no consequences. The message conveyed is one we all want to hear: Death cannot touch us; we will always be safe.

----Let's return to the Wicked Queen in the window for a moment. Though her presence there is a prelude to the dramatic interaction we will experience in the ride, in the public space of the courtyard she is simultaneously inside and outside the fictive frame—not only a character playing a defined part within the Snow White tale, but also an emblem with a more generalized meaning. The Queen represents what, in Disneyland's terms, amounts to pure evil: mortality itself, the brute fact that we grow old and die. In Disneyland, wickedness may sometimes be a matter of moral corruption or some other form of degradation, but it almost always involves a threat of annihilation directed toward things young and vital. What makes the Wicked Queen wicked is her uncontrollable jealousy of Snow White's beauty and freshness. She is jealous because, as her Magic Mirror reveals, she is really a hideous witch, old and repulsive. She possesses through illusion what Snow White possesses m fact: the beauty of her youth. Enraged by the affront of the girl's beauty—a stinging reminder that she herself is subject to decay and death, that she will never regain the bloom of youth—the Queen vows to destroy Snow White. One bite of the apple, and Snow White, like Eve, will taste the terrible knowledge of suffering and death.

----Of course, when you're in the ride, so much happens so quickly that you don't have a chance to dwell on these motivations. What you experience is the dramatic conflict reduced to its simplest terms: the Wicked Queen-witch's effort to get Snow White— i.e., you—to eat a poisoned apple. The ride is played out through a series of vivid hallucinatory scenes. In one, we enter a pestilential dungeon where the fountains flow with blood and the slain bodies of the Queen's past victims have rotted to skeletons in their futile attempts to escape. Over and over again, with the repetitive insistence of a nightmare, the figure of the witch tries to thrust the deadly apple into our hands. With each lurch of our mechanized buggies, we escape her clutches, only to encounter the hag again. The cartoon of which we're the star is a desperate attempt to elude the witch and, symbolically, thwart death—to remain beautiful and young forever.



----In the Snow White ride that's precisely what we do. The ride's wild finale has our friends the Dwarfs scrambling to prevent the witch, who is perched on a crag above our heads, from crashing a huge boulder on top of us. The rocks quiver, the music swells, the witch cackles . . . we're done for. Then boom! Suddenly we burst into the light through the final door, and everything's ok; it was all a bad dream. The ride is over. As we exit, we see a huge image of a lavishly illustrated storybook page which, in a non sequitur to end all non sequiturs, announces: And they lived happily ever after.

----Odder still, the illustration shows Snow White dancing in the arms of her handsome Prince. This makes no sense in conventional narrative terms because the Prince doesn't appear in the ride. But, as it turns out, the ride is not Snow White's story anyway, it's our story, the cartoon of how we faced up to the evil forces deployed in vast array to destroy us, to deprive us of our youth and beauty—and won.

----All of Disneyland, in fact, is a place where we become the heroes of highly structured cartoon-like fantasies about overcoming, neutralizing, or denying our own mortality. Here, we are all Snow White, shadowed by—yet protected from—death. The Wicked Queen peering down at us from her window can plot our doom all she wants, can summon a host of evil powers to inflict the mortal blow, but in the cartoon wish-fulfillment logic that reigns at Disney-land, she will never succeed. Like Pinocchio, we'll be sneezed from the belly of Monstro the whale; or like Sleeping Beauty, awakened by a kiss. Even if, like Mr. Toad, we die and go to Hell, we'll spring back to life when our buggy emerges from the darkness of a world whose wonders and demons can't harm us. For here we have escaped to a world beyond corrosion and death. Here, or so Disneyland would have us imagine, we are immortal.




II

True to the spirit of their fairy- and folk-tale sources, Snow White's Scary Adventures and other Fantasyland rides at Disney-land portray the perils of being a living, time-bound mortal as a conflict between adult tormentors and child victims. The rides typically cast us in the role of children pursued by grown-ups who would harm us. In fleeing from the Wicked Queen, or the carnival puppeteer Stromboli in Pinocchio, or Captain Hook in Peter Pan, or the Queen of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland, we attempt to elude vicious adults who wish to murder us ("Off with her head!") or fatally ensnare us in their degenerate schemes. At Disneyland, children don't become adults; rather, adults kill children. Frightened and alone, the child's only allies are imaginary creatures like fairies and gnomes and, of course, friendly forest animals (and the occasional insect). Yet in ride after ride, the child emerges triumphant and unscathed.

----Clearly the brute facts of human temporal and biological existence are issues distressing to the presiding ethos of Disneyland. Indeed, much of the poignancy of Disneyland derives from its heroically perverse effort not merely to simulate but to actualize a kind of counter-reality, predicated on an imagined point in childhood before we developed an adult awareness of our own mortality—a world outside of time, beyond the reach of natural laws, exempt from pain and loss and dying. In short, the world of the cartoon.



----That Disneyland is a place where cartoons "come to life" is a cliché, but one worth examining. Ever since Disneyland's beginnings—and this is especially true today—not all the attractions have been directly based on the animated products of the Disney studios. Nevertheless, a cartoon sensibility—a liberating sense of the limitless malleability of pictorial space, a freedom to render anything and everything that can be imagined as if it actually existed—has been and remains the shaping principle and conceptual underpinning of Disneyland.

----As a formal category of illustration, cartoons have traditionally played fast and loose with conventional representation. Artists were fracturing and reshaping recognizable reality in cartoons for humorous or satirical effect long before technology made it possible for painted figures to move when projected on a screen. With the advent of cartoon animation, a new kind of canvas was created, no longer pictorially inert, upon which illustrated figures not only materialized but interacted within a depicted spatial environment. A single picture once created could be sustained in a succession of images over time, and the images themselves manipulated to convey figures engaged in an internally coherent dramatic action on a constantly metamorphosing visual field. Such a field and the forms it contains were and are, to all appearances, animated—literally inspirited, given breath, quickened with the seeming pulse of life.

----With virtually unlimited visual resources available to the animator, cartoons are able to create a self-contained world which, though clearly artificial, has a life all its own. This two-dimensional cartoon world is the paradigm that Disneyland aspires to create in three dimensions, as a kind of "living cartoon." But that oxymoron should give us pause. If static drawings are brought to life by cartoon animation, what is supposed to be happening when the animation itself becomes animated—when the illusion of life created in the cartoon steps out of the screen and into "real life"?

----Let's try to answer that question by considering animated cartoon characters and their world for a moment. They may have no physical being except as individual animation cels and pieces of film, but by a trick of perception we nonetheless observe them walk, talk, run (usually pursued by another character), and otherwise perform actions which are recognizable if not always realistic. But no matter how non-naturalistic or outrageous the image, we—and children in particular—tend to perceive it as an independently existing reality. What we see on a movie or tv screen could be, for all intents and purposes, actual or staged events photographed in a separate world—a peculiar and brightly lit one, inhabited by an odd assortment of creatures whom we often see from perspectives inaccessible to even the most sophisticated camera. This cartoon reality convinces us to perceive a character called Donald Duck as no more and no less a living, functioning agent in the world he inhabits than, say, Sam Spade is in his. But Sam Spade exists in a different relation to life than does Donald Duck. Sam Spade is a representation of a biological human being who could be alive in our world, or a world similar to our own, whereas Donald Duck could never be biologically alive. The world of Sam Spade is a world structured like our own, in which human death brings the individual's organic development, sensory capabilities, and personality to a permanent close. In his world, Sam Spade is at every moment susceptible to physical deterioration, suffering, disease, or violent death. But Donald Duck is, for want of a better term, immortal; having never been alive, he can never die.



----So the world of cartoon animation is a crazy place that is not just a caricature of our real world, but a wholly distinct restructuring of experience—a place where there is life but no death, forms of life but no living beings, and where things that don't materially exist can be real nonetheless. What Disneyland seeks to approximate as closely as possible is a permanent cartoon that doesn't dissolve like a phantasm when the projector is turned off. Disneyland's effort to build a self-contained "kingdom" where our spatial and temporal world can intersect and merge with the cartoon world amounts almost to a second Creation—a re-imagining, a reimaging of the world as it might be if death were impossible, if the taint of our biological existence could be cleansed and replaced by a pure, blood less, and deathless alternative life. God had clay when He molded Adam in His image and endowed him with a soul on the sixth day of Creation; Walt Disney had audioanimatronics.

----Of all the resources of stagecraft, puppetry, and engineering used at Disneyland to wrench the cartoon world off the screen and into the physical world, audioanimatronics is the most important. It was the first of many remarkable feats of state-of-the-art illusionism at Disneyland aimed at breaking down barriers between the aesthetically detached image and real phenomena—culminating in the pointlessly spectacular 3-D effects of Captain eo and the gut-wrenching simulated space ride in Star Tours. Walt Disney, who regarded audioanimatronics as one of his crowning achievements, had the inspiration for his invention one day when he became fascinated by a singing mechanical bird in a gold cage on his desk. Like a modern entrepreneurial version of Yeats' drowsy emperor from the Byzantium poems (who was kept awake by the song of an artificial bird on a golden bough), Disney set about developing a vast population of humanoid and anthropomorphic puppets electronically programmed to twitch and gesture in sync with a prerecorded vocal and musical soundtrack—as in Yeats' verse, with bodily forms not taken from "any natural thing," mouths with "no moisture and no breath," singing eternally of "what is past, passing or to come" (echoes of Disneyland's worlds of "yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy"). Disney reportedly joked that his automated performing figures were cheaper and more dependable—hence, more economically viable for Disneyland's needs—than real human actors.

----We are now in a position to tackle the question posed at the beginning of this essay: Why is the museum-like shrine to Walt Disney on Main Street usa at Disneyland paired with an audioanimatronic resurrection of the most famous assassination victim in American history—Abraham Lincoln? Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln is a seemingly innocuous display of schmaltzy Americana, which most tourists don't even bother to visit; yet in it we see perhaps the best example of the particular form of necromancy practiced at Disneyland, and what's behind all the magic of the so-called Magic Kingdom.



----An apostle of progress, Walt Disney took pride in all of the technological innovations showcased at Disneyland (and later at Epcot Center), but he obviously wished to be remembered for, and associated with, the development of audioanimatronics. One of his fondest projects was the creation of a Hall of Presidents, a patriotic necrophiliac's wet dream eventually built at Disney World in Florida, featuring audioanimatronic replicas of all the U.S. Presidents, simultaneously immortalized on stage in the ultimate collapsing of distinctions between time and space, life and death. Surprisingly, Abraham Lincoln, riot George Washington, was the first President to come in for high-tech exhumation—reanimated like something out of H.P. Lovecraft. Except Disney's Lincoln was never dead in the first place, but lovingly fabricated by Disney artisans "in glory of changeless metal" (Yeats again) and latex, using Lincoln's actual death mask as a model for sculpting the facial features.

----The choice of Lincoln as the first to be robotically recreated is no accident. Nothing at Disneyland is accidental. It is entirely consistent with Disneyland's overall effort to negate or neutralize death through immortality-granting scenarios which visitors are invited to enact, in various forms, again and again. His historical significance and greatness aside, Lincoln is the one President (apart from Washington) whom American children are taught to idolize with an almost religious reverence, and the one President (apart from J.F.K.) who is as famous for the very fact and manner of his death as for anything he did while alive. It is virtually impossible to conceive of Lincoln without revisiting the circumstances of his death. We don't think of Washington or Jefferson or Roosevelt as Presidents who are dead in the same way Lincoln is imprinted on our minds as a President who died. That's what makes it all the more eerie and startling to encounter an un-dead Lincoln as we do at Disneyland.



----As we sit respectfully in the darkened theater being lectured by a motorized mannequin, we begin to realize that what we're meant to see is not an actor impersonating Lincoln, nor even a mechanized clone purporting to represent the real Lincoln—but an altogether new and improved kind of Lincoln. This is a Lincoln who has stepped out of a cartoon of American history—the same cartoon reality of Donald Duck, where there is no life and no death, only the ceaseless repetition of gestures without motives, actions without consequences. Strictly speaking, we are not even being asked to imagine that we have been transported back in time to hear an address by Lincoln; there is no dramatic situation or fictive context whatsoever, just Lincoln himself, big as life, palpably real but not alive. Disney's Mr. Lincoln materializes in our present moment from a no-time which is at once all times and beyond the reach of time, a moment of pure imagining—an eternally existing possibility, like heaven. This Lincoln's presence brings us into contact, however briefly, with a distinct other world—not a fictional world depicting life as it might have been if Lincoln had never been killed, but a real world, a cartoon reality in which Lincoln could not, have, been killed.

----Disneyland itself clearly was conceived as an attempt to embody such a world, or at least create an appropriate milieu in which the cartoon world and ours could overlap. For Walt Disney, it was evidently not enough merely to give us glimpses of that world on a movie screen; he wanted to enter it, to experience the bloodless immortality of created images. In Great Moments With Mr. Lincoln, he attempts the ultimate fulfillment of the promise of animation: to raise the dead. The placement of the Walt Disney Museum next to Mr. Lincoln strongly suggests that Disney wanted to be forever identified as chief artificer of this feat—assuring himself a kind of personal immortality as a manufacturer of marvels, a beneficent ruler-magician in whose kingdom death holds no sway. Yet at the heart of Disneyland is a wish even more impossible and sad than the defeat of death: a wish to exist in a cartoon outside of time, a wondrous artificial America in winch nothing can ever be lost, where all times, places, and cultures exist side by side, where flowers are always blooming and children can't grow old and the icons children are taught to venerate, like Lincoln, can't die. If our mortality prevents us from actually living in that world, Disneyland employs enormous ingenuity in showing us not only what it looks like, but how it feels. This is the true dark side of Disneyland: Our contact with the cartoon realm suggests that our own lives are rather paltry things, inferior to mere figments—that there is something shameful about our very biological existence.

----But there is an ennobling side to all of this as well. For Disneyland is also an enormously complex work of art that memorializes forms of thinking, feeling, and perceiving we no longer remember and can never reexperience. Here, bodied forth before our eyes, is the wish-fulfillment world in which, as children, we once believed, without knowing we believed. In striving at every turn to obliterate all distinctions between the real and the imagined, the actual and the possible, Disneyland disarms our adult responses and places us once more in the position of children, uncritically alive to any source of pleasure, excitement, and instruction, without drawing lines between fact arid fantasy. In doing so, Disneyland seeks to resurrect— to reanimate and make immortal—what time, in the non-cartoon world, destroys. The fact that Disneyland comes so close to achieving this ambition, yet fails so absolutely, is what makes it a much more profound and sadder experience than its surface merriment belies. The "happiest place on earth" is less an amusement park than a moving elegy for dead children.

May 1989

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p.s. Hey. Very happy to revive this post made by d.l. and writer/brain/etc. Bernard Welt featuring the words of our late mutual friend, the poet and critic Donald Britton. Enjoy, please. Thank you again years later, Bernard. It's looking more unlikely than I'd thought about me being able to do the p.s. tomorrow, so it'll have to be a wait and see situation. I'm still working from morning to dark on the film, and so it will likely be for the next while. Hope all of you guys are doing well. I'll see you soon, and the blog will see you (with a new -- as opposed to rerun -- post) tomorrow.

Dead Games: My 10 favorite 1990s CD-rom games from memory and in no order.

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Gadget: Invention, Travel, & Adventure (1993)

'Gadget: Invention, Travel, & Adventure is a videogame or interactive movie, first released by Synergy Interactive in 1993. It was directed and designed by the Japanese computer graphics artist Haruhiko Shono. For his striking visual style and his mastery of lavish computer graphics at the dawn of the point-and-click adventure game genre, Newsweek named him one of the "most influential people to watch in Cyberspace," and coined the term "cybergames" to describe his highly-realistic visual games whose visual style have been compared to those of Cyan's 1993 best-seller, Myst. Gadget resembles a point-and-click adventure game similar to Myst, but with a strictly linear storyline culminating in a fixed finale. Thus it tends to be classified more as an interactive movie rather than a videogame. The story centers around a future dominated by retro technology from the 1920s and 1930s, especially streamlined locomotives and flying machines.

'The game's plot takes place in an unspecified (albeit vaguely Eastern European) nation headed by the dictator Orlovsky. The protagonist is a government agent tasked with discovering the whereabouts of a missing scientist named Horselover Frost. He begins his quest in a third-floor room of a luxury hotel (which is in fact the headquarters of the government's intelligence arm). After collecting his belongings in a suitcase, the protagonist takes an elevator ride to the lobby, during which a boy replaces the case with another identical one containing various spy-related paraphernalia. In the lobby, the government's intelligence chief briefs the protagonist on his mission. The protagonist then moves to the central railway station. From this point on all the events of the story take place on trains or at the various stations (which include the national science institute) along the nation's main rail line. The player must engage in scripted conversations with various individuals, each of whom reveals pieces of information that advance the protagonist in his quest.'-- collaged













Playthrough



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Dust: A Tale Of The Wired West (1995)

'Dust: A Tale Of The Wired West is an American computer game made for the PC and the Macintosh. It was released on June 30, 1995 and was produced by Cyberflix and published by GTE Entertainment. The game is a point and click western adventure game in which the player, playing a character called The Stranger, travels around a virtual old western desert town in the New Mexico desert in 1882. The characters encountered in Dust are rendered by way of photographs of professional actors given limited animation in sync with dialogue. A later game produced by the same company, Titanic: Adventure Out of Time, uses the same technique.

'The game begins with a sort of short story. The Stranger, or you, is playing 5-card draw poker with a person named the Kid, the villain of the game in a Saloon. When the Stranger bets his knife, the Kid throws his cards down, and reveals that he has a four of a kind of Aces, with a king for good measure. It beats your full house. As he reaches out to get his share, a Saloon woman remarks that his arm reveals another Ace; meaning he cheated. Infuriurated that the Kid tried to cheat, you stab him in the hand with the knife. The Kid draws his gun, but you're a quick thinker and throw the table up as a barricade. The Kid fires into the air. The view changes to outside the Saloon. Two more shots are heard, than the Stranger runs out of the Saloon. We can hear a saloon patron yell the words, "Run, Stranger!"

'After that, the Cyberflix logo flashes on the screen, followed by a series of screens depicting the Stranger walking through a hot, desolate desert. As this happens, the credits roll, and an elderly sounding narrator begins to speak.

'"The Stranger may have bested The Kid, but he had paid dearly for the privilege. He had no gun, no friends, and only a few dollars in his pocket. If he wanted to live longer than tomorrow, he'd have to find these things. Was he desperate? Let's be charitable; The Stranger, WAS, when we first met him, crow bait! Granted, Diamondback may not have looked like much either, still, we had everything he needed to survive!" -- collaged













Dust: A Tale of the Wired West INTRO sequence



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The 7th Guest (1993)

'The 7th Guest, produced by Trilobyte and released by Virgin Games in 1993, is an interactive movie puzzle adventure game. It was one of the first computer video games to be released only on CD-ROM. The 7th Guest is a horror story told from the unfolding perspective of the player, as an amnesiac. The game received a great amount of press attention for making live action video clips a core part of its gameplay, for its unprecedented amount of pre-rendered 3D graphics, and for its adult content. In addition, the game was very successful, with over two million copies sold, and is widely regarded as a killer app that accelerated the sales of CD-ROM drives.

'The 7th Guest takes place inside an abandoned mansion. Venture into the 22 rooms of the spooky mansion, solve over 20 mind-bending puzzles to unravel a tale of revenge and horror that took place in the 1930s. The owner of the mansion was Henry Stauf, a famous maker of children's toys. Once a homeless drifter and thief, influenced by a vision in a dream, Henry invented a wondrous doll, so incredibly life-like that it sold like wildfire. Stauf's toys became popular overnight bringing fame and fortune and changing his rags to riches. But things took a tragic turn when owners of the doll became infected with a fierce and deadly virus. None of those children recovered.

'After this turn of events Stauf secluded himself inside his estate, stopped making his toys and never came into contact with the outside world for a long time. Something very strange happened when six people receive an invitation to a party at the mansion. By solving the riddles inside Stauf's "fun house", you'll delve into the past to learn what happened to them, and the mysterious 7th guest, on that fateful night. To finish the game, you must solve the puzzles in Stauf's manor; each solved puzzle will unlock new rooms or new movie sequences to watch. The puzzles are quite varied; there's the classic "eight queens puzzle", another puzzle where you need to compose a sentence by rearranging letters, and others. If you get stuck, you can visit the library; a book within will give you hints on the puzzle. If the hints aren't enough, the puzzle will solve itself automatically once you consult the book enough times.' -- collaged














Full Game



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The Journeyman Project 2: Buried in Time (1995)

'The Journeyman Project 2: Buried in Time is a computer game developed by Presto Studios and is the second game in the Journeyman Project series of computer adventure games. Published in 1995 by Sanctuary Woods, Buried in Time was a radical change from the original. It is noted for establishing Agent 5 (the player's character) as Gage Blackwood, which in the original Journeyman Project lacked basic personality features and even a name. It also featured greatly improved graphics and seamless animation as well as many live-action sequences. The PC version was programmed entirely in C++ for improved performance. A PlayStation version was also prototyped, but was never released.

'As the story begins in the year 2318, six months after the events of the first game, Gage Blackwood (once again controlled by the player) is visited by himself from ten years in the future. Someone has framed the future Gage for tampering with historical artifacts and it is up to the past Gage to visit the past and find evidence to clear his name. Meanwhile, the Symbiotry of Peaceful Beings is deliberating on Earth's monopoly on time travel technology and this latest trial threatens to close down the Temporal Security Agency (TSA). After joining up with an interesting artificial intelligence being named Arthur, Gage visits locations such as the workshop of Leonardo da Vinci and the Mayan temple of Chichen Itza and eventually find the culprit, Michelle Visard, who is another TSA agent. Gage is kidnapped by her and taken to an old missile silo, where Arthur sacrifices himself to allow Gage to continue his mission. He eventually uncovers that another alien race, the Krynn, are behind the crimes and the framing of Gage, to further their own interests. Gage is able to stop the Krynn and save his future self, and is then mind-wiped and sent back to his own time.'-- collaged












Trailer



________________




The Dark Eye (1995)

'Back in the mid 1990s, some unique stuff happened in gaming, but few things are weirder than the bizarre PC adventure game The Dark Eye: A puppet adventure game based on the works of Edgar Allan Poe and starring one of the 20th century's most influential authors, William S. Burroughs. The game was released in 1995 for the PC by the now-defunct software company Inscape. Upon its release the game attracted little attention from either critics or consumers, though it has received some attention since and, arguably, cult status.

'The game featured combined 3-D graphics, clay animation (claymation) and video segments. With its unconventional interface, storyline, and characters, the game's peculiarity became its selling point. The characters are largely lifelike in appearance except for their clay-modeled faces, which are often distorted or feature grotesquely exaggerated features. This near-realism, sometimes referred to as the uncanny valley, contributed to the game's ambience of unease and anxiety.

'The character animation is stop-motion. Inscape did the art design of the puppets (lead artist Bruce Heavin) and had a Hollywood house actually make them. Inscape then hired two stop-motion animators and Russell Lees spent many, many hours in a hot, dark warehouse directing the animations. The working hours were from 7 am to 7 pm for about a month. They created computer-generated screenshots of the environments and shot against blue-screen, and they had a director of photography light them to match the environment.'-- collaged













Part 1- Introduction



_________________





9: The Last Resort (1996)

'9: The Last Resort is a 1996 adventure computer game developed by Tribeca Interactive. The game came soon after the release of Myst, which revolutionized the graphic adventure genre. Like Myst, 9 is a graphically-rich 3D prerendered world, taking advantage of high-quality QuickTime video, and solely available on CD-ROM. It was written for the Windows and the Mac OS platforms, unlike most games of the time which ran on DOS platform as well/instead.

'9 features a large cast of characters, and is rich in character interaction. The game world is populated by bizarre environments, objects and creatures. The game world is designed to represent the limits of man's imagination. There is a strong musical theme running through the entire game, as evidenced by a majority of the puzzles, including the main recurring puzzle. There is also a strong element of humour in the game.

'Many of the game's puzzles are based in a specific musical instrument, such as the drums, guitar, and organ; however, no musical knowledge of these instruments is required to enjoy this game. The gameplay centers on an organ upon which the player can play musical codes. On each "floor" of the resort, the player finds a code sheet containing instructions for playing a short musical piece on the organ. However, each sheet extends the code making it more difficult to interpret. This culminates in the final puzzle in which the player must be thoroughly familiar with the code. This concept has been regarded by players as either a blessing or a curse. The gameplay, coupled with the extremely high hardware requirements and the high cost of the game led to very few sales, and the game was remaindered.'-- collaged













Trailer



_________________




Eastern Mind: The Lost Souls of Tong-Nou (1994)

'Eastern Mind is the product of Osamu Sato, an independent Japanese artist who attracted the attention of Sony Imagesoft after some critical acclaim for his music and video work. Sato is perhaps most recognizable for his work on the nightmare simulator LSD. He had great creative control over Eastern Mind, and its themes are fittingly personal. You play as Rin, a man whose spirit is taken by the soul-swallowing island of Tong-Nou. Rin borrows a soul for 49 days and, after receiving an amulet from a friendly snake, takes a trip to Tong-Nou to restore himself.

'Up until this point, the game sounds like folklore, akin to the story of the trickster raven who steals the sun. All pretensions vanish when Tong-Nou is revealed to be Osamu Sato’s massive, green head floating in space. To get around, you have to climb into his head. Five minutes into the game, and it decides that the best way to depict an exploration of inner creativity is literally.

'Rin can accomplish little at first, let alone enter the mountain where the kings of Tong-Nou have trapped his soul. To advance, he must die and descend into the Tree of Life. From within the roots, he can “transmigrate” into nine other lives from the four worlds of Tong-Nou: time, life, dreaming, and desire. Each represents a different part of Rin. Through these lives, Rin must collect the five elemental “magatamas” that contain his soul and, essentially, discover himself. Death is frequent but not penalized; going with the Eastern spiritual theme, death represents a new beginning and lets you reselect whichever life you want.

'Apart from the batshit insane creative direction, Eastern Mind‘s greatest asset is its non-linearity. Each of the nine lives has a different objective which, while ostensibly based in a specific part of Tong-Nou, takes you on a whirlwind tour of the island. As long as you complete all nine at some point, you can follow whatever meandering path through the hub world that you want. At least half of the game’s content is optional, so you can pick and choose what you do to finish each life. To get one important item, for example, you can either find it in a chest or buy it with the aforementioned amulet. Or you can use that amulet as a Get Out of Death Free card.'-- Obscuritory














Intro



_________________




Return to Zork (1993)

'Unlike the previous games in the Zork franchise, which were text adventures, Return to Zork takes place from a first-person perspective and makes use of video-captured actors as well as detailed graphics; a point-and-click interface replaced the text parser for the first time in a Zork game. The overall gameplay style was somewhat similar to Myst, although Return to Zork predated Myst by a few months. Unlike Myst, which had no extraspatial dimensions of functionality, Return to Zork featured multiple ways of interacting with each object in the game world, as well as with several non-player characters also present in the world via a menu which appeared on the left side of the screen. It also offered multiple ways to "complete" the game, which encouraged replay.

'Among the actors who appeared in the game were a number of instantly recognizable (by face, if not necessarily by name) character actors as well as a number of well-known younger actors: Robyn Lively of Twin Peaks as "The Fairy", Jason Hervey of The Wonder Years as "The Troll King", and Sam J. Jones from the 1980 film Flash Gordon as "The Blind Bowman" and A.J. Langer of My So-Called Life as fellow Zork explorer Rebecca Snoot whom the player encounters on several occasions. Game designer, Doug Barnett, worked independently with Activision. Art designer Mark Long (co-founder/owner of Zombie Studios, Seattle, Washington) had several goals in mind to "make the game realistic" and "avoid things like mazes in text adventure games", and "multiple ways to solve puzzles, and to finish the game." In an interview in 1999, he stated these concepts:

'(1) All of the puzzles in the game reference real, albeit esoteric, references to various cultures and archeological history and studies. A common example would be the exploration of the pyramids in Cairo, Egypt along with the mythology that surrounds it, but uncommonly known examples were chosen over better-known ones. Mark's overseas duties in the U.S. Army (retired Major) combined with a year of historical research enhanced the puzzles that must be solved to finish the game. (2) Navigation is "always correct; if you move north then south, you are always in the same place. Solving mazes was overdone, dull, and annoying." (3) There are multiple ("at least three") ways to solve puzzles, as well "as a half-dozen ways to complete the game." His reasoning: "I didn't like games that you had to follow a single, specific, obfuscated path for each puzzle, and just one way the game could be finished." This was contrary to text-based adventure games and the widely popular Myst series. It also "gave the player a reason to play the game more than once, trying to discover new ways to solve puzzles and to finish the game. Serious gamers said they had worked out dozens of combinations to complete the game."'-- collaged














Trailer



_________________




Phantasmagoria (1995)

'In some ways, Phantasmagoria is the quintessential 90s game, borrowing elements – intentionally or not – from some of the decade's biggest phenomena. Released in 1995, it was smack in the middle of publisher Sierra's adventure game heyday. Like CD-ROM sensation Myst, all the characters are rendered using full-motion video, while the environments are all composed of static, pre-rendered 3D backgrounds. And, like Mortal Kombat and Night Trap before it, Phantasmagoria's realistic and often gruesome depiction of its characters stirred up controversy.

'The story of Phantasmagoria is pulled straight from traditional horror tropes. A young married couple, Adrienne Delaney and Don Gordon, buy an old mansion located outside of what appears to be a coastal town in either New England or the Pacific Northwest. As her photographer husband begins converting a second-story bathroom into his personal darkroom, Adrienne decides to explore the house.

'Players take on the role of Adrienne, controlling an FMV sprite of the actress who portrays her (tastefully dressed in another 90s phenomenon: high-waisted jeans). Once belonging to an eccentric 19th century magician named Carno, the house and surrounding grounds are strange to say the least, replete with bizarre torture devices, outlandish architecture, austere portraits, lots of secret rooms and one grab-happy haunted bed. Before too long, Adrienne goes poking around where she shouldn't, uncovering a hidden chapel and releasing an ancient evil that promptly possesses her husband.

'None of this is to say that Phantasmagoria is a perfect adventure game. Most of the death scenes are optional, for one. I missed two of them this time around, and wouldn't even know they were there if it wasn't for Google and YouTube. In fact, a great deal of the game's content is optional. That's a shame, as many players could miss a lot of the story, especially the bits about Carno's descent into madness. And, while the full-motion video presentation is novel, some of the performances leave a lot to be desired. Don's performance at the end of the game, when he finally goes full-on crazy, is positively eye-rolling.'-- joystiq.com













ALL deaths Most Gruesome Deaths



________________




Riven (1997)

'Developed by Cyan (now Cyan Worlds) and originally published by Broderbund, Riven was released on five CDs in 1997. It was later released on a single DVD-ROM with enhanced visuals and eliminated the need to swap discs. Development of Riven lasted over three years, and was the result of a larger budget and much larger development team than the original. Among the newcomers to the Myst creators was former Industrial Light and Magic employee Richard Vander Wende, who helped lend a unique artistic style to Riven in order to separate it from its predecessor.

'The game earned high praise from fans and reviewers. Many fans consider Riven to be the best game in the series, and the most difficult, as well. With five islands full of interesting puzzles, intriguing story, and impressive visuals, it’s little wonder Riven was as much a success as the original Myst, selling 1.5 million copies in just its first year on the market.

'Like Myst before it, Riven is a first-person, point-and-click adventure game set in gorgeous pre-rendered environments. The player explores the world of Riven by clicking on different areas of the screen in order to turn, walk, and interact with objects in the environment. Progress through the game could be considered non-linear, as there is no list of goals or objectives. Instead, players must explore the five islands of Riven to solve puzzles on their way to the story’s ultimate conclusion. Also like Myst, the game included a “Zip Mode”, for fast travel over previously explored areas.

'The plot of Riven essentially takes place immediately after Myst ended – Atrus, the man you met in D’ni at the end of the first game and the owner of Myst Island – needs help, which is where the player – or the “Stranger” – comes in. Atrus’ wife, Catherine, is trapped on the deteriorating Age of Riven, and is being held captive there by Atrus’ father, Gehn. Details on Riven’s backstory, including the reason Gehn is trapped there, can be found in the first Myst novel, Myst: The Book of Atrus.

'At the start of the game, Atrus gives you his journal, which he hopes will be enough to get you up to speed on what exactly is happening and what he needs you to do. He also gives you a trap book, which he’s afraid you’ll need in order to capture Gehn. Don’t use it yourself, or it’s game over. Atrus cannot accompany you to Riven himself, as he has to keep writing. He is desperately altering details of the Riven book in order to slow its deterioration. While this would perhaps imply that you only have a certain amount of time to rescue Catherine and get the heck out of Riven, this is only a plot element and has no effect on gameplay. Since Atrus cannot risk Gehn escaping from Riven, he unfortunately has to send the Stranger into the Age without a way out. The player thus has to find a way to signal Atrus once he has trapped Gehn and rescued Catherine, so that Atrus can come to the Age with a Linking Book to bring everyone back. Among various other elements uncovered throughout the game’s plot, the Stranger learns about the Star Fissure, a sort of portal found on the decaying Riven Age that leads – oddly enough – to the Stranger’s home of earth. This explains how the Myst book originally fell into the Stranger’s hands in the first place, and gives the Stranger a sense of hope: If he succeeds here, there’s a chance he can go home again.'-- Giant Bomb













Longplay




*

p.s. Hey. Well, I ended up having just a little time this morning before I go back to work, so I'm going to do a really swift p.s., and I'm sorry for my rushing, but I figure it's better to catch up a little now than wait. Okay, here I go. Oh, no p.s. tomorrow, but I should be back doing p.s.es again starting on Saturday, I think ** Saturday ** Bill, Hi, Bill. Cool about the Moebius. I'll snag it. ** Gregoryedwin, Hi, man! Yeah, I'm definitely down for doing the 'Hospice' post. I think I saw there's an excerpt online? If not, can you send me one. Otherwise, I'll use the one that's out there. Links related to the book or to anything by or about you. I can't google search for them too.  Any visuals or video links that are related to the book or to your practice. Just anything you have to flesh the post out and make it look as appealing as possible, I guess. Whatever is good. ** James, Hi. I was young, late-hippie-ish, sort of. Nope, a friend and I just drove around the US and Canada camping and checking stuff out for a summer. It was pretty nice but uneventful. Our film is called 'Like Cattle Towards Glow'. Later, man. ** White tiger, Cool. Awesome that you're working with Michael. I've missed hearing new music by him, and not to mention by you. Tarot website! Everyone, visit White tiger's tarot website, won't you? Here. ** Aaron Mirkin, Hi, Aaron! It's a temp sound mix, but it's good. We'll spend a week doing the final mix in April. Hopefully the color correction will be final, but we'll see. The special effects are definitely not finished, but hopefully they'll understand and forgive and wait for the right version, which we'll do soon. We'll try the TIFF! Why, not, yay? Awesome about the subsidies and the new film! Amazing! Sorry to be in such a rush this morning. Lots to talk about. Come back soon! ** Magick mike, Hi, Mike! ** The Dreadful Flying Glove, I know, right? The apartment hunting is super stressful and not easy, thanks, man. I don't think I know Geoff Mullen, but I definitely will. Cool, cool, much more to say about the PhD that my having one foot and most of my mind out the door prevents me from saying and asking, but soon. ** Keaton, Thanks! LA's clean. Scrubbed. Cool about the smart conducive guy! ** Kyler, Hi, K. You have to be patient with your books. Otherwise, you'll waste a lot of time stressing out, mostly for no good reason. Yeah, awards are always and only a total surprise and gravy. I never think about them. It's way too political a process to imagine successfully. ** Monday ** David Ehrenstein, Hi, David! Yeah, I don't he was suicidal. I think it was more complicated than that, which is part of what really interests me about his case. ** White tiger, Hey! Thanks! ** Tosh Berman, Thank you, Tosh. ** Keaton, Gimmick? Oh, maybe I understand what you meant. ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, T! Yeah, really compelling story. Zac's and my next film is going to be about a suicide bomber, inspired partly by Jake Bilardi. A suicide bomber who has no ideology, isn't interested in heaven, isn't suicidal, and doesn't want to kill anyone. ** Steevee, Hi. ** Sypha, Hi, James. Oh, I think there's an endless amount of meaning to being alive. It would take immortality to experience it all. ** Tuesday ** David Ehrenstein, Hi. That would be nice, yes. ** Keaton, You deleted whatever that was, you cad! Ha ha. ** Kier, Hey, hey! Wow, what an amazing trip! Cool! Yeah, I want to hear more. I'm too short on time this morning to catch you up on my recent days, but I will. In short, very long and hard and exhausting days working on the film, but everything is going as well as hoped, so far. Love to you! ** Misanthrope, Oliver was really great and cool. I miss him. Thanks for the luck on the film work. I'm a busy, very fried bee, and maybe just maybe we'll get everything done in time. ** Steevee, You're a brave man. ** Wednesday ** Tosh Berman, Donald was an enormously gifted and writer and thinker. ** David Ehrenstein, Dark and sweet. Scary, great combo. ** Thomas Moronic, Thanks, man! ** Kier, Good! Good progress and fascinating, intense situation, wow! There's so much to say, and I'm so sorry I can't do it right now. More soon! All the love and admiration there is! ** Keaton, Yikes. Still have never been to Orlando. Totally, totally bizarre, considering. ** Bernard Welt, Hi, B! That's amazing that you're actually coming here in July! That's so great! I'll do my best to be around. Zac and I are going to Japan/ Australia this summer, but we don't have the dates nailed down yet. As I keep saying, I'm forced to power through this p.s. due to an imminent need for me at the workplace, but much more soon. Lots of love to you too! ** Okay. Very sorry again for the slighting done to your comments due to my being a flying jet with hands this morning. No p.s. tomorrow, but I think I'll be here and right as rain again on Saturday. In the meantime, please enjoy my favorite dead computer games, if you like. Take care.

Back from the dead: 20 Distinguishables (orig. 11/09/07)

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* all polaroids taken by me
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Casey McKinney, writer and future editor/
publisher of Fanzine, at a bed & breakfast 
in London, 1992. We were in the city to read 
together at Compendium Books.



Kirby Dick, filmmaker (This Film is Not 
Yet Rated, Derrida, Sick: The Life & Death 
of Bob Flanagan, Supermasochist, a.o.), 
and Mike Glass, visual artist, at a party, Los 
Angeles, 1990. Kirby had just begun filming 
Sick and Mike's work had just appeared in 
Richard Hawkins's and my art show 'Against 
Nature.'



Richard Hawkins, visual artist, at my LA 
apartment, 1994



Betsy, intense Southern girl, and Lucas, an 
animator in charge of rendering the rocks and 
foliage on The Simpsons, at my NYC apartment 
on East 5th Street, 1989. Betsy, a good friend of 
my boyfriend of the time, Mark Ewert, was 
visiting us from Atlanta, and Lucas was her
boyfriend.



Mitchell Watkins, writer and drummer (Mythter), 
at my LA apartment in 1995.



Marcus Hu, film producer (The Living End, 
Super 8 1/2, Frisk, Psycho Beach Party, a.o.) 
and co-head of the movie distribution company  
Strand Releasing, at my LA apartment in 1992. 
We were meeting to talk about the Frisk movie, 
which was in pre-production.



William Jones, visual artist and filmmaker 
(Finished, Is It Really So Strange, V.O., o.a.), 
at my LA apartment in 1996.



John Wentworth, filmmaker, screenwriter 
and David Lynch's longtime producer/editor 
(Twin Peaks, Wild at Heart, Fire Walk with Me, 
Mulholland Drive, a.o.), at my LA apartment in 
1998. We were co-writing an ill-fated screenplay 
for a never made film that Lynch had agreed to 
finance and produce.



Aaron Shurin, poet, at my NYC apartment on 
E. 12th Street, 1983.



Bernard Welt, writer, future professor of 
humanities and cinema studies, at my NYC 
apartment on East 12th Street, 1984.
----



Carter Potter, visual artist, at my NYC apartment 
on East 12th Street, 1984. We were boyfriends at 
the time.



Raymond Foye, editor (Hanuman Books, The 
Unknown Poe, The Collected Poems  of James 
Schuyler, a.o.) curator, writer, and archivist, at 
the One World Poetry Festival in Amsterdam, 1984. 
He came through Amsterdam to see the festival, 
where I was reading, and to hang out with me.



Amy Gerstler, poet and essayist, at my NYC 
apartment on East 12th Street in 1983.



Jamie Jensen, future travel writer (California: 
The Rough Guide, Roadtrip USA, Built to Last, 
a.o.), at the artist Jim Isermann's apartment in 
Hollywood, 1986. I was house sitting for Jim, 
and Jamie spent the night.



Michael Friedman, poet, future lawyer, novelist 
(Martian Dawn), and editor/publisher (Shiny 
Magazine) at my NYC apartment on East 12th 
Street, 1984.



Rob Dickerson, bon vivant, at my apartment on 
East 12th Street in 1983. We were boyfriends at 
the time.



Brad Gooch, writer (City Poet: The Life and 
Times of Frank O'Hara, Zombie00, Scary Kisses, 
a.o.), at artist Arnold Fern's NYC loft on Broadway, 
1987. When I moved back to NYC from Amsterdam, 
I lived at Arnold's loft for a year. Brad and I were
on our way to St. Marks Church, where we were
doing a reading together.



Bob Flanagan, writer and performance artist, 
Sheree Rose, photographer and performance 
artist, and Catherine Opie, visual artist, at Joseph's 
Cafe in Hollywood, 1991.



Mark Ewert, writer and future animator, at my NYC 
apartment on East 5th Street, 1989. We had recently 
become boyfriends, and he'd just moved in with me.



Tim Miller, performance artist, writer, and 
activist, at my NYC apartment on East 12th Street, 
1983.
----




*

p.s. RIP: Michael Brown, sublime pop music visionary. Hey. I'm at work this morning. Here's a strangely personal old post from the days when I occasionally did strangely personal posts. I'll be back/see you tomorrow.

'a number is a feeling', by math tinder

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write out yr birthday numerically
my friend josh was born 06 october 1980 or 06 10 1980

reduce each of the 3 numbers to 1 digit like this
0+6 =6
1+0 =1
1+9+8+0 =18 -> 1+8 =9

add them up
6+1+9 =16

keep adding until you get a single digit
1+6 =7

unless you hit a doubled digit aka 11 or 22
in which case you are a master number +stop there





1











2








3











4












5












6











7













8











9












11











22










#

1
klaus kinski / tom cruise / mariah carey / iggy pop / chris brown / julian assange / antonin artaud / ryan trecartin / rainer werner fassbinder

2
ludwig wittgenstein / jean cocteau / marc almond / madonna / kanye west / barack obama

3
david bowie / lou reed / rihanna / kylie minogue / judy garland / alan alda / derek jarman / werner herzog / arthur rimbaud

4
sigmund freud / bono / oprah winfrey / kim kardashian / charles manson / mike tyson / nicole kidman / brad pitt / jd salinger / nicki minaj

5
keith haring / jean-michel basquiat / david lynch / blake butler / adolph hitler / mao zedong / angelina jolie / mick jagger / r kelly / jay z

6
jean genet / james dean / sal mineo / joan of arc / morrissey +johnny marr / susan sontag / lindsay lohan / kenneth anger / matthew barney

7
aleister crowley / ian curtis / princess diana / marilyn monroe / jfk / jfk jr / christian bale / belinda jenner / oj simpson / macaulay culkin / andy warhol

8
bjork / candy darling / michelangelo / oscar wilde / jacques derrida / stanley kubrick / amy winehouse / patti smith / robert mapplethorpe

9
elvis / prince / beyoncé / bette davis / bryan ferry / scott walker / syd barrett / tyra banks / alexander mcqueen / kier cooke sandvik

11
harry houdini / frank sinatra / nico / paris hilton / andreja pejić / wendy carlos / dennis cooper / antonio urdiales / marquis de sade

22
tupac shakur / miles davis / les paul / alexander shulgin / hugh hefner / alain robbe-grillet / john jolie-pitt / math tinder




*

p.s. Hey. First and foremost, the amazing Math Tinder, recently billed around here as White Tiger, has constructed this very picturesque, interacting post for you this weekend, which I can only imagine you'll enjoy to the max, so please fulfill its and your destinies, if you don't mind. And speak to your host, of course, if the mood strikes 'cos that would be coolness. Thank you ever so much, Math! Second, I want to draw your attention to a project headed up by one of our fine d.l.s and guest-post makers Lizz Brady, which offers an awesome opportunity for those of you who are interested. The project is called Broken Grey Wires, which has been featured here on the blog in the recent past. Now ... well, here's Lizz: 'Broken Grey Wires will be creating a zine, filled with inspiration, ideas, poetry, personal stories and art. This is an opportunity for YOU to be part of this great project. Email me with submissions - info@brokengreywires.com'. You can learn more about BGW and the zine by checking out there two locations: Here's the Facebook page, and here's the Broken Grey Wires website. Please do. Third, well, I'm back in the p.s.'s saddle, obviously. Things will be usual in that sense for a few days, and then, early-ish next week, I'll be going off on a badly needed vacation for nine days and taking the p.s. (but not the posts) with me. I'll say more about that on Monday. ** Thursday ** David Ehrenstein, Oh, that's an nice compliment on the title. It's actually lifted from a song lyric by the late Danish band Vår. Ah, your Larry Kramer piece! Very interested to read that, not being a big fan of his, but being way open to having my opinion changed. Everyone, Maestro of almost everyone aka David Ehrenstein has written a major piece on the important writer and activist Larry Kramer, and I can't imagine anyone who could tackle that assignment more greatly than he, so do spend a little portion of your weekend reading his article, which is called 'Larry Kramer’s Search for Heart & History'. ** Marilyn Roxie, Hi, Marilyn! Great to see you! I've never played a Star Wars game, which seems crazy, odds-wise. Oh, wait, I take that back. I did play some Star Wars racing game whose title I can't remember. Yeah, the Vanitas aesthetic is similar and pretty cool. Thanks, pal. ** Steevee, Hi, Steve. Oh, gosh, I hope it's better or at least a little more successfully mysterious than that Kendrick Lamar title, ha ha. Look forward to your review. Everyone, here's Mr. Steve Erickson aka Steevee writing about Argentine director Lisandro Alonso’s film 'Jauja', a film which he admires very much, and do go read it and pleasure yourselves thereby, okay? ** Kier, Hi, K! Oh, shit, about the ram. Man, it must be really hard to get to know the animals so well and have that happen. I'm so sorry. Yay about Iggy visiting Stavanger! Lets see, okay ... Basically, my days have been long, very samey, great, hard, and exhausting for the last seeming forever. Recently, uh, Kiddiepunk was here to work on the color correction of Zac's and my film for a few days. And that's what we did from morning till night other than eating at times. And we made the film's titles and the end credits. The film now looks great, or at least good enough, we hope, to submit successfully to Cannes, although we'll have to do more work on the visuals next month in a studio to get them completely up to par. Starting yesterday, we started working on the French subtitles because we'll have a much better chance if they're in place for the submission version of the film. We'd had the original script translated into French last spring, but it changed dramatically before and during the shooting, so we've had to edit and revise it, and Zac had to do French translations of the new dialogue we created along the way. This morning we start putting the subtitles into the film, which is going to be a lot of meticulous work, and which will probably take us until late tomorrow to finish. (The film has to be submitted on Monday.) The big problem right now is that the guy who was hired by the producers to do the special effects is doing a terrible job, and he has done only a small amount the work we needed, and that's kind of a real disaster. So now we have to try to do corrections on the special effects ourselves, which we're not skilled enough to do, and edit the film a little where the special effects aren't finished, and, basically, our increasingly useless producers seem only capable of making things harder and harder for us. So, we have to go with what we have for the submission, and we'll make a note with the submission that the visuals aren't finished yet and hope the powers-that-be will be understanding, and then we'll have to find someone to totally redo the special effects, and since we're already way over budget, this is going to be a real headache. So, basically, things are difficult, but we're doing the best we can, and both Zac and I are really burnt out but technically on the ball. That's all I did for the last week. Okay, now that you've gotten a taste of what my weekend report will be like, ha ha, how was yours? Love, me. ** Kyler, Hi, K. Well, thanks for your thanks, man. ** Misanthrope, Hi, G. Fried-ness has borderline done us in, but we're still at it. Guest posts would be heavy manna, man. Thanks! ** Bill, Hi, Bll. Some of them were pretty great, and, yeah, they very rarely make them like that anymore. It was a real artistic renaissance era for the computer game. Designers were experimenting and taking a lot of chances, and with big successes in many cases. Don't know what happened. At some point, it seems like 70% of everything became Minecraft-like. ** Sickly, Hi. Thanks for the link, yeah. Everyone, Sickly says ... 'I don't know if anybody knows that quite a lot of these games are available to be played on the Internet Archive, including the 7th Guest and the Dark Eye!' ... and ... 'I'd like to particularly call your attention to the Adventure Game section of the eXoDOS project. Not only to they have both Phantasmagoria games, they've also got Night Trap, and, well, a ton of other shit! Dinotopia? Neuromancer??' Shame that the dated graphics and primitive engines take out a lot of what was wondrous about them back then, but better than nothing. I remember 'Shivers' only now. Huh? Did I play it? I can't remember. Thanks a ton, man. ** Thanatos, Hi, welcome, and thank you a lot for commenting and lending us your language-based presence. Our interview ... oh, yes, sorry, I've literally been working on our film from waking up to falling asleep, but I should be entering the relative clear starting on Monday, I hope. ** Friday ** Bitter69uk, Yeah, RIP: Compendium Books. What a great great shop. I have seen Camden since, and, yeah, ugh. I think I read there in ... 1993 maybe? ** Keaton, 'Alice'. If you mean the 'Alice' I'm thinking of, it was by the same guy who did 'Gadget', which was in my post, and his 'Alice' was really terrific. Polaroid charisma can create style in any old shooter, I suspect. Novels, stories, what's the diff? ** David Ehrenstein, Thank you! ** Gregoryedwin, Hi, G! Thank you, and me too. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben! I missed you. Thanks about the polaroids. Very nice poster. Very, very cool about your flat! I'm stressing out trying to find one here. How big is that sculpture you bought. It looks huge in the picture. Okay, cool, see you pronto. ** Bill, Hi, B. Work goes intensely and exhaustively and as well as can be expected under hampering circumstances. Awesome that you finally get to work on your own great work! Whoo-hoo! ** Armando, Hey, Armando! Well, of course, I remember you, my friend. Missed you too. Oh, wow, I'm not sure where I'll be in the second part of April. Uh, my guess would be here in Paris working madly on the last things we need to do on our film, but I don't know for sure. Why? Congrats on your first poems! I bet they're beautiful! ** Steevee, Hi. Brel is Belgian not French. Um, yeah, I'm interested in that era of French music. When I had a working TV, I used to see the living ones among those old singers a lot because the French are super into celebrating their musical legends. No, it's not like easy-listening although there is a big chunk of French easy-listening too. It's more the French equivalent of, you know, Sinatra, Garland, Peggy Lee, Mel Torme, etc. ** Thomas Moronic, Thank you, T! Great about your interview with Mike! Everyone, mighty Thomas Moronic has interviewed mighty M. Kitchell about his imminent and must-read new book @ the mighty Fanzine, and this is something you need to read, of that I can completely assure you. ** Right. Do Math's bidding, please, and I will see you on Monday.



Work-in-progress scrapbook, p. 1: The Ventriloquist Convention

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The Ventriloquist Convention

Conception & Direction: Gisele Vienne
Text: Dennis Cooper, in collaboration with the performers
Incidental Sound: Stephen O'Malley & Peter Rehberg

World Premiere: Puppentheater, Halle, Germany, July 9, 10 2015





_________
Ventriloquists

Nils, winner of the reality show America's Greatest Talent, multi-year/multimillion dollar performing contract with a major Las Vegas hotel
Puppet:Lutz (a Nils doppelganger)

Lars, "world's greatest ventriloquist", performs on cruise ships
Puppet: Orson (a dead old man in a coffin)

Sebastian, performs between the acts at rock festivals and rock concerts
Puppet: Kurt Cobain

Katarina, groupie, performs alongside a hygienist in elementary schools, girlfriend of Sebastian
Puppet: Spray can

Ines, performs in hospitals for sick and dying children
Puppet: Fred (a very ill boy)

Kerstin, daughter of the late, legendary Klaus Kraus, the most famous and popular ventriloquist of all time
Puppet: Frankie (her father's famous puppet)

Uta, visual artist/puppeteer who is trying to merge the mediums of puppetry and contemporary art
Puppet: Pillow disguised as a Brancusi sculpture

Jessica, transgendered, performs in cabarets, father of Vincent
Puppet: Praying mantis

Vincent, 16 year-old aspiring ventriloquist, son of Jessica
Puppet: Fake Muppet



_______________
Cast


Nils


Kerstin


Ines


Katarina


Lars


Sebastian


Uta


Vincent & Jessica



___________
Set design (tentative)





_______________
Early rehearsals (@ Halle Puppentheater)


(l. to r.) Vincent, Uta, Ines, Max (not in the piece), Lars, Kerstin, Nils, Katarina, Jessica, Sebastian.
















_______________
Select puppets (design & under construction)





Kurt Cobain






Praying mantis




Spray can







Fred




Brancusi pillow





Lutz



________________
Halle Puppentheater's storeroom




















*

p.s. Hey. So, tomorrow will be the last new post and p.s. for a while. Starting on Wednesday, I'll be on a much needed vacation/break from the film work. You'll be getting rerun posts and short, prewritten p.s.es during that time. Newness involving fresh posts and full-fledged p.s.es will return on Saturday, April 7th. Okey-doke? ** Scunnard, Hey, bud. Nice to see you! I'm fried, and I suddenly have a cold, and my wallet was stolen, but I'm pretty good otherwise. I'm hope you're fully good. ** Thomas Moronic, Nice number. My weekend had its up and down, but it's over. Thanks about the new film idea. Yeah, we're really excited. I've started writing it in my spare moments and hopefully more fleshily while I'm taking this upcoming breather. ** Keaton, Hi, 6'er. Can't say that I ever wear make-up, no. You recommend any products? Marry? In northern France? Curious in both ways. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi. I knew by face all but about, oh, three of them, I think. ** Flit, Howdy-doody, Flit! Sight for sore eyes and fingers, you are. You better than good? ** James, Hi, James. Well, nearly early-done. Or it's early-done as of late last night. We'll have weeks more work in April to get it perfect, but it's ready to be judged, I guess. Awesome Sarraute score! Whoa! That's a very good price you managed to get there. My favorite of hers, 'The Golden Fruits', which you now have (!), is super hard to find for that relative pittance. Mm, no, I don't think I've read that Rollin book. I'll seek it out. He's very, very good! Yeah, I, of course, really want to see 'It Follows' at the soonest opportunity. ** Magick mike, You lucky dog! Great interview with you by Thomas, man. ** Sickly, You too! ** Sypha, Hi, 5-ster. ** White tiger, Dude, that was so great and fun and popular and all kinds of awesome, crazy shit. Thank you, thank you ever so much again and for all of eternity! Big love, me. ** The Dreadful Flying Glove, Hi, Glove! Hugs! Thanks a lot, man. Yeah, I need the vacation. It's been intense. I'm borderline burned-out. Burned-out but can't afford it. Weird combo. I wish you the sleep of the gods, whatever that means. ** Chris Dankland, Hi, Chris! Great that the readings went well! Oh, Oliver Mol. I just became FB friends with him. I'm really curious to red his book. He has a great name. I'm sweating to get to listen to the new Death Grips. On the plane, I think. Great! Major and happiest things to you! ** Steevee, Oh, listen, I thought Brel was French until I'd already lived here for four years. Aznavour can be pretty great. I don't know if you saw Christophe Honore's 'Man au bain' in which I play a small part but, in one of my scenes, I make Francois Sagat listen to an Aznavour song. Your word on that short film is enough to get me to search it out. Huh. Love the structuralist structure, of course. ** Misanthrope, Hi. No, I'm, like, what am I, 11? Got your thing and mailed you back. You rule, motherfucker! Yeah, by late in the year, you might be a wealthy, jet-setting man. Weirder, if not a whole lot weirder, I'll admit, things have happened. ** Kier, Hi, hi, hi, Kier! Home ownership does seem so adult. I don't I'll ever own a house. I'm so sorry that someone let you down. They suck. Fuck whoever did that with a truncheon. No, with many truncheons simultaneously. My weekend was intense. Uh, we worked on the film all day into the later night on Saturday. We put in the temporary French subtitles. We tried our best, or, rather, Zac's best, to correct the shitty compositing work and do the special effects where the compositing guy didn't even try. That took a while, but we managed to get most of the problems looking almost acceptable, or acceptable enough for the submission version of the film, or to a point where it was better to use the semi-crappy effects than cut the scenes. We had to go buy a BluRay burner to burn the BluRays for the submission. That's when things started to suck because apparently I was pickpocketed during our metro ride to the electronics store because when I got home a couple of hours later I had no wallet and someone had tried to run up big charges using my card. So, I have no money, no bank card, nothing, and the fraud department of my bank didn't believe I was me when I called, so I have to make a bunch of calls and shit to get them to give me a new card, ugh. Then I got a cold in the middle of the night, from which I'm suffering with a ever-increasing degree of bleah. On Sunday, we did more attempted compositing re-work and did some last color grading, and then we watched the film, and it looked/sounded pretty great under the circumstances, so we started rendering it for submission, which basically ended up taking all night. Now I'm about to go over to Zac's and make sure the BluRays are okay, and then we'll go drop the film/BluRay off at the two Cannes Film Festival offices in Paris (by the 4 pm deadline) that are designated for the two categories in which we're submitting today: 'Director's Fortnight' and whatever the 'Critics' section is called, I forget. Need I even say, it's a very super long-shot that our film will get selected for Cannes, but it would stupid not to try, and you never know. So, yeah, a long weekend. How was Monday on your side? ** Grant maierhofer, Thanks for popping by to share that. Everyone, Mega-writer and d.l. Grant Maierhofer's new book is coming so soon, and here he is to alert you to it and related stuff. Listen up, please. GM: 'i just wanted to stop by and share the preorder for 'Marcel'. it'll be coming out in April. the page has Kate Zambreno's blurb but the physical book will have Sean Kilpatrick's and Matthew Simmons' as well, for whatever that's worth. I also wrote a think for the blog portion of the publisher's page that i'm gonna keep doing as a column. here's the preorder (the book isn't actually squared off like that it's just a condense image of what's on the cover. while the text is sorted out) and here's the column thing.' ** Chilly Jay Chill, Hi, Jeff '6' Jackson. Thank for the crossed fingers. We'll need them, that's for incredibly sure. I know and like James Tadd Adcox's work. I think I've read at least bits of Todd Kaneko and Brian Costello, but my head cold is fucking with my memory. 'Anti-Clock' sounds very, very familiar, huh. I'll see what I can find. Thanks a lot, Jeff. ** Armando, Hi! You'll be in New York then. That's cool and exciting! What are you doing there? Yeah, I think I'll be here. Plus, I have to move to a new apartment at the end of April, and I'm pretty sure I'll be here doing that for weeks. I would like to read them, of course. It'll take me a little to actually read them because I'm overworked and fried, but I will, and I would love to. ** Okay. Today I thought I'd share some random stuff related to the early-to-mid-period work on Gisele's and my new theater piece, in case it's of interest. See you tomorrow.

Misanthrope presents ... Some of My Guilty Pleasures

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Of course, please let me/us know your guilty pleasure(s) too.

I can't explain most of these. Or I guess I can, but I won't bore you. Just know that there are things about everybody that we'll never know, no matter how close we are to them. This is the tip of the iceberg for me.




Jimmy Eat World "The Middle"




When in Rome "The Promise"




A Flock of Seagulls "I Ran"




Stepbrothers




Freddy Got Fingered




"Tosh.0"




"Impractical Jokers"




Cameron Dallas






Justin Bieber crotch and butt shots








Words With Friends, Sudoku, Crossword Puzzles






"Straight" boy porn. Even those horrible college "hazing" vids.




Strawberry daiquiris




Sushi




Munchos






These two memes




Harry Styles' interview technique




*

p.s. Hey. Misanthrope, a d.l. who needs no introduction if there ever was one, wants to share his guilty pleasures with you. And he has. There they are, just north of these very words. What do you think? What are yours? This day seems like it could be a lot of fun, if you guys are game. What do you think? Spill your guilt to Misanthrope and to each other, please. Thanks. Thanks, George. Okay, so, early tomorrow morning I'm heading away for about 10 days to get refreshed and whatever else ends up happening. You'll get reruns -- apart from your usual new slaves post -- and brief hi's from me until April 7th when I'll be back in your face again and catching up with the accumulated comments while I'm at it. Have fun. Hang out, comment, whatever feels right. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi, D. Yeah, sucky combo, and the cold makes my head feel like a led-filled skull. But, hey, what can you do? ** Tosh Berman, Hi, Tosh. Right back at you re: the simply amazing life. Thank you for saying that. Yeah, it's a great time for me, I must admit. For you too, no? Thank you. ** Bill, Thanks, Bill. Germany in June? I don't know, but it certainly seems possible since the theater piece will be needing to be readied around then, I think. I'll let you know. It would be ace if our German timing lines up. ** Scunnard, Hi, J! Oh, really, only a couple of weeks until your mss. might be finished? Man, that's exciting! I have bad luck with things getting lost or stolen. Lost my passport, but that was a year ago maybe? Lost my wallet about six months ago. Had my ATM card get compromised and had to replace it two weeks ago. And now I'm forcibly sans wallet and card yet again. Weirdness. Thank you or the awayness wishes. Should be nice, yeah. Sucks that it's starting with me saddled by a nasty cold, but whatev', I guess. Take care! ** Keaton, Oh, that looks good and funny and awesome, I must say. Everyone, maestro Keaton has filled the topmost portion of his blog with this sharp as a tack and funny as a (fill-in-the-blank) meme thing that will intersect your day with joy, if you let it. It's called Butane Vein. I do? How so? I wore some make-up in the Glam Rock era during my brief, pathetic attempt to look like a Glam boy. Not a good idea, that idea. The Kurt Cobain sounds kind of pretty much like Kurt himself but with a very slight German accent since all but one of the performers are German. He ("Kurt") sings 'Rape Me' in the show. One time when I was talking with Burroughs (and Jeffrey Lee Pierce) in Amsterdam by the front door of the Melkweg club some drunk guy inside the club threw a chair through the glass door, covering Burroughs with glass shard-snow. He was fine, though. ** Steevee, Hi. Yeah, I'm traveling. If I was staying in Paris, I'd do the blog since I don't need a vacation from the blog, but traveling makes the blog way too difficult to do. I'll go find that trailer, thanks! Yeah, the Ferrara US release thing has turned into a total fiasco, Jesus. ** Damien Ark, Hi, Damien! Cool, excellent, great about the interview for the blog being nearly done! I'm excited! Portland's nice in the summer. And a presumably very early happy birthday to you! Have a blast doing everything. ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, T. It's fun to be excited. We're already jonesing to make our second film. Thanks for being interested in the theater piece prelims, man. ** The Dreadful Flying Glove, Hey! Yeah, sucks, but it looks like it'll finally be sorted out on Thursday. I just have be a mooch until then. Thanks for liking the scrapbook stuff. I think it's going to be pretty good. It's completely unlike anything Gisele and I have ever made before. Exciting and a little scary. I'll hold good thoughts for the gig of your other half that night too. What's the gig, if you can say? No pressure, no expectations, but if you want to make a couple of posts, I would be very, very happy. Thank you in any case! ** Flit, Holy shit! About your computer dragging your work into its grave. Happened to me once too. Shit, yeah, you sound like you have all the attitude in that regards that you need. Windows, wow, scary, ha ha. Or no "ha ha". Scary. Anyway, pretty sweet to get to talk to you. I'll rest up as best I can, thanks. You take care until the next time I get the gift of you. Wow, ha ha. ** Kier, Hi, hi, hi! I think 'The Ventriloquist Convention' is going to tour a lot, so hopefully you'll see it. It's our most 'booked in advance' piece ever. I'm sorry your day wasn't so great. Mine was so-so-ish. My cold got worse, and so did Zac's. Mine is in my head, his is in his throat. But we burned the BluRays, and I dropped one submission off at one location, and he did the other one. The offices are in wildly different parties of Paris. Then we had some back and forth with our producers, which was, as usual, annoying but somehow productive. We conferred with Kiddiepunk about the film stuff, and he told me that 'Zac's Haunted House' has been downloaded over 15,000 times so far, which is pretty amazing. I did my laundry and started getting ready for the vacation. Yeah, I'm going away for a bit. Zac too. Partly to relax, partly to do film stuff that we don't have to be in Paris for, partly for adventure, partly to start developing the script for our next film. Should be nice. But, uh, yesterday ... as darkness fell, my cold got worse, and it got worse overnight, and now my nose is a runny faucet, etc. Tomorrow's vacation involves a plane flight, and going onto a plane sick is always a horrible idea, but it'll happen. So, yeah, I guess I won't get to give you my day report for a while, but I'll be looking in on the comments when I can, so if you feel like keeping me up on your days, know I will be an attentive, wide-eyed reader. Take care, my dear pal! ** Sickly, Hi! I'm sickly too. Well, actually full-on sick. 'The Ventriloquist Convention' will be performed at LACMA. I'm not sure what the dates are off the top of my head, but I'll ask Gisele. Theater's not dead over here in Europe at least. Pretty healthy right now, in fact. Thanks for thinking that all of that was interesting. The Brancusi pillow puppet is very depressed because it wants to be a pillow and it doesn't understand why it's a sculpture. ** Etc etc etc, Hi, Casey. Thanks a lot for sending your Gluth review! I'll read it as soon as I get a sec and can find an oasis in my head cold. We met our deadlines, yes, thanks. California = dreamy. Most of it. 'Please Kill Me' is a great book! Fantastic! I love the oral biography form in general, and that's a particularly great example. xx ** Paul Curran, Hi, Paul! It's great to see you! I've been wondering how you are and what you're up to. Thanks about the theater piece hints. Inner narratives are a bitch. A sublime bitch. Sometimes sublime. Sublime in theory. Yeah, I get that toughness. Whoa, new clip! Sweet! I'll ... yeah, I'll imbed it down below. Great! Everyone, down at the bottom of this p.s. is a new video clip related to Paul Curran's completely great and amazing novel 'Left Hand' (Civil Coping Mechanisms, 2014), and watch it, dudes. Watch it. I repeat, watch it. Seriously. So good! Have a great time in London! Give my best to Mark! ** Misanthrope, Thank you for today's Day, buddy. Oh, one thing, ... how is sushi a guilty pleasure? I didn't quite get the guilt in that one. I do know that dummies have an inherently scary quality, and, in fact, our new theater piece is counting on that even. Cool about the new post. I'm definitely gonna need some guest-posts 'cos this place will be a vacant place when I get back. Have a great next 10 or whatever it is days, George! ** Armando, Hi, A. Nice about the vacationing. Oh, you can send them to: dcooperweb@gmail.com. 'The Smell of Us' ... hm, is that the documentary about the great LA club/music venue The Smell? No, right? Anyway, I haven't seen it, obviously. Take care, my friend. ** Aaron Mirkin, Hi, Aaron! Yeah, we managed to get the preliminary version of the final film done, burnt onto BluRays, and onto the reception desks of the Cannes offices. A lot more to do, but ... well, I'm sure you know the whole story of which Zac and I have only gotten as far as the preface so far. Oh, wow, that fan video sounds great! I wrote this not very good essay about 'wrestling as epic storytelling' many ears ago, and that aspect was always a key to my addiction to pro-wrestling back when I had the TV, the access, and the time. Anyway, blabla, thank you! Have an awesome upcoming time, Aaron. ** Right. Enjoy the guilt up there. And I will now bid you all a fond, temporary farewell until next we meet on April 7th. Have fun with the reruns and with your own selves and with each other while I'm gone. Best of the best to you guys!


Paul Curran Left Hand (2015)

Rerun: Spotlight on ... Rene Crevel Putting My Foot in It (orig. 11/27/08)

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----

"Crevel was born rebellious the way others are born with blue eyes."
—Philippe Soupault

"Crevel actually wrote only a single sentence: the long sentence of a feverish monologue from the pen of a Proust who dipped his biscuit laced with LSD into his tea, instead of the unctuous madeleine."

—Angelo Rinaldi, L'Express

"He will be read more and more as the wind carries away the ashes of the ‘great names’ that preceded him. "

—Ezra Pound




'René Crevel (1900-35) was French Surrealist who initiated experiments with hypnotic sleep. His greatest contribution to the movement, however, was to demonstrate that Surrealism and the novel could be reconciled. Whether texts such as Détours (1924), La Mort difficile (1926), Babylone (1927), Êtes-vous fous? (1929), and Les Pieds dans le plat (1933) are called ‘romans’ or ‘fictions’, the role of language itself in their elaboration is arguably the key element. Mon corps et moi (1925) is a confessional monologue and L'Esprit contre la raison (1927) is his Surrealist manifesto.

'Crevel was born in Paris to a family of Parisian bourgeoisie. He had a traumatic religious upbringing. At the age of fourteen, during a difficult stage of his life, his father committed suicide by hanging himself. Crevel studied English at the University of Paris. He met André Breton and joined the surrealist movement in 1921, from which he would be excluded in October 1923 due to Crevel's homosexuality and Breton's belief that the movement had been corrupted. During this period, Crevel wrote novels such as Mon corps et moi ("My Body and Me"). In 1926, he was diagnosed with tuberculosis which made him start using morphine. The 1929 exile of Léon Trotsky persuaded him to rejoin the surrealists. Remaining faithful to André Breton, he struggled to bring communists and surrealists closer together. Much of Crevel's work deals with his inner turmoil at being bisexual.

'Crevel killed himself by turning on the gas on his kitchen stove the night of June 18, 1935, several weeks before his 35th birthday. There were at least two direct reasons: (1) There was a conflict between Breton and Ilya Ehrenburg during the first "International Congress of Writers for the Defense of Culture" which opened in Paris in June 1935. Breton, who like all fellow surrealists, had been insulted by Ehrenburg in a pamphlet which said – among other things – that surrealists were pederasts, slapped Ehrenburg several times on the street, which led to surrealists being expelled from the Congress. Crevel, who according to Salvador Dalí, was "the only serious communist among surrealists" (and was facing more and more solitude as the real face of Soviet socialism started to occur), spent a whole day trying to persuade the other delegates to allow surrealists back, but he was not successful and left the Congress at 11pm, totally exhausted. (2) Crevel reportedly had learned that he suffered from renal tuberculosis right upon leaving the Congress. He left a note which read "Please cremate my body. Loathing."'
-- Wikipedia




'Rene Crevel's 1933 novel Putting My Foot in It (Les Pieds dans le plat) has long been considered a classic of the surrealist period. Loosely structured around a luncheon attended by thirteen guests, the novel is a surrealistic critique of the intellectual corruption of post-World War I France, especially the capitalist bourgeoisie and its supporter, the Catholic Church. The novel begins with an account of the family of the major character, known as the "Prince of Journalists." This bizarre family—the grandparents a soldier and a sodomized woman, the parents an orphaned epileptic and a hunchback—is matched by Crevel's bizarre syntax and vocabulary: nouns that initially appear legitimate, intact, and respectable, soon decompose into obscene epithets, making other nouns, both common and proper, suspect.'-- DA




Excerpt:

Sun and tradition. A dazzling light and the firm intention not to let yourself be blinded, etc., etc.

Symbols need not limit their scope to this pendulum swing of images. But a well-balanced mind won’t try and roost on a swing of antithesis that, at the height of its arc, would only look down on treacherous metaphors and promenades strewn with wolf traps that snare innocent beige fawns in flight, rather than large carnivores.

Here, today, the herd of cavorting ideas would hardly seem threatened. Fog-toothed melancholy can only sink its teeth into moonlight. And presently, it is high noon. So much for time. As for place, the Roman Empire passed through. It even stayed, blended with the dirt on this hillside, disciplined it, militarized it, metamorphosing amorphous terrain into terraces.

One of the mighty of this earth, one of the opinion makers whose sense of order takes pleasure in evoking the grand classical past, not for vain regrets but for quite virile resolutions, is jaunting merrily along — although there is nothing merry about the thoroughfare in question—snuggly ensconced in a motorcar worthy of the Roman road. This brand-new car is French-made, for if the ear of the Caesars, including the subsequent period, was the age of hippic locomotion, it is important, when purchasing motor vehicles, to observe a certain solidarity which, if not specifically French, is Latin, or at the very least, European, but strictly European, for after all of the tricks they have played on us, those sons of Uncle Sam with their Bonus Armies, their gangsters, their crashing and crashed millionaires—they can go hang themselves elsewhere.

With a light breeze tickling the white hairs on his chest and those which serve as a nest for a certain bird and its septuagenarian eggs (fresh as a daisy, moreover, thanks to Voronoff), the man who rejoices in the title of the Prince of Journalists savors the joy of living.

Here, in the hollow of a small valley, is a ruin used to transport water before the birth of Christ. Thus, to the paradoxical and nearly imperceptible accompaniment of an almighty motor, thoughts can let themselves float along. It won’t be long before they reach the banks of reverie. They won’t, moreover, lose any of their moderation in the process. Mustn’t forget that, if Fragonard and Hubert Robert measured up to this landscape, then any French mind worthy of the name can and must, out of the greatest disorder, out of a certain shambles, indeed out of a complete mess, compose a garden, a French garden, to be exact.

And to think that the great redheaded barbarians sung (though not in earnest) by Verlaine dare to return to our countryside, to our beaches, to attack our spas, to talk about how old this country is, and even spend their money on the rags that insinuate, with each venture undertaken by the Prince of Journalists, that this time it could be his swan song. A Prince of Journalists’ song, if he is aware of his national rights and duties, can only come out as a cock’s crow. The Gallic cockerel’s. His head is bursting with bugles. He is always ready to sound the charge. Even his dreams are dedicated to his country—only last night, he dreamt he was the Unknown Soldier’s widow! Ah, that cadaveric stiffness!

But to be aware of one’s rights and duties as a Frenchman is first of all to be liberal. Thus, the Prince of Journalists agreed to have lunch today with an Austrian woman. An archduchess, of course. And if other compatriots of our former enemies should try to slip in behind the grand dame, he will take care of them. And above all, watch out for so-called philosophers, poets, and filmmakers from Central Europe. Each morning, the director of a large daily dutifully reminds the editor of his Arts and Letters column that an intellectual invasion never fails to foreshadow the other kind. So guard and watch all frontiers—the frontiers of the mind no less than those in the north and the east. Defend the moral heritage of France, French culture, the culture of French thought, French gardens, French-style gardens, the French woman’s gardens, with boxwood-lined paths, the wood itself being carved into a darning egg; for the owner, the Frenchwoman, the bourgeoisie Frenchwoman (any Frenchwoman worthy of the name being a bourgeoisie), even athletic or a touch brainy, is and will remain, until the end of time, thrifty enough to keep both the wooden stocking, wherein lies the family nest egg, and her own nylons from unraveling, mending them as soon as they begin to run.

Sitting at her window, with a song on her lips, a flower in her bosom, but never with a fire down below, this guardian of traditions, next to a table adorned with the tastiest fruits of her orchard—isn’t it something out of Chardin?

The Prince of Journalists is moved. He melts. And not only from the midsummer heat but from the warmth, far more touching, of memory. In his mind’s eye, he sees his father, his mother, the decent people who spent their lives growing old. By the time they procreated him they were in their twilight years, hoping that very solid experience would compensate for certain congenial and perhaps hereditary handicaps. The good souls had no reason to worry. Their son, although he is short and lively tempered, holds himself straight as a ruler, and, at bottom, always masters his reflexes. Actually he turned out well enough, both mentally and physically, to savor with his utmost gratitude, in the scene before him, the memory of the ruin which had been built, on his father’s orders, near a pond whose waters were confined by exquisite little banks. The wise old man, after having asked the valet who never left him for a second to set up his folding stool and cover his shoulders with a Scottish plaid, was ready to sit down, aim, shoot (wasn’t this firearmed fisherman an expert on refraction?) one, two, three, four times. He killed the father, the mother, the little boy, the little girl bleak-fish.

Only the most genuinely French virtues had caused this carbine fisherman to become an Olympian statue of warm fabrics at the edge of autumn’s waters. Beneath such majesty he was hiding a painful secret. Our firearmed fisherman’s mother, in the days when she was carrying him, had been assaulted on a dark night and, before she even had time to catch her breath, got hosed—and, what’s worse, from the flip side. How could the unborn child have possibly avoided the repercussion of this heinous violence? Expecting his offspring to bear a double original sin which no amount of baptism would wash away, the husband of the woman sodomized in spite of herself, a great friend of Cambronne, used his connections to get enlisted and heroically killed immediately, at the head of a small troop which had only recently bestowed upon him the proud title of commander.

Every sin, even unintentional, can be forgiven. Of course, the orphan paid for this forgiveness with congenital epilepsy. He was all but deprived of the joys of childhood. He can still remember his mother’s mustached nieces sitting in a circle all around her, the woman sodomized in spite of herself. These cousins, if distant memory serves him well, were neither fish nor foul, neither hide nor hair, but salt and pepper and more bitter than sweet. They were going to prevent a further accident at all costs, which is why they lived on the plains of Beauce.

On the horizon, there wasn’t a single grove that could conceal a satyr. As soon as the wheat reached a certain height, the young widow was confined to the house until the last row had been gleaned.

As a result of her adventure, she had become prone to melancholy. The sweet, desperate automatism of certain gestures which she repeated indefinitely made her guardians conclude that she was eccentric or even obsessed. For days upon end she would caress her hair, which was naturally wavy, but straightened each morning. She hardly ever opened her mouth. On one exceptional evening, however, she was talking a great deal when, perhaps, she was frightened by a reproving stare from one of the old women? In any event she jumped up and took off running. Since one of the jailers had just made sure that all the doors and windows were securely locked, none of them bothered to follow her. The young woman didn’t get far, of course, no farther than the dining room; but there, out of a Dutch candelabra she pulled a purplish candle (everything was mourning and half-mourning in her charming little interior) and, in pious kiss, brushed her lips against its wax, which was softer than the softest human skin.




teporingos bubonicos "Rene Crevel"




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p.s. Hey. I'm already away. You could do worse than spend my first away day reading and thinking about Rene Crevel. I will see you, but only in the form of a blog post plus a sentence or two a la these sentences, tomorrow.

Rerun: Boy Gets Raped By Ghost and other chilling short films (orig. 11/21/08)

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Boy gets raped



boys rape each other



Josh and his little brother



Paul getting rape by 3 girls & 1 guy



Boy Gets Raped By Ghost



Trevor Got Raped



trevor GOT RAPED!



boy gets raped



bro rape part 3



Steve Rapes little boy.



nick rapes little boy part 1



Bum rape



Man Rape at Band Camp



year 12 camp: danny getting raped



Rape in a Tent!



Don't Do Drugs, You'll Get Raped!!!



sleeping Rape




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p.s. Hey. Still away. Still will be away for a while. This old post seems like a decent repeater maybe. Hope all of you are well.

Rerun: Alana Noel Voth presents ... Night with a Man on the Moon (or. 10/08/08)

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First and one time I did crystal meth was with Janelle and her brother Brandon. Janelle had waist length brown hair and Carol Alt cheekbones. What I mean is, she could have been a model but wasn't. For one thing, no one had ever told her that. Janelle used to look through my model's portfolio then say, "You're so pretty." I hadn’t landed a one year contract with Coors yet, or appeared in calendars and on billboards, so when Janelle said that I’d think I’m a floundering hack. Not like my model crushes, Paulina Porizkova and Renee Simonson, at all. One year for Christmas, I got Janelle a pair of crotchless panties. I said, “Hope So-and-So likes them,” and didn’t exactly mean it. Before I met Janelle, Brian or Brad Someone had gotten her pregnant then lost interest, much like what my son’s father would do years later. Lose interest, wish I were dead. I saw him once, the guy who got Janelle pregnant; she pointed him out in a bar, and this Brian or Brad looked like a guy you’d see in a Playgirl centerfold, except short and wiry, clenching his jaw.

Janelle's brother, Brandon, didn’t have a girlfriend. He didn’t have a job. He had white blond hair that almost glowed in the dark, especially when you stared too hard into the darkness, when you were high on crushed amphetamine.

Brandon warned me the night we did the drugs. "This is strong stuff."

I looked at him from the other side of a coffee table. Milli Vanilli was on the radio, "Girl You Know It's True."

"I'll do it." What I felt like in that moment, watching Brandon chop the drugs with a straight razor, was the flight or fight feeling, all this adrenaline that would become chemical fueled, dangerous. What I mean is I was already on edge, in turmoil, conflicted. I’d found my biological mother just a few weeks before and now she was on her way to visit me. I’d told my father I’d found her, and he’d said my meeting my biological mother would hurt my step mother’s feelings, and when he’d said that I’d felt guilty. My brother had said, “What a bad idea. Seriously, why do you care what happened to her? Anyway, it’s not worth hurting Janet for.” Janet, our step mother. I wasn’t just a daughter wanting to meet her estranged mother anymore. I was triumphant and cruel.

I leaned over a line of meth Brandon had laid out on a coffee table for me between a Cosmopolitan magazine, Renee Simonson with her cat eyes and teased hair on the cover, and a stray golden earring. I inhaled the drug up my right nostril. My nose burned; my eyes watered. I looked at Brandon. He couldn’t do his lines of meth off the table. He had twice as much as me. For a second I felt like he’d ripped me off. Brandon lifted a mirror to his nose and inhaled his lines through a rolled dollar bill. He closed his eyes and let his head fall backward and then he sat up and he opened his eyes; they were bright blue. Thing was, he was stuck in a wheelchair the rest of his life. He had a beautiful face. Those fierce eyes and red lips. I had no desire to fuck him though, even in my drug induced state. The fact he was crippled turned me off. He could never hurt me, for one thing.

The inside of my throat lit up like I'd swallowed electric chalk or chalk rolled in hot dirt. Brandon had been in a wheelchair six years. Looking at Janelle on her knees at the coffee table with a cigarette in her mouth made me want to bite my own tongue. Her latest boyfriend beat her, she’d said. Janelle offered her half smoked cigarette to her brother, absently, holding it out without saying anything or looking at him. While Brandon took a long drag off the cigarette, Janelle inhaled a line of meth off the table. She’d started doing drugs, she’d said, soon after her daughter was born, around the time of Brandon’s accident. After Janelle finished her line, she got off her knees and went into the kitchen. It was powerful stuff. She pulled shit out of cupboards, banged things around, sang with the radio. My heart was like a cat wrestling under a blanket.

Once, I smacked one of my grandmother's cats: Juliet, a Siamese, who'd always attack the hem of my nightgown when I walked down the hall. So I hit her, Juliet, and then the cat let loose on my hand, claws and hissing and teeth. I cried while my grandmother put salve on my cuts then bandaged me up. My grandmother had said the cat attacking me had been my fault. I thought about dropping Juliet over the railing of my grandmother’s balcony. I thought about holding her in my lap, the warm steady purr.

“Hey, Janelle,” I said through the doorway to the kitchen. It was like I couldn’t go in there, she didn’t want me to. In some ways I didn’t know Janelle at all. Knowing her was like gazing forever through smudged glass. “Want to do something?” I asked. No idea what.

“I’m going to make spaghetti,” she said.

I wasn’t hungry. The idea of a big home cooked meal felt ridicules at the time. But I had to do something, because seriously I could crawl out of my own skin, and so I went into Janelle’s bathroom and hit a light then stared at myself in a mirror. Two things had become important that moment, always, since high school, eternity:

* Becoming beautiful.
* Remaining thin.

I took Janelle’s make up out of a cupboard and then started to apply it to my face, copping the cover of Cosmopolitan, flawless skin, wet lips. Years later, my son would tell me Jessica Alba was “all special effects” in a movie because no one was actually that pretty, but in just a couple years I’d learn about photographers who retouched photos and the angle of light. I could actually appear inhuman. I rushed from Janelle’s bathroom then stood in the doorway to the kitchen again. “How do I look?”

Janelle walked to the doorway then wet her finger before rubbing the tip under my left eye. “Smudge,” she said. Her saliva was warm on my skin.

“What about my other eye?”

“Fine.”

“Oh.”

Janelle was back across the kitchen again. She filled a big pot with water. When I’d lived at home, my father hadn’t let me wear make up or curl my hair. My step mother didn’t wear make up either. For years, my step mother and I were at odds in an oppressed environment. What I mean is we were locked in this battle to have my father; we each wanted this enormous cross to bear; and she won him. I told her later she was an enabler: she’d enabled my father’s dysfunction. Years after that, I’d say I couldn’t believe she’d stayed married to him. I’d tell my father he was lucky. Otherwise, he’d be alone. Actually, he’d be dead. My step mother’s cross to bear, my father’s life.

From his wheelchair Brandon said, “You look beautiful,” and I figured he didn’t really mean that or he did because he was in a wheelchair. Anyway I felt vaporous and selfish. I wished I could scratch paint off the walls, pour milk on the floor, color outside the lines, scream with the radio. Next day, my pupils would look shot out like two man holes, and I'd feel as if my body was evaporating driving to the bus stop to pick up my mother. Ironic I rendered myself into such a weak and vulnerable state the first time I'd meet her. You think I’d want to impress her. You’d think I’d want to show this person who’d chosen something else over me what I’d become. Maybe I did. Under developed. I had no idea what to expect from my biological mother. Some things you can't prevent. By midnight that night, I was so sick I couldn’t get out of bed. I felt like a Barbie doll I used to toss in the air to see how she’d land, twisted, backwards, fucked up. How awful it was when briefly my father came inside my apartment, was in the same room with my mother, and my father said my mother's name; she said his, and then I couldn’t fucking believe they were my parents. Who were these people, how were they ever together? I felt foreign and fractured. My fever peaked. I had to return upstairs to bed.

Later, my father would say my step mother had remained in the car sobbing the brief time he was inside the apartment. He’d say she’d wanted to come inside and take care of me, knowing I was sick. Thing was, neither she nor my father took care of me anymore.

My biological mother made soup that weekend, Ramen noodles with added vegetables. She read a few of my stories and told me they were good. One story had an angel in it, and the angel was named after her. All so ridicules. I’d go on to other “angels,” older or more successful women than myself, more stable, I’d think, women who were capable and beautiful, admirable, and I’d feel for them this boundless speechless love, and yet each one of them would eventually expose how flawed they were, unhappier than me even, sad and tormented their marriages, frustrated and bullied. Took a long time before any of it made any sense to me, why I loved them, how I already knew they were flawed.

Rest of the time my mother stayed that weekend, she smoked pot with my roommate, Regan, and the scent wafted up the stairs, around a corner, and into my room as I lied on my bed shivering. Sometimes I still smell marijuana. I don’t mean because I’m around it, or smoking it either. I mean I smell pot and then inhale it, hold it. Like I covet a ghost.

Sometime that weekend, I drove myself to a doctor's office and barely made it across a parking lot. I felt like I was hobbled. This wasn’t like the time my father had beat me with a leather belt, and then I went to school the next day. It was worse. I couldn’t fall into my mother’s arms. Already I was disillusioned, already I was moving on. I’d done this to myself. Like a test, testing us both.

That night in Janelle’s house, high on the meth, I’d wanted to say something to her. How are you a mother? You need to clean your shit up. I ground my teeth savagely. Frying pan full of meat, cans of tomato paste on the counter, a pile of olives on a cutting board and mushrooms, a bag of spaghetti noodles, the spices lined up. Janelle flicked her hair over one shoulder and then inhaled more meth while steam rose off the stove, all that boiling water. Her daughter, Jeri, was four years old. Once, Janelle took me to this place, Cahoots. Rough bar. Live band. Shots of tequila. The way Janelle partied, I judged her. I was a hypocrite. People did what they wanted, right? She should have been home. I didn't have any kids. Janelle's mother was taking care of her daughter. The little girl, Jeri, was growing up on a ranch. I’d lived with my grandparents when I was little, after my mother left. My father drove us to Grand Forks North Dakota then left me with his parents. They were nice people, my grandparents; they gave me toys, hugs and kisses, no explanations. I used to dress in my grandmother's nightgowns then stand on the balcony in front of her bedroom and wait. No idea who I wished for more, or if the right person showed up.

When I lived with my father again, he had lots of girlfriends. Sharon, Jacqueline, Patricia. I'd inhale their perfume. Look into their blond hair, covet their turtleneck sweaters. The girlfriends never stayed long. That was OK with me, even if I had told my father, "I want a mother." I didn't know what that meant, to have a mother. I used to crawl into my first-grade teacher’s lap. I had no memory of my biological mother. No idea if I’d asked anyone, let alone my father, “Where is she?” My father was there. Larger than life. I dreamed once a giant man came out the top of a hospital at the end of street where one of my babysitter’s lived. Who knows when my father became the monster who'd chased my mother away? But suddenly, maybe when I was thirteen or fifteen, nineteen, forever and a day, he was the bad guy. He’d made my mother leave me.

Once, I got into the middle of something between Janelle and her boyfriend, Damon. Janelle had been crying, hugging herself in her own arms outside a bar, deep night, cool wind, and I’d put myself in front of her, shielding her from Damon, and he was about to punch me in the face. I froze entirely, like slow motion, this guy's fist above me in the night air, stars, and the concrete beneath me, the bar entrance to the right, and then it burst from my lips. "Remember who my father is." Everyone was afraid of my father. Especially me. I wiped the spittle from my mouth, relishing in the tidal wave of my father washing over me, the entire scene, Damon's face, and then Damon lowered his fist. Janelle left with him that night. Love was a contest I didn’t win.

Here’s another memory. The man I love. Tall, blonde sideburns, denim jacket, a pack of Marblo Red cigarettes in a front pocket. He stands beside the woman he's married to now. They've called me into the garage. The sun reaches only so far. I must be in the sunlight. You know how the sunlight feels? I've been singled out, I'm too warm. They're a few feet away standing together looking at me. And I want to shrink. I want to grow larger than life. My father puts his hand on my step mother's arm and then says, You'll stop doing whatever it is you've done to try and break us up. I've no translation, nothing specific. No words. My father must have described in detail what I'd done to try and break them up. I’m sure I did something. The fights they had for a while, epic. I’d lie in bed and think, "After this one she's bound to leave." Except my step mother came in my room one night and sat on the end of my bed, uninvited. Nothing here was mine anymore. My step mother would come into my room time and time again and find something I'd written, hidden, done, and then show it to my father, who would ground me to my room or use the belt on my ass.

This is what it looks like when you lose, when your father falls out of love with you. My step mother said from the end of my bed "I'm not leaving. So what? I must have thought. Oh, yes, you are. In the garage, standing just out of the light, my father said, "I love Janet.” And so I was wrecked now. He chose her. The moment I just died. I was defined.

In high school, my senior year, a boy told me I looked good in jeans. He said, “You have a great butt.” Sometimes at home my father punished me by telling me to bend over and grab my ankles, and then my ass stuck up in the air, the supreme humiliation, subjectification. My father would stand behind me snapping the strap of his leather belt saying, “Your ankles. Goddammit your ankles. I said grab your ankles.” And it would go on. Him behind me snapping the belt. Me crying, shuddering. Primed to take it in the ass.

My first boyfriend Scott dragged me off my feet from a parking lot into the passenger seat of his friend's car. He'd also locked me in his bathroom because of the way I looked one night I planned to go to a live rock show. You look like a slut. Not so far from how my father used to put it. You look ridicules because I’d used lip gloss. I got so mad at Scott that night I poured all his shampoo down the drain, squeezed all the toothpaste from the tube, flushed a used bar of soap down the toilet, and then counted aspirin out on the counter, twenty-four, one for each year of his life. Even when I'd kicked the bathroom door with the heel of my shoe, it wouldn't budge, and so I'd lined the aspirin up. I could hear him on the phone to someone, a friend, maybe the one, Charles, who’d once hissed in my ear, “You’re not so hot, bitch,” and then felt my breast in a bar between a clammy press of people. "She's not going anywhere,” Scott said. I scooped the aspirin into my hand and then instead of letting them slide into my mouth, I screamed through the door. "I hate you!"Soon as I get out of here, you'll never see me again. I'd yelled like that at my father once, and then he'd held me down by the back of my neck and struck me across my shoulders, back, ass, and legs with a leather belt. It never occurred to me the next day as I limped to gym class that another girl would spy my bruises in the locker room then report me to the school nurse who'd demand, "Who did this to you?" What I was certain of was another girl would see my bruises and know I'd deserved it.

When Scott opened the bathroom door, I felt confused like an animal when its captor has opened its cage and then goads you to go on, just go, what’s the problem? Before I’d even formulated the question or gotten close to an answer, Scott dropped to his knees in front of me and started to sob.

My father used to come into my room then drop to his knees at my bedside and weep into my hand. I'd lie still peering at him through my eyelashes not sure if he was real. I’d want it to be real. The repentance, his sorrow, his need. Scott looked at me from the floor, and I had this sudden sneaking suspicion I was exactly what he'd accused me of. Maybe I would have left him for a guy in a band. Wasn't it always in the back of my head? A rock star. Someone bright and shiny and larger than life and entirely unattainable. Part of me wished I could pop Scott’s head between my hands.

Once, my biological mother threw a statue she'd made of herself pregnant with me at my father, and he'd kept the statue. What I mean is, my father pieced the statue back together so meticulously you could run a finger over the point of a chin, line of an arm, the swell of a gown, maybe, Madonna like, hairline fractures across the Plaster of Paris belly, no real facial features. My father kept the statue on a shelf with a row of books: Shogun, The Human Ape, Flowers for Algernon.

I wonder how often my step mother looked at the statue and hated it more than anything else in the world, that he wouldn’t let go of her, even if it was a statue, my step mother became desperate afraid. And I went to the statue often and held it my hands and tried to conjure a face. I tried to conjure an identity in spite of my life then. I did what I could to never see my step mother crying.

That night at Janelle’s, I never saw how Brandon got in and out of places in his wheelchair. How did he go to the bathroom? I peered at Janelle in the kitchen and grinded my teeth while I rocked back and forth sitting on the floor holding my knees, and then I proclaimed, “My father is an asshole.” Heil, Hitler! I was so fucking high.

Brandon leaned forward in his wheelchair and touched my face. "You OK?"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh."

"You know what I do when I don’t have drugs?” he said.

“No. What do you do?"

I didn't even look at him. I rocked back and forth and stared into the kitchen, and Janelle was in there scrubbing dishes. Why were the dishes all dirty? I couldn't figure it out.

“I drink bottles of cough syrup,” he said.

When Brandon was sixteen, he'd driven his Camero into a ditch and then the car had rolled twice before pinning him underneath it. Weird, how dissociated Janelle was. I went on and on to Brandon, thin air, the gods, about my father, my fatherfuckingfather. It was easy, all consuming, the sheer blistered bliss I discovered in placing the blame on my father: he ruined my childhood, beat and belittled me: I’d been dumped at the age of nine by the love of my life, and thanks to him, I’d had no chance at all at a healthy relationship with anyone. On the floor at the foot of a boy’s wheelchair I gnawed away on my own spiritual paw. Brandon had these gazelle thin legs. My problems were larger.
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p.s. Hey. Ah, today you get this fantastic piece of writing from some years ago by the wonderful writer and d.l. in emeritus Alana Noel Voth. Enjoy. Later, guys.

Rerun: Dead aka Per Yngve Ohlin (orig. 01/21/09)

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'My mum told me when I was a baby I slept so intensive so I turned white! So she had to check me all the time if I were still alive! This is serious! That is true! Maybe the whole thing started there? And maybe it started before that? My great great grandmother was a sorceror but only white magic. I have never been into fuckin white magic! I have always hated the Christianity and all faiths who had anything to do with God, but especially the Christianity. I want to get into a cult because it is difficult to understand something from a book with alot of scripts in Sumerian, Hebrew, etc. And it is very dangerous to do something wrong ... So I need a cult. Thats another thing. But I must tell you, no one of us is normal.'-- Dead, 1990


(l. to r.) Euronymous, Dead, Necrobutcher


Per Yngve Ohlin (January 16, 1969 – April 8, 1991), better known by his stage name Dead, joined the pioneering Norwegian Death Metal band Mayhem when his down band Morbid folded in 1988. Serious illness as a child and a near death experience convinced him that he had died and was now a being from another world. His beliefs are preserved in the vampiric lyrics he wrote for the album De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas. Dead reputedly carried around the carcass of a crow in a jar and would inhale fumes from it before taking the stage so he could perform with the stench of death in his nostrils. He also took to donning a white greasepaint visage, designed to mimic the pallor of 13th-century plague victims.

Necrobutcher (ex-Mayhem): 'It wasn't anything to do with the way Kiss and Alice Cooper used makeup. Dead actually wanted to look like a corpse. He didn't do it to look cool. He wouldn't eat for weeks in order to get starving wounds. He would draw snot dripping out of his nose. He was the first black metal musician to use corpse paint.'

Bård "Faust" Eithun (Emperor): 'He (Dead) wasn't a guy you could know very well. I think even the other guys in Mayhem didn't know him very well. He was hard to get close to. I met him two weeks before he died. I'd met him maybe six to eight times, in all. He had lots of weird ideas. I remember Aarseth was talking about him and said he did not have any humour. He did, but it was very obscure. Honestly, I don't think he was enjoying living in this world.'


Dead and Hellhammer


In order to complete his corpse-like image, Ohlin would bury his clothes before a concert and dig them up again to wear on the night of the event. According to bandmate Hellhammer, 'Before the shows, Dead used to bury his clothes into the ground so that they could start to rot and get that "grave" scent. He was a "corpse" on a stage. Once he even asked us to bury him in the ground - he wanted his skin to become pale.' Whilst singing on stage, Ohlin would often cut himself with hunting knives and broken glass. He claimed to be fascinated by people's reactions to this. During one concert in Sarpsborg during February 1990, Ohlin cut himself so badly that he had to be taken to hospital due to blood loss.

When Dead first arrived in Norway, Necro Butcher took it upon himself to make sure their new singer had somewhere to live and was looked after. On the other hand, Mayhem founding member and chief songwriter Euronymous -- later to become infamous himself when he was murdered by ex-Mayhem member and future cult hero Varg Vikernes (Burzum) -- apparently did his best to make Dead feel uncomfortable. 'He tried to psych him out,' says Necro Butcher. 'He would tell Dead, "We don't like you. You should just kill yourself." Stuff like that.'

And then, one day in the spring of 1991, Dead did just that. The members of Mayhem had moved to an old house in the forest in an area called Krakstad near Oslo to write and record their next album. Hellhammer claimed that Ohlin 'just sat in his room and became more and more depressed. It would take twenty minutes to get from the house to the nearest shop, and we had to go by train to the nearest town. Teachers from the nearby schools told children: “Do not come up to this house. The house is haunted!” Everybody hated us, but we enjoyed it. One day I decided to go to Oslo with my friends. Before the departure I met Dead. He was grim: “Look, I bought a big knife. It’s very sharp.” Those were the last words I heard from him.”'


Euronymous


















One day Euronymous came back to their house to discover Ohlin's body slumped against a wall. He had slashed his wrists with a butcher's knife and blown his brains out with a shotgun. His suicide note had a morbid humour . It read, 'Excuse all the blood. Let the party begin' and included an apology for firing the weapon indoors. Instead of calling the police, Euronymous hitchhiked to the nearest town and bought a disposable camera to photograph the corpse, after re-arranging some items. Later he called his bandmate Hellhammer: '“Dead went back home,” he told me. “Back to Sweden?” I wondered. “No, he’s blown his head.”'

'He called me up the next day,' recalled Necro Butcher, 'and says, "Dead has done something really cool! He killed himself." I thought, have you lost it? What do you mean cool? He says, "Relax, I have photos of everything." I was in shock and grief. He was just thinking how to exploit it. So I told him, "OK. Don't even fucking call me before you destroy those pictures."' Several years later a lurid photo of Dead, lying in a shabby room in which the only splash of colour was provided by his blood, somehow found its way onto the cover of a Mayhem bootleg produced in South America.


'Dawn of the Black Hearts'
















Eventually, rumours surfaced that Euronymous made a stew with pieces of Ohlin's brain, and made necklaces with fragments of Ohlin's skull. The band later stated that the former rumour was false, but that the latter was true. Additionally, Euronymous claimed to have given these necklaces to musicians he deemed worthy, and it's well known that several prominent musicians in the Black Metal field are in possession of skull fragments. 'Police took Dead’s body but we lived in the house for a few more weeks,' Hellhammer explained. 'Dead’s blood and pieces of skull were all over the room. Once I looked under his bed and found two big pieces of skull. I took one piece and Euronymous took the other. We made amulets out of them. Later on we lost them somehow. Somehow others have them now. It’s strange ...'

Necrobutcher: 'The Black Metal scene was just growing and we were doing what we were doing up until 1991 when our vocalist (Dead) killed himself. After that, it all started to happen. Some people became more aware of the scene after Dead had shot himself. After that, churches started to burn and it just went crazy here. I think it was Dead's suicide that really changed the whole scene. I think (his suicide) was a very fortunate situation to happen, and I think the scene would still be around and gone in the same direction as it had, maybe just a bit later on. I don't think it would have become as extreme as fast as it had in black metal. A lot of young musicians got into this scene because it was the most aggressive and violent scene out there at the time.'

Note: This text is collaged from numerous writers and sources: Chris Campion, The True Mayhem, Morbid Death Magazine, Sounds of Death Magazine, various interviews, a.o.







Dead walking outside the house in Krakstad


Mayhem rehearsing w/ Dead and Euronymous


Mayhem 'Deathcrush', live in 1990


Tribute to Dead







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p.s. Hey. I would like Dead to spend the weekend with you in proxy. Will you kindly indulge me? Thank you. Greetings to all of you from wherever I am.

Rerun: "in hopes" (orig. 01/02/09)

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p.s. Hey. Hooray for sadness. Warmest greetings to you from wherever. Have greatest possible days today. Bye 'til later.

Meet pretendpregnant, johnthestoner, drunkrocker, SmellyLoafers, and DC's other select international male slaves for the month of March 2015

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milknaked, 18
hello my name is milk . nice to meet you . i from dachau . serious . no joking . heil hitler . i not jew though just white gay . i looking for everything because that is what i am here but i will stop if i meet good gestapo . and i hope u will understand everyone not the same .





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JOHNNY_MASTERBREAKER, 19
ON YOUR FEET MASTERS!! LOOKING FOR MASTER,FEETMASTERS, FISTMASTERS, HUMAN TOILETMASTERS ,ASHTRAYMASTERS!!!!
LOOKING FOR A REAL MASTER TO LIVE IN HIS HOUSE AS HIS SLAVE AND DESIGN!!!

I OFFER:
-USE AS YOUR TOILET AND ASHTRAY,ALSO CIGARETTE BURNES
-IF U ARE BISEXUALS I CAN STAY HARD AROUND U AND UR GIRLFRIENDS OR WIVES WITHOUT PROBLEMS AND I ALSO CAN LICK WOMANS PUSSIES
-TRASH SLAVE WHO CAN LICK YOUR ASS,FEETS,ARMPITS AND OF COURSE I CAN KISS AND SUCK YOUR COCK
-I CAN TASTE AND SNIFF your WEARN SOCKS AND UNDERWEAR
-I CAN OF COURSE GET FUCKED SOFT OR VERY HARD
I AM LOOKING FOR ONLY MONSTERS NOT FAKERS AND LIARS,I DONT HAVE TIME TO LOOSE WITH IDIOTS

I DO NOT MEAN TO BRAG!!!





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Boyandhisdaddy, 24
We are a kinky couple. We're interested in finding another brother/son/house boy to join us. You'll be entirely passive & up to early 20's.
Man - 100% Active
"I am a really man I want do everything to you."
Boy - 100% Passive
"I am a really gay guy, I enjoy everything I am opened..."









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pregnantpretended, 22
Im bisexual, and i love pregnant bellies. Im a toned and fit bottom, great ass, and a special ability to bloat my belly to about 6 months. For all those men looking to explore something new, i am here to serve your pregnant sexual curiosity.

What i love the most is my belly being held, rubbed, felt, kissed, massaged, or even shaken. Please understand, however, i am not overweight or large, i am fit and toned snd can protrude my belly to make it look very pregnant. I have plenty of photos to show, but i am slightly discreet so please ask for them. I do allow and encourage orgasming on my belly, or body, i even do it myself sometimes. I am totally into 3 somes or multiple people of either gender, trans are fine too.

My goal is to create a very sexual, hot, intimate, and satisfying experience while using my special ability and skills. As long as you can penetrate me while pretending that i am carrying a child while holding my belly, we're gonna have a blast.






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jamielovesjizz, 21
Im jamie. Call me if your into wrecking a dirty fucking whorewho likes being stuffed with as many cocks as can possibly fit in my slutty holes and pumped full of hot cum and abused like the cumwhore rag i am. I love being a trashwhore so dont be afraid to tie me up, throw me around, treat me like I'm worthless. i suck harderwhen u treat me like the cum bucket i am. rape everything and dont forget to make me pass out by choking me . also i have no gag reflux so feel free to fuck my throat hrd and deep until i pass out. I will do anything for a load of your delicious hott cum even lie there unconshuss (sp).. just make sure u have a spoon to feed ur multiple loads to my body while u enjoy calling it dirty and nasty things . Ill do anything you want of me as long as you tie me up so im just a hanging doublesided slave being pounded and abused with no control of my fuck holes. Andas long as im getting pounded the fuck up u can do anything u want to my cum craving, cock stuffed ass. So bring a few friends please and pound a whore and degrade the fuck out me . i can be on my knees drinking ur yummy cum in less than an hour baby.

Guestbook of jamielovesjizz

Anonymous - 15.Mar.2015
thanks for the answer. i'm using corn oil. my stomach's a mess but the oil's doing what i need. the bitch is still here giving up his savaged hole's last loot. he's chemmed stupid and i'm happy as a clam. i'd post some video but i'm afraid it would get me arrested. ; )

Anonymous - 13.Mar.2015
i use cooking oil as lube for the same reason you do. corn oil is the least intrusive. olive oil is intense and adds flavor and odor but the combo of ass scum and olive oil taste is pretty sweet.

Anonymous - 13.Mar.2015
a question for anyone who happens to be online. jamie's coming over later and he's agreed to heavy unrestricted ass usage. i intend to get his hole massively gaped and wrecked. as much as i'm into twink hole destruction, i'm even more into serious ass eating, as much anal juice and scum and filth as i can squeeze out during and after the destruction. does anyone know a lube that'll facilitate the job of wrecking his hole and is also edible without too much interference in the taste and smell? thanks.








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inflatablepoollover, 23
I'm a straight boy who's obsessed with getting banged by lads in inflatable pools and getting fucked by the pool toys. I also pee on the toys and love getting pissed on by the lads.





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HappyHippo, 21
Hello my Dear!
So here's how it's gonna work!
I am an absolutely first class new slave from Poland. Total perfection like a rare pearl!
All the photos on this website are authentic. They are not retouched, beautified or modified.
I have never done this before so I am only starting it because I need to and it's only gonna be for a short period!!!
Looking for a fascination with beauty and intellect ... you have found.
You appreciate the slaves elegant, sensual, well-groomed, intelligent, and you are a man of exquisite taste, pending a meeting with the perfect slave, if you want a taste of rough sex with a hint of passion pinch of delicacy, taste delight, a whiff of luxury ... is the right place ...... ...
How sexy does that sounds!?!
At a meeting with me you can taste anal sex in positions which you want, blowjob with cumshot what you desire, erotic massage, kissing, fondling, 6/9 positions, I am also open to harsher climates ...
I don't know, there must be something I can do for you without the usual quick, dirty fuck of some half-cute idiot and go, Anything!!!
So here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna tell me what I can do for you and I will tell you if I am able to do it!!!
Simple as that.







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cristiano___, 21
he is body. I sell him for snuff only. 20,000 Euro. No bargaining, you are not buying vegetables. He is 21yrs, Romanian. Photos November 2014. Now he is thin, shaved, castrated. Snuff must happen in Ukraine. This is real.







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WhimsicalSlave, 20
Hello!
I'm twenty and looking for dominant guys my age or old tops with money offers.
I have some experience with websites like this and experiencing meeting up with people from them. I've only ever had bad experiences.

I'm extremely ticklish and looking particularly for a sadistic tickle-feet master or a gang of tickler-feet Masters.
I have a high possibility to travel this year to Argentina, Colombia, Brazil, Mexico, USA, Canada, Spain, England and Italy.
Next Year: USA, Europe, Philipines and Australia.

I'm new to the slave and master arrangement and I need some advice.
Are there agencies like with escorts (I used to be one) who handle the sale of slaves and the price negotiations and if so what is the average percentage of their cut of the proceeds?
I heard about an agency for escorts who specialize in selling masochists for a lot of money, anyone can help on that?

Sorry if I don't get back to your message, please do not take it personally.
This site never accepts my credit card so I'm limited on the messages I can send so I'm rather conservative with them.
Laughter is the best medicine for the soul, to reveal secrets, and to punish young guys.






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Wanttobehanged, 22
I am interested in hanging, specifically being hanged. I love the idea of being hanged by a women, but a man would work too. For me a hood is a very important part of a hanging. It focuses all attention to the body of the condemned which i find very erotic. I also have fantasies about being hanged to death but i don't wanna hook up to do it, i want to trust the women who does it and love her.







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Trashcan, 18
My name is Alexander, I am 18, and I recently found out that they are HIV + .... without I realize, I accidentally did a test and doctors have told me that they are HIV positive, that I will pray the masters visit profile not panic, can live a normal life with you otherwise, thank you






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no1knows, 24
I am for what I am, that's how I describe myself

I am not good person, for not good person

I am bad person, for bad person

I hate GOD

I love evil

I can be a incomprehensible thing

I am "not like every other boy" you've "brought to dinner"

I prefer to become immortal

I don't want to die

I am slightly crazy

Who would like to identify and use the sick of this blond







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SmellyLoafers, 23
I'm a first year university student who gets a boner every time I see a man (I prefer men 50 and over) wearing a pair of loafers without socks. It is my dream to tape my mouth shut, lie down on the ground and have a man rub his smelly feet (which have been in loafers all day) in my face while he ignores me. I'm not interested in getting or giving blowjobs, having sex, licking feet, seeing any cum, seeing cocks and so on. For me, it's all about having a man rub his smelly feet in my face! I might be able to lick feet, socks and shoes as time goes on but I'm just starting out so I want to stick with something I feel comfortable doing. Also, please don't send me photos of your cock, I said I wasn't interested so I hope you can all respect that.







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Iamforsale, 20
I don't used to it. I just need money for my SCHOOL EXPENSES and and am very good bottom who WANT TO BE WITH YOU IN THE BAD END FUCKED SO HARD as coincidence. There's no other way to help myself but this. I prefers do go to you if its posible. If not you can come to me but I need an hours warning to be able to get to Eals court where I rent a room. If you come to me I have to charge more as there is a fee I pay for the room.I hope this will help me a little. Again, for SCHOOL EXPENSES ONLY.






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IWILLBEFREE!, 24
Vicious, sex addicted monster wanted badly.
I have a very sick brain in a very cute velvety body. I don't know want to know how it survives there, don't ask.
I am an educated boy but this is the only way I know to solve my problem.
I can only bear bareback, with seropositiv sperm filling my mouth and ass. I will suck and ride the cock for as much time as needed.
I can take you in all position and get fuck with your huge toys and I am your bitch withouth murssie.
I also can play badminton with you, sing for you and dance with you.
I will most likely take care of your children, pets, or anything that requires nurturing.
I don t trust easy, nor am i paranoid.
I'm very high.

Guestbook of IWILLBEFREE!

Anonymous - 17.Jan.2015
You could say he's crazy and very very paranoid in a manner not sympathetic and he go mental places during sex I certainly did not want to go! Don't treat him as sentient human being!

althatlust - 26.Feb.2015
so was grad times with him again this afternoon and am once again full cost of my birth was the sweet boyarsch.
he does deserve to get ripped apart by usern who want to scrub only when writing a here.
if you are no longer the ass in the pants have someone come to live.

Fred67 - 19.Jan.2015
Could now for the umpteenth time spend several hours screwing the shit out of Justin. Very emotional time ....

althatlust - 01.Sep.2014
Oh god, you have to have this young just be careful there is investigated potential. This slim body can withstand more than one dares to hope. If you then edit the skin with your tongue he already writhes and watching your spear to go back. And should be enjoyed because at some point the young to be so hot that he begs fucked really hard and the trim him nipple.





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ArthurfromFinland, 21
I'm the boy in the news that makes your heart beat faster when you read I was killed in a school shooting.

I'm the one getting bullied on Facebook while you watch and play with your erection.

I am the type where you get dizzy when you see me fall hurt off my skateboard.

I'm the one to whom you think to torture while you fuck your wife.

I am the biggest dream of your loneliest hour.

And I am beyond your reach.

But I want to make you a present ...





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BROKENHOME, 18
I am for anyone forever if you want to have me u better tell me, then lets talk about it. And one thing is for sure once you owned me i'll go anywhere where you want.

I am just a simple Viet-Boy looking for someone who can released me with my parent's hand. Because i really really don't like to stay with them anymore, I am fucking so tired following all their commands of what i should do in everyday of my life, I really can't stay with it for everything of what they want me to do!

So please help me to be free to feel the true freedom of being like this a 'slave'. I am now giving you my self just to feel the true hapiness.







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ROXANE, 23
Roxane was the dirty, pervy little slavish slut of Alexander The Great...

She would like to have a word with you...

Are you ready to blow maddening & irresistible language?





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KidnappedGeorge, 18
I'm George and I was kidnapped at age 10. It was all over the news and everything. It lasted a week and the kidnapper had sex with me constantly but I never told anyone about the sex. I loved the sex. I loved it so much! He was like a pig and I was like his trough. Wowwwwwwww! I went from being a shy, awkward little kid with almost no friends to being told I was "the cutest boy in the world, "the hottest piece of ass on earth."

He stalked me for six months before grabbing me. He fucked me six or seven times a day! He couldn't stop talking about how beautiful I was. It was like a perfect world! I would have stayed with him, but he got scared of the police. He killed himself before they caught him so the sex we had is still a secret. Since then I've wanted to be kidnapped again every day of my life! Interested?

I'm a huge sucker for Hand-Gags! That's how the man got me. If you pull one of them out on me...I would jump into your car! You wouldn't even have to drag me! I'd willingly get into the car! I also love the "kidnapper" to be in a suit. He wore a suit. That just turns me on. Pure kink!

When I'm not dreaming about some man grabbing me off the street and raping me constantly I like to keep myself busy with sports! I go to the gym regularly but LOVE busting out on the courts in basketball and having a great game of footie. I also wanna do porn so bad.





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drunkrocker, 22
i'm a boy in Sweden who's been drinking himself to death since i was 12 and just realized why the other day. i can't explain it but all i'll say is to stop drinking i know i need a gay guy who wants to hang out with me and chem me and spend a long time opening my hole with tongue toys fist and cock until it's gaping then to go totally crazy and vacuum pump my anus, scrub it raw with a brush, pour () or even glue inside, or use it as your purse, ... everything you ever wished you had. i keep deleting this account then coming back. i know im not the exact person you've been looking for, but my ass can give you more than the person's ass you love before. ps: i'm not really in Sweden, i just based myself there so i can talk to its people.







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VladtheImpaled, 19
Hey I'm really lonely and I'd really like it if someone could hang out with me or something. I live in the US in Maryland. I love sex and some drinks and playing guitar.






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vodkaandsex5, 23
ASSET(Passive person) only. Dog job security /construction site. Wuss slut ruled in security holding(dress) / construction site / looks only passive for any kinds(genres) progressive pro which knows what he wants not here for CLAPTRAP 10 fill. Time(weather) to determine. To jabber channel-flicks express, me real pretty wasted, serious, discreet (I have girl) regular OK (be clear) any possible trips - of the soft in the hard (moves me only)
If want you me raised(drawn up) as you raise(draw up) your dog...
If want you me climbed(soared) by a good horse
Cool plan, survet, skets...
Or if you prefer the things(tricks) illegal
I adapt myself to everything. That I am subjected or your inequal, I take him(it) with pleasure, and my only objective
The realization of your fantasy stays. Lope and Slavic subdued dog ( nes ) (his)((her), Foreigner(Foreign countries)... (I' m cute wasted shit) ps: My trips: cowl, Beatings, Fistee, Fetichiste, Dildos, Maso, Plan in 3, Poppers, (I am excellent asset(holes) for your Gang Bang), Sodomy, Submission, Spits and copious insults, Slaughter(Cutting down), Uro, Videos, Voyeurism, beating, strangling (nothing negotiable )
For mythos and a pain of the keyboard KRAWOUD (OUT)!!! It is not a site of discussions, but a place for those who want of good very cute scum!!! And of the concrete!!!






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50ShadeOfGrey, 19
I watched 50 Shade of Grey and I love it... Scared to try, but I want hurt too much like that.





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Rick, 24
no limits tried all start the show

looking to become owned and made into a thing no morals no way out till my death do us part

last owner kicked me in the balls then in stomach, then tied me down to the table couldn't move was totally hopeless then took a whip what was a barbed wire whip then whipped me for hours I was covered in blood

last owner put jumper cables on me balls and wired it to a battery done it for 25 mins I was in agony I passed out then he kept me out with cloroform for 24 hours, then when i woke up i was being dubble punch fisted

last owner used me in particular to satisfy his lust for near death torture, cord strangulation drowning noose hanging plastic bag suffication, i was resesitated several times

would I do iit again hell yess I want this life everyday

last owner died of natural causes abruptly yesterday hint hint





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johnthestoner, 18
I want to try everything now Sat 21 March.
So much I need to try.
I need some guys that can try stuff with.
I will wait.







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p.s. Hey. New if expected post today. Also, I'm briefly interrupting the current preprogrammed hello/ intro p.s.-ette tradition -- hi! -- from my away time to say that, before I took off, a handful of locals had suggested that they were either thinking of or in the process if devising guest-posts. If so, and if you can manage to build and send them to me (dcooperweb@gmail.com) this week or at the weekend, you would be doing the blog and me a really big favor because, at the moment, I have zero new posts made to restart the blog in its usual form on Tuesday. Thanks, if you can. Okay, enjoy the slaves. Everything's good where I am, and I'll fill you in and start bouncing off you again in a week from today.

Rerun: Frank's Box: The Real Telephone to the Dead (orig. 03/20/09)

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Electronic voice phenomena, abbreviated as EVPs, are sections of noise on the radio or electronic recording that reveal sounds resembling voices speaking words. Paranormal investigators sometimes interpret these noises as the voices of ghosts or spirits. Recording EVP has become a technique of those who attempt to contact the souls of dead loved ones or during ghost hunting activities.





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The Dead Can Hear You! Can You Hear Them?


'Frank Sumption says he received instructions for building the device that he calls Frank's Box from disembodied entities. His first box was built in 2002, and he has made slightly more than three dozen. While anyone can build one from his schematics, there seems to be something especially effective about the boxes hand-made by Sumption himself.

'Frank’s Box allows for two-way communication with the other side, in a way that is more interactive than typical EVPs. Frank’s Box or the Ghost Box as it has come to be known is an electronic system, or method of spirit communication, also known as instrumental trans-communication, or ITC. Simply put Frank’s Box scans AM/FM and low band frequencies to create a noise matrix from which the dead — as well as other entities — can use to modulate for messages.

'Frank's spirit receiver starts off with a standard white noise generator which is fed through a random voltage circuit of Frank's own design. The random voltage is linked to an AM radio receiver which reacts to the voltage by tuning to a specific spot on the radio dial. This is known as voltage tuning and is a common function of late 80s and early 90s radio receivers. Though various radio stations are turned in for a split second every so often along with regular static, the devices also allows the spirits to interact with the device and create their own vocals through the receiver and for lack of a better term, talk through the device.

'A newer version of the box simply tunes back and fourth through the AM band which Frank is calling the "Sweep"method. At first, he believed that the random voltage design is what allowed it to work but after using the sweep method, he has since changed his mind as it seems to do a better job. Frank has made his plans available on the Internet for anyone who is interested in experimenting with his device. He also makes available his own receiver plans for those who want to take it a step further and create the entire box from start to finish.' -- Ghost Hunters of America

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Frank's Box: the practicalities #1





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Frank's Box Predictions from the Spirit World 2009
as told to Lisa Lee Harp Waugh, world renowned Necromancer




Earth Quakes rattle the world from January to December. China's Earth Quake will kill many thousands, The number will grow into the thousands each day. And then all goes quiet until late July early August when the cycle it begins again. But this is a precursor to more to come. It may take two to three weeks or more before aftershocks stop. Then another quake hits to the west of Reno. I also have heard from them that many people won't be able to buy earthquake insurance.

A 70-year-old woman scares would-be teen thieves from her house by hitting one with her favorite saucepan, made by celebrity chef Emeril Lagasse.

CBS will be streaming free TV programming to iPhone users.

Obamas Choose Portuguese Water Dog as First Pet.

Spring will arrive early, with generally warm temperatures in March. Poor rains, soaring global food prices will make children mute, skeletal in several countries.

A global coastal event of catastrophic proportions is likely in early to mid 2009. There will be a permanent loss of low-lying territory globally and the spirits foresee that one continent in particular will get hit badly, but they do not say which one.


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Frank's Box: the practicalities #2





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How to build the box "schematics" for Frank's Box




Click on one of the Link Below to Download Original Schematics to the "Ghost Box"

* Frank Sumption Original Ghost Box Schematics PDF File



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A Few Words from Frank Sumpton




I make the boxes, still can't mass produce the stuff, and rarely take requests, nor do interviews. It has to do with time, nothing else. As far as not producing the boxes, all attempts at mass production have been blocked so far.

I'm #39 so far, and the box continues to evolve, now using a linear scan system that results in more consistent messages. 36, 37, 38, and 39 are AM and FM linear scan boxes. 36, 37 and 38 are based on the Radio Shack 12-469, but instead of doing the hack in it, I use it as a tuner module. 39 uses an AM/FM car tuner module as the radio. 35 is a home made AM radio tuner. I started using home made tuners in #24, but still use pre-manufactured tuners when I can get them, as they eat up less board real estate.




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Frank's Box in action

























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p.s. Hey. I think an argument could be made that any paranormal-themed post, however so-so in quality, is somehow better than any other post, no matter its quality. Or something. Anyway, hi from the midst of my vacation!

Rerun: Jax presents ... My Favourite Mosques (0rig. 03/02/09)

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Regular readers of Dennis's blog will be familiar with my ongoing flirtation with all things Islamic. I don't believe in any formal God-figure, so I'm not sure how or even quite why this crush has come about. But I can tell you when and where, almost to the minute. At dawn, on an October day ten years ago in an attic hotel room in Istanbul overlooking the Blue Mosque, I heard my first muezzin's call to prayer.





My stomach flipped over. The hair on the back of my neck literally stood on end. Maybe I'm just particularly susceptible to the pentatonic scale but I scrambled half asleep to our tiny window, fascinated, and opened it.

It was still dark outside but the city below had been awake for hours. Great oil tankers queued in the Bosphorus, waiting to pass through the straits on their return home to the Black Sea. The night-fishing boats unloaded their catch onto the quay amidst clouds of seagulls. Trams rattled along the streets, car headlights twinkled in the half light, streaming over the bridge from the west part of the city to its eastern sector, their horns honking impatiently.

The sound which had wakened me was now joined by other calls from mosques all over the city, an alternative dawn chorus. And I was completely smitten.

Since that autumn morning there have been many other such moments which defy words and thus descriptions. Like wandering through an Roman ancient cemetery at noon, in the southern Syrian city of Bosra, trying to find shade at a time of day when shadow is not thrown, and hearing the muezzins call begin to sound from every direction: old voices merging with young, barely broken voices which sound almost female, while the sun beats mercilessly down overhead and lizards scurry into corners. Feeling lost and hot and smiling...

In the decade spanning 1999 and now, I've visited as many countries where Islam is the dominant religion as I can. I've found architecture ancient and modern to blow me away. I've found people who confirm and contradict all my preconceptions - literature, music, sights, smells, philosophies and sexual practices which have made me re-evaluate my stance on so much. Something in all this speaks to me, breaks down my ego and gives me peace. I have no idea if it's religious, ethnic, cultural or aesthetic in nature. I do know it's alien. And I like that. Even if I can't explain it. Or perhaps exactly because I can't.

So here in no particular order are my Top Five Favourite Mosques from five different cities and countries. They're favourite not for spiritual reasons, in any conventionally religious sense at least, and they're all totally different: noisy, silent, ancient, modern. They're connotative for me, I suppose. Personal places of pause - an alternative souvenir, a reminder of incidents and encounters which otherwise leave me without words.



Aya Sofia - Istanbul 

This massive structure is 1,600 years old and was originally built as a Christian church - the name means 'holy wisdom' in Greek - only to be reconsecrated as a mosque by the Ottomans in the fifteenth century. Modern Turkey's founder Attaturk worked his secularist magic and turned it into a museum in 1935. It's got these great dome things balanced on each other which seem to defy gravity. As mosques go, it's unusually gloomy inside – at least it was when I visited – maybe cos it no longer functions as a mosque. But it still does its job: in a hot, sunshine-y city it remains a cool, dark space where one's footsteps echo around its ancient stone walls and thoughts turn to matters bigger than oneself. Aya Sophia was my first mosque. I thought they'd all be like this. I was wrong.






Sayyiduna Al-Hussein -Cairo

Flash forward a year: it's April 2001. We're staying in a hotel of the same name across the square from this mosque and, at the time, have no idea it's one of Islam's holiest spaces. Since the head of Mohammed's grandson Ali Hussein is reputedly interred here it's considered way too sacred for non-Moslems to enter. Not that we have any inclination to go inside: we're too busy battling through the onslaught of humanity that is Cairo, guidebook in hand in search of its 'must-see' places. We never find a quarter of them: we get lost an hundred times, are gently set back on track by helpful locals only to get lost again. People insist on buying us coffees, people practise their English on us, trying to execute a simple task like crossing the bloody road is a nightmare and nothing is where it was supposed to be. Full-on Cairo's like an assault.

At least three times a day we scurry back to the relative peace of our room in the Al Hussein hotel (the building to the left, in the photo) just to get breathing space on our little balcony. And every time we do so, the muezzin in the Al-Hussein mosque across the square seems to be wailing. How we manage to coincide with prayer-time I have no idea. But we do – each night we collapse into bed, clubbed into submission by a city that never lets up, drifting off to the evening call to prayer, only to be nudged awake at dawn next morning by the same, with the muezzin sounding like he's in the same room as us we're so close to the mosque. Slowly, a rhythm develops, five punctuations in each 24-hour sequence. Okay, we're not praying in any conventional sense. But prayer's about more than talking to a God. Maybe it's about simultaneously being in sync with yet apart from one's surroundings. Whatever it is, by the time comes to leave, we've uncovered the secret of crossing the road in Cairo: deep breath and just launch yourself into the traffic. It works.





The clip's from a cafe opposite the mosque. For me, it just sums up Cairo.



Hassan II - Casablanca 

It's January 2002. Post-11th September. The world has discovered the existence of Islam. But it's not the Islam I know.

Most mosques are so light and airy – the complete opposite of dark, gloomy Christian cathedrals. As if to emphasise this, the Hassan II mosque (built to celebrate the eponymous king's 60th birthday) features a retractable roof which opens Tracy-Island-like as if in preparation for the launch of Thunderbird 1, as well as a laser on top of the minaret which sends a red beam towards Mecca in the evenings. It's also built on land reclaimed from the sea. Very modern, this mosque: designed by a Frenchman and completed in 1993 it's completely massive and perches mere metres from the pounding sea on Morocco's Atlantic. This is only of only two mosques in the entire country which admit non-Moslems, and even then you have to take the guided tour. But it's a small price to pay to wander its vast marble interior: for the size-queens amongst us, it's the 3rd largest Mosque in the world. The sheer scale of the place humbles the ego and calms the mind. Maybe it's the modernity of the building, but there's also a sense of the here and now: an emphasis on trying to reconcile the present with the past. A bit like what Morocco itself – along with the rest of the world – is trying to do right now. This clip says it all.






The Umayyad (The Great Mosque) - Damascus 

Where the sheer scale of Hassan II is slightly intimidating, where Al-Hussein in Cairo's so sacred infidels can't even enter, the Umayyad is positively laid-back. Take your shoes off and just wander around, worship, meditate, meet the locals and in general just hang out. Damascus is that kind of city. It's Cairo without the onslaught, Morocco without the rap-music. The muezzins calls are still there, but there's a secular, very French feel to the Syrian capital, with way more women without the hijab than with. What's happened to the wonderful otherness? Am I merely becoming used to Islam? Or is this what it feels like in a country determined to separate state and religion?

Remember the head of Mohammed's grandson, back in Al-Hussein in Cairo? It was displayed here in the Umayyad, for a while. These days it's John the Baptist's noggin which has pride of place...well, pride of place in a casket behind a shrouded gate.

Since there are at least three other sites throughout the region claim ownership of said head, we're still a little disrespectfully giggly when we stroll round the back of Umayyad to visit Saladin's tomb: confusingly, there are two sarcophogi on display – the original 12th century plaid cedar box containing his body, and this wildly ornate marble creation donated by German emperor Wilhelm II. We're trying to work out what on earth Saladin could possibly have been to this guy when a bus-load of elderly ladies, head to foot in black, on some sort of tour troupe into the small mausoleum.

They smile politely at us but soon there are real tears, real emotion. They stroke the plain wooden box which contains the remains of a man who died penniless, having given away most of his money to charity. It's a genuinely humbling experience: something real to take home from this country our media has to gall to tell us is part of an axis of evil. Along with the best hot chocolate I've ever tasted.






The Mezquita - Cordoba





Flash forward a few thousand miles and the odd millennium to Andalusia. No muezzins summon anyone to prayer here these days, not in Catholic Spain. But click on the link above, listen to the ululating song which accompanies that most Spanish of institutions, the flamenco, and the Moorish, Islamic legacy's still there. Like the great Mezquita's still there, albeit with a Christian cathedral built inside its great prayer hall.





We visited Cordoba on a day trip from Seville, during the autumn school-break. The place was full of parties of sight-seeing teenagers and tourists. But still there was peace. In somewhere this big, this old, this beautiful, it's hard not to find peace unless one is intentionally trying to avoid it. Countless arches of jasper, marble and granite mesmerise the eyes like an Escher etching, focusing the brain and slowly calming it.

I'm still not religious. I still don't believe in a God in any accepted sense. Maybe I believe in buildings, in music, in people. Maybe that's my 'other', the thing that's bigger than me. The thing which brings me perspective.

I hope you guys get something out of all this.
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p.s. Hey. I miss d.l. and awesome writer Jax. A lot of you guys know and remember him, I'm sure. You know what I mean? He made this post for us a long time ago back when this blog was one of his second homes. Get into it for today, please. Thank you.

Rerun: The booklets of Austin Osman Spare: Earth: Inferno (1905), The Book of Pleasure (Self-Love) (1909-1913) (orig. 05/29/05)

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'Austin Osman Spare (December 30, 1886 - May 15, 1956) was an English artist and magician. He was the son of a London policeman. As a child, he showed an affinity for art, and he briefly attended an art school. At the age of 13, he left school to become an apprentice to a stained glass maker. During his teen years, his fascination for the occult grew apace, heavily influencing the work he produced. In May 1904 one of his drawings was exhibited at the annual Royal Academy exhibition in London, generating a storm of publicity for the young artist.

'In October 1907 Spare exhibited his drawings at the Bruton gallery in London. His work resembled that of Aubrey Beardsley, but was full of grotesque, sexualized human figures and magical symbols. These elements appealed to avant-garde London intellectuals, and brought him to the attention of Aleister Crowley. Spare became a Probationer of Crowley's order Argenteum Astrum ("Of the Silver Star") in July 1909, but was not initaiated as a member, although he contributed four small drawings to Crowley's publication The Equinox. Crowley later characterized Spare as a "Black Brother", meaning that he did not approve of the goals of Spare's magical philosophy.

'In 1905, Spare published his first book, Earth: Inferno. It remains a powerful work and made clear Spare’s agenda: mystical, grotesque, often dark and polemic, Earth: Inferno seeks to challenge the reader to see the world askance, through the eyes of the artist. The book was privately published in 1905 - prior to his first notorious West End exhibition at The Bruton Gallery. If there had been any doubt as to Spare’s intent, this show dispelled any lingering uncertainty. One critic wrote: “His inventive faculty is stupendous and terrifying in its creative flow of impossible horrors …” Spare's iconoclasm and aversion to moralism as well as his sigilization was influential on the Western esoteric tradition that later came to be known as chaos magic.'-- Austinspare.co.uk. & Fulgur Limited

























































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'Spare's association with Crowley didn’t last long partly because, although barely twenty years old at the time, he had begun work on The Book of Pleasure, and was beginning to form his own ideas concerning the practice of magic. As well as drawings, it includes detailed instructions for his system of sigilization and the well known 'death postures'. He has much to say about human hypocrisy, religion and the meanings of true personal freedom and power. The Book of Pleasure reeks of diabolism to such an extent that Mario Praz in The Romantic Agony (Oxford, 1933) refers to Spare as an English "satanic occultist", and he places him in the same category as his nemesis Aleister Crowley. The Book of Pleasure (Self-Love) is seen by many as the core of Austin Spare’s magical philosophy and his most important and influential work.'-- Austinspare.co.uk. & Fulgur Limited















































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p.s. Hey. It's not so easy to see Austin Osman Spare's booklets, but you can see two of them in the form of mid-to-low/mid-quality scans today. Nice? See you.

Rerun: A short, effortless recounting of Tim Buckley's brief, inconvenient stylistic trajectory (orig. 04/23/09)

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'You know, people don't hear anything. That's why rock 'n' roll was invented, to pound it in. That whole stuff has got to stop, because music is being poisoned by the people. I see where I'm headed--yeah, into a progressive thing--there's going to be a change and I can't help the people.'-- Tim Buckley, 1970

'It is not that Tim did not want to please his listeners. He very much wanted them to enjoy his offerings. However, he also wanted to grow as an artist, to seek new approaches to composition and performance. He wanted to evolve. And he did, through five distinct generic phases: folk, folk/rock, jazz, avant-garde and white funk dance music. Along the way he listened to everything from Duke Ellington, Pete Seeger, and Fred Neil, to Miles Davis, Stravinsky, Stockhausen, and Penderecki. By the time he reached Lorca and Starsailor, he knew he was the most impassioned and technically innovative singer of his era. He knew the past; he knew the present; he stretched his psyche and his soul into the future.'-- Lee Underwood, 2007



Tim Buckley - Once I Was (Live'68)


'Tim Buckley recorded his debut album, Tim Buckley, over three days in Los Angeles in August 1966. Buckley later remarked that recording was "Like Disneyland. I'd do anything anybody said". The album's folk-rock style was largely typical of the time but Buckley's distinctive voice and melodic compositions garnered positive reviews upon its release in late 1966. On later reflection, guitarist Lee Underwood summed it up as "a first effort, naive, stiff, quaky and innocent [but] a ticket into the marketplace". Producer Jac Holzman expressed similar sentiments, stating in 1991 in the periodical Musician that Buckley "wasn't really comfortable in his own musical skin". Lyricist Larry Beckett suggested that the band's desire to please the prospective audience held them back. Despite having some aspects in common with Bob Dylan, in terms of musical style and fashion sense, Buckley distanced himself from comparisons, expressing a general apathy towards the artist and his work. Whilst his second album, the more ambitious Goodbye and Hello did not make Buckley a star, it performed better in the charts than his previous effort, peaking at #171.



'Morning Glory', 1968


'After Buckley's long time lyricist Larry Beckett was drafted into the Army, Buckley was free to develop his own individual style, without the literary restraints of before. He described the music he was associated with at the time as "White thievery and an emotional sham." Drawing inspiration from jazz greats such as Charles Mingus, Thelonious Monk, Roland Kirk, and vocalist Leon Thomas, his subsequent independently-recorded music was vastly different from previous recordings. His third album Happy Sad alienated much of his prior audience. He began to weave in new songs into his performances, featuring an increasingly minimalist sound from his heavily orchestrated first two albums, and introducing a vibraphone player into his band. However, this attempted rejuvenation was a commercial failure; becoming largely based on improvisation, his performances were less accessible to the audiences who saw him as a folk-rock poster boy.



'Blue Melody', 1969


from 'Lorca', 1970


'During 1969, Buckley began to write and record material for three different albums: Lorca, Blue Afternoon, and Starsailor. Inspired after hearing the singing of avant-garde musician Cathy Berberian, he decided to integrate the ideas of composers such as Luciano Berio and Iannis Xenakis in an avant-garde rock genre. He started to fully utilize his voice's impressive range. Lorca was viewed as a failure by many fans who, shocked by its completely different style, found the vocal gymnastics too abstract and far removed from his previous folk-rock rooted albums, and Blue Afternoon was criticized as boring and tepid. Vocally and instrumentally haunting, Starsailor was highly original, with free jazz textures under Tim's most extreme grunting and wailing vocals to date. At times his voice sounds disturbed and depressed. Despite including 'Song to the Siren', the song that would end up being his most covered and revered, the album shared the same response as the Lorca album. Impervious to Buckley's avant-garde style, few of his fans were aroused, and most disliked it.



from 'Starsailor', 1970


'I Woke Up', 1970


'After the failure of Starsailor, Buckley's live performances degraded to insincere chores and he eventually ended up unsellable. Unable to produce his own music and almost completely broke, he turned to alcohol and drug binges. Two years later, financially depleted and craving recognition, he released three rock/soul/funk albums - Greetings from L.A., Sefronia and Look at the Fool. They all failed. Fundamentally Tim was unhappy with the systematic and shallow R&B structure of the lyrics and music, despite being a fan of the genre. His distaste with bowing to commercial pressures from his manager soon left him without a recording contract. On June 28, 1975, Buckley completed the last show of a tour in Dallas, Texas, playing to a sold-out venue with 1,800 people in attendance. Buckley celebrated the culmination of the tour with a weekend of drinking and drugging with his band and friends, as was his normal routine. Having diligently controlled his drug habit while on the road, his tolerance was lowered, and the combination of the drugs he took mixed with the amount of alcohol he had consumed throughout the day was too much. The coroner's report by Dr. Joseph H. Choi stated that he died at 9:42pm, June 29, 1975, from "acute heroin/morphine and ethanol intoxication due to inhalation and ingestion of overdose".'

* text collaged from various sources



'Honey Man', 1974


'I think of our culture like I think of bacteria. Rock 'n' roll keeps the traffic moving to an adolescent pulse. Politics, prime-time TV, Danny Thomas and the game shows--it's all bought and sold and planned out to get a response, and the response is planned in order not to get in the way of the next one. But man's music--his bout with the gods--has nothing to do with the latest crimes. It's too personal to isolate, too intimate to forget, and too spiritual to sell.' -- Tim Buckley, 1970



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p.s. Hey. I'll be back here in a couple of days. For now, maybe give your attention over to this consolidated overview of the trajectory of the great Tim Buckley. Thanks! See you soon!
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