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Oops I Did It Again

Excuse the horniness of the last post. There is something to be said about the threat of utter annihilation and having your prostate battered within an inch of its life.

It seems that war talk has simmered back down, so we’re back to our regularly scheduled program, whatever that means. After the holidays, we’re back to the five-day work weeks and everything that entails. Well until this weekend with the three-day weekend, and then I’m off to Vegas this weekend for my cousin Gina’s birthday weekend — a four-day weekend.

I don’t feel regular.

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Iran and Fucking

So we have an illegitimate president breaking the War Powers Act of 1973 and assassinating folks halfway across the world, and it’s hard not to regress to childhood and the threat of nuclear annihilation. It’s how I grew up, and old habits die hard.

All day Friday at work with the end of the world looming in my mind, there was one thing that I kept thinking of: I need to fuck like crazy.

SOCguy and I had been messaging to one another the last few months on various platforms: Scruff, Recon, Asspig. Since we’re a little far apart as he lives in South Orange County, we’ve kept missing each other. We finally made it work Friday night and he came over around 9 pm.

SOC walked in and immediately started kissing me knocking me onto my couch. I love a man with initiative, and fuck he tasted good, like he sucked down on an Altoid about half an hour ago. Each time his tongue snaked past my lips made me moan.

He shucked his shoes off, and I pulled him by his hoodie towards my bedroom in the back of my apartment, bumping into everything down my narrow hallway as we exchanged saliva. There was a desperation in our intimacy, and it seemed like we were of one organism with no time left in this worlf. Off went his hoodie. Then my tshirt. Then his tank. Then my pants. This his shorts.

We made it to my bedroom and my bed — the centerpiece of the room. He pushed me back onto it all the while continuing to maul me. Next thing I’m acutely aware of is him fucking me hard without abandon. I’m moaning up a storm and realizing that for the first time since I’ve come back from Europe I am sweating.

I cum first — I usually do because my prostate really loves dick. All over my comforter. Fuck, I guess someone is doing laundry tomorrow. It’s at this point I want things to be over, but I’m sure Emily Post would frown upon sending a suitor home without allowing him to cum. I am a gentleman after all.

So I pull him out of me and suck him off. I instantly remember a joke I’ve been telling this holiday season: that gay guys will eat ass but we refuse to touch the bathroom door knob. Here I am putting a dick that had been in my ass into my mouth. I stifle a laugh and get on with it.

He finally pulls out, strokes his dick a couple of times and cums all over my chest.

We kiss slowing getting our heartbeats back to normal. “That was wild,” he said making conversation.

“Indeed it was.”

We showered together, and he took off. I sat on my couch, my asshole buzzing from the pounding and thought about war. Guess it didn’t work.

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Kim Gordon’s Panties

After the demise of Big Black, Steve Albini decided to mock his friends in Sonic Youth by ripping off the riff of their 1987 song “Schizophrenia” and entitling it “Kim Gordon’s Panties” with his new band Rapeman. I don’t know why I thought of this when I first listened to Kim Gordon’s first solo album No Home Record.

Kim Gordon has always been a hero of mine, so it’s really aspiring that here she is releasing her first solo album at the age of 66.

A meditation of pop, rock and electronics given the expected experimental twist you would expect of someone who was in Sonic Youth for 30-some odd years, it is happy, confusing and forlorn.

My biggest complaint is that it is not longer. Clocking in at just over 39 minutes, it opens with a very Björkish “Sketch Artist.” It’s the complete standout of the record. I expected to hear Bjork’s bluesy wails set against the wall of electronics, but instead there are Kim’s hip breathy attitude which is just as appropriate as Icelandic scatting.

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2020 Is Here

After drinking in the New Year on my couch, I woke up to 2020 by taking Dallas Aunt to the airport. She arrived on Xmas Eve, and it was extraordinarily a non-friction stay. I wouldn’t call it pleasant by any means since my space had, after all, been invaded. But it was about as good as it could be.

At noon it was off to my uncle’s house for food. Since I missed Thanksgiving thanks to my European vacay, it was nice seeing the lot of them. Of course there was the traditional rice dumpling soup (떡국.) But there was also japchae (잡채,) LA galbi (갈비,) dumplings (만두) and other yummy foods.

So I guess it’s a nice start to the year.

Last night in all of my excitement, I took my first nude and published it on Instagram. What a thirst trap.

Happy New Year!
Nude!
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The Year 2019

I don’t know quite how to judge a year. Since unlike 2018 I didn’t almost die, I guess it was a successful year.

Here are the places I travelled to this year:

  • Seoul, South Korea
  • Singapore
  • Honolulu, Hawaii
  • San Francisco, California
  • Montana and Idaho
  • Copenhagen, Denmark
  • Amsterdam, Netherlands
  • Brussels, Belgium
  • Paris, France
  • London, England

I turned 40 this year and wasn’t as traumatized about it as I thought. It was also the year I did hallucinogens for the first time in 20 years. I mean, it is legal in Amsterdam, so why not take advantage while I’m there?

Here are the top 15 bands and musicians I listened to this year:

  1. Nine Inch Nails
  2. Mr. Kitty
  3. Ministry
  4. Skinny Puppy
  5. Front Line Assembly
  6. Depeche Mode
  7. Kanga
  8. Unwound
  9. Bjork
  10. Hante.
  11. Nirvana
  12. Tool
  13. Aesthetic Perfection
  14. Boy Harsher
  15. PJ Harvey

I kept promising to revive The B&J Podcast but didn’t. I do think it will happen in 2020.

I do have half the mind to delete Facebook. But only half. The other half? Don’t know where that is.

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Intervention

This is exactly what I posted on Facebook on Thursday: “I see a lot of people talking about Hole’s “Live Through This” today on its 25th anniversary. But I really love this b-side [“Old Age”, a b-side on the “Violet” single.] Actually it’s my favorite Hole song that brings tears to my eyes.”

Holy shit I am really fucking inarticulate!

That last sentence should have read, “Actually it’s my favorite Hole song, and it always brings tears to by eyes.”

Moral of the story: I need to write more. Fuck. I’m sorry folks for being so fucking inarticulate. I’ll get my head out of my own ass soon. I hope.

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Strange Weekend

Last weekend was a strange weekend for one reason: I was out of the house. I rented the Wow! room at the Standard Hotel in DTLA. I think part of it was to relive my birthday from 2011 when things were a lot sloppier thanks to some Fernet and a coworker having sex with a random on the couch.

Friday after work and getting settled in, I went to see Mr.Kitty over at Catch One for his album release party. His new album Ephemeral really touched me. A tribute to his friend who killed himself last year, it’s depressing and suicidal with dancey beats.

Mr. Kitty mid-jump.

It was great to see him perform, jumping around, moshing in the crowd, screaming into the mic and pressing buttons and keys. I wanted to cry and dance all at once.

Saturday was running around the city taking in everything. I decided to take the train to Hollywood to see Harmony Korine’s new film The Beach Bum at the Arclight which did not disappoint at all. Then it was off to Skylight Books where I bought too many books.

Saturday night was my little soiree where people came to the room armed with food and drinks. There was homemade chocolate chip cookies and carrot cake! Korean-style fried chicken! Pizza! Smoked salmon bites! Donut Friend! Black Balloons!

Black Balloons
Balloons in my room after the soiree.

The thing that distinguishes this party from a 30-year old’s party is that everyone was gone early enough that I was in bed by 1 a.m. And I’m totally okay with that.

Sunday was more books and just lazing around. I checked out Monday morning and went straight to work. It was a strange weekend compared to my usual hiding from the world that I do. I know this weekend won’t compare.

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40

For someone who doesn’t take the concept of aging very well, this one was a doozy. I’ve been dreading this ever since I was throwing up from food poisoning the day after my 30th birthday.

My 30s were a roller coaster of unpredictability, regret, depression, death, loneliness and resignation. I abruptly quit one job to go into another that I was mediocre (at best) at, watched my grandmother die slowly over the course of several years, being flung back into the real world not knowing if I had coping skills to operate within its barbaric structures. It was a decade of poverty while being yelled at consistently for not having any money. I thought about ending these twice while things almost did (unwillingly) end for me this past year.

What really got me in this milestone birthday was the regret of a pretty wasted decade.

To be honest, I don’t really know where I expected to be at this point in life. I guess I expected to feel more at ease in life instead of this quivering mess of depression and anxiety who’s barely keeping it together and by Friday is done with the world.

Now that 40 has hit, I’m remarkably okay with it. I’m not thrilled by it by any means, but I guess it’s not so bad. Mentally I still feel like I’m in my 20s, but my body makes sure to let me know I am most definitely 40. Everything is bit achy. Instead of being able to party into the wee hours, by 1 am I looking to hibernate. And now the first thought that goes through my head when thinking about doing the drugs I did in my 20s is, “Will it adversely affect the Metformin and Carvedilol,” instead of, “Sure, the more the merrier!”

But that’s okay. Now I’m determined to travel the world more while still trying to be young mentally. I guess it could be worse: I could be normal.

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I want new shoes. I want new clothes. I want new furniture. I want a new apartment. I want new trips. I want I want I want.

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2018 – The Year I Should Have Died

Heart failure. Diabetes. High blood pressure. I really should have died this year. I always thought I would be dead by the time I reached 40. I guess I have three more months before I do hit 40, so there is still time for the prophecy to be fulfilled.

Despite this brush with death, I can’t say 2018 completely sucked. This was the year I started to travel earnestly. From a trip to Vegas in January, my first time in Berlin in March, to a New Mexico road trip, another visit to Berlin with a day in Prague, I was really out and about the world this year.

Astronomical Clock in Prague
Astronomical Clock in Prague
A pro-gun control protest at Brandenburg Gate in Berlin
A pro-gun control protest at Brandenburg Gate in Berlin
Route 666 sign in Gallup, NM
Route 666 sign in Gallup, NM

Here are the 15 artists I listened to most this year:

  1. Nine Inch Nails
  2. Depeche Mode
  3. Ministry
  4. Mr. Kitty
  5. PJ Harvey
  6. Skinny Puppy
  7. Ladytron
  8. Front Line Assembly
  9. Boy Harsher
  10. Zola Jesus
  11. Nirvana
  12. KMFDM
  13. Sonic Youth
  14. Drab Majesty
  15. Siouxsie and the Banshees

As awful as the news has been, I guess things haven’t been all that horrible. Well except for most of my blog “disappearing.” Or the whole almost dying bit.

Here’s hoping for a better 2019.