Category Archives: Society
Meanwhile, across the world…
Bedford R-Pattz.
Hung paraplegictwink bouffant realness (with obligatory stamped ad in the damned way giving credit where it’s due).
He doesn’t eat carbs – let alone Chinese with MSG. Ugh, as if!
Postracial Basketcase solutions: Tips to getting your swirl on – and vanquishing, triumphing over, and subjugating our world.
- Slightly hairy black chest.
- White
assbadonkadonk and intent look. - Dark stout beer.
Seeking friends at the end of our world.
The well-known and memorable fairy-tale
follows a search by one man,
Dewey Lightfoot,
for meaningful connections amid our end times.
If this is Titanic 2012 –
don’t wind up in steerage.
Ever.
Happiness is that state of consciousness which proceeds from the achievement of one’s values. If any civilization is to survive, it is the morality of altruism that men have to reject.
Post-Empress.
This is how you do it.
This is how it is done.
…And Love Affair.
-
Be impeccable with our word.
-
Don’t take anything personally.
-
Don’t make assumptions.
-
Always do our best.
Je t’aime… moi non plus.
Tits & ass.
The ambition of the ego
never will be satisfied.
It is quite sad in its emptiness –
always seeking more,
but never feeling fulfilled.
It is better to be bold than too circumspect, because fortune is of a sex…
…which likes not a tardy wooer and repulses all who are not ardent.
Only the spiritual light
from our higher self
will bring nourishment
catapulting us into a state
of balance, wholeness, and peace
our soul desires.
Glitterkween gone awry.
He who binds himself to a Joy,
Does the winged life destroy;
I will be disappointed, I will disappoint, you will be disappointed, and you will disappoint.
Life will be disappointing. But it will pass.
He who kisses the Joy as it flies,
Lives in eternity’s sunrise.
God slaughter.
“One more crunch – I’m Divinity!”
“I’m Divinity!”
We kill all our Deities.
God of Light III.
Illuminatus III.
Banjikunt weddin’: Cucina jumps the broom!
True T, no shade – if this were Tuscany, she’d be Cheeconay.
Dewey’s type.
Been-there-been-bombarded-by-that.
How about the new, Lightfoot?!
I’m open and ready.
American SAMO© VI.
The dog-eyed cult of rapture (and the road to prosperity).
In landlessness alone
resides the highest truth,
shoreless,
indefinite
as God.
I,Dewey,
was one of that crew;
my shouts had gone
up with the rest.
A wild, mystical, sympathetical
feeling was in me;
Sovereign’s quenchless feud
seemed mine.
Death by Trade: Bootstraps Edition.
Musclebeardaddy to die!
Puddle, puddle – I’m slain,
and a wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey, mushy-wushy mess.
Letting go is love. Holding on is attachment. Love without depending.
Now and then it’s good to pause in our pursuit…
Wear a rubber band on your wrist,
and gently flick it when you start obsessing on angry thoughts.
This trains your mind to associate
that type of persistent negativity with something unpleasant.
According to the dictionary,
the antonyms of idealism are reality and authenticity.
…of happiness and just be happy.
Defense will make us powerful. Civilian goods only will make us fat.
Guns not butter!
Goldilox and the 3 Pasteltwinx.
We release our need to determine how things should be. (Forgiveness is letting go of the hope that the past can be changed.)
Be aware that what you think,
to a large extent,
creates the emotions
that you feel.
See the link between
your thinking and your emotions.
Rather than being
your thoughts and emotions,
be the awareness behind them.
People are about your actions – not your intentions.
You may have a heart of gold…
…but so does a hardboiled egg.
Johnny Depp, Jr.
Meditation and mindfulness.
Nippon-koku!
Stop.
Take a long, deep breath in and out.
In your mind say “in” as you breathe in and “out” as you breathe out
to ground yourself in the present moment.
Then, feel the ground beneath your feet.
Notice the way your clothes feel against your skin,
the wind against your face,
the sun on your cheeks.
Listen to the birds singing,
the rain falling around you,
the ticking of a nearby clock.
The more you practice the better you will get.
The key is not giving up.
Nihon-koku!
The gravitas of the oak.
The Marcia Gay Hardons were never Wolverine
(of weight, of seriousness, of dignity, of importance –
a certain substance and depth of personality).
At best, Riparian.
At worst, Riverine.
Life with the dull bits cut out.
Oh, I wish life were like the movies.
One reason so many kids go on the blink is because
they live in communities and with families under so much stress
that they don’t develop secure attachments in the early years of life.
It is – we’re just in the wrong movies.
Endurance is patience concentrated.
Chelseaboy looks like a parody of himself, visually and spiritually, religiously and psychologically. But he’s not.
You
are looking
at me,
an ad,
like one
on the bus:
Is that what
a real man artist is
supposed
to look like?
“If Obama was a white man, he would not be in this position. And if he was a woman of any color, he would not be in this position. He happens to be very lucky to be who he is. And the country is caught up in the concept.”
Call the grammar cops!
If he were.
Staccatissimo.
- Unblinking disinterest,
- ruthless honesty,
- bitter clarity,
- affectless tone,
- chillingly sharp diction,
- crisp staccato.
Tareq!
The look this evening is Alan Hollinghurst by Tom Ford on a budget with Chinatown hipster accoutrement. (I forgive you, asshole.)
You’ve a lot of sour grapes and no common sense.
If they don’t like you, it’s your fault, not theirs.
Go where they like you, where you like it.
Protect yourself and your vision, goals, and the climb upwards
by forgiving adversity and forgetting the wrongdoers.
These actions will allow you to go to the right room
and continue to move on or make better different decisions.
Feelings are neither decisions nor choices.
Of course I wasn’t moving to Texas – they’re no Puerto Ricans in Austin.
The bluebird days of spring.
It was one of those March days
when the sun shines hot
and the wind blows cold:
When it is summer in the light,
and winter in the shade.
Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a rail. Niddle noble went his head. Widdle waggle went his tail.
I don’t mean to seem like I care about material things. Like our social stats. I just want four walls and adobe slats for my boys.
What happens to you when your identity
constantly is challenged, taunted, corrected?
You adopt an identity that is pleasing to the masses,
however, you then are thrust into a society where
the two identities – one false and one repressed – are incongruous.
It’s just when your needs aren’t met that you act unfulfilled.
When your needs are met, you actually become less displeased
and more likely to excel in different areas of life.
Current, undercurrent.
TRUST!
You can’t are let letting go of the past.
You’ve no faith in the future.
TRUST!
Like a fugitive from a pancake box.
Breathless unease/disquiet
numb grief/bereavement
25/ 8.
Theodore Roosevelt.
The unforgivable crime is soft hitting.
Do not hit at all if it can be avoided;
but never hit softly.”
Sporty Spice.
You are here.
I hate people – and how they affect my life.
Oath of Self-Centeredness.
Oath of Self-Interest.
I’m wondrous. My life’s absurd.
I don’t hate myself. I don’t hate my life.
Michelangelo.
The greater danger for most of us lies
not in setting our aim too high and falling short;
but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark.”
Guy Pearce got gehmouth.
Sviluppo! Evolução! Evolutie! ¡Evolución!
Dame Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor Hilton Wilding Todd Fisher Burton Burton Warner Fortensky, DBE.
I was told to wear tweeds.
I couldn’t wear purple or Halston pantsuits.”
George Bernard Shaw.
The only man I know
who behaves sensibly is my tailor;
he takes my measurements anew
each time he sees me.
The rest go on with their old measurements
and expect me to fit them.”
He’s the kind of a fella to whom nice things just happen – and he survives.
Dewey entered the stratosphere
a poor little man ready to give it his all,
and did.
Really though, by contrast, he was sui generis,
this was part of the job, neither a blessing nor a curse.
Perhaps that’s why he never looked defeated,
unlike those who wilt under the spotlight.
He was as desiring as desirous,
with the gift of a thrillingly ungentlemanly appetite.
He was a great lover of food, of course.
Yet the appetite that appeared to drive,
at times even define him,
exceeded mere food to include everything,
and his consumption of all and then some was astonishment.
Living large proved a brilliant survival strategy
as well as something of a rebuke to the limits
of culture, humanity, and society – their formulas and false morality.
He embodied the excesses of life and he transcended them.
In the end, his genius was that he gave our world
everything it wanted from him,
and he did it by refusing
to become anyone’s motherfucking martyr.
It’s Fleet Week, bitches! (Well, almost.)
Brando!
Tradey Haze!
Forster!
Engagement: Insatiable.
Nothing human is
alien to me.
Happy camper.
Dewey was a dreadnought of glamour withholding an elegant swan.
He was a man of instincts and almost violent passions.
He wore his vices (imperious) and his virtues (ambassadorial) for all to see.
His allure was a result not of impossible recognition or even splendor.
It was an inhuman mercy.
He was humanity.
He retained all that was recognizably real.
He was a sense of humor and a gigantic heart.
He was irresistible mayhem.
He was without vanity.
He transcended whatever else he was doing, whatever that didn’t look right.
You saw him.
Dave Matthews!
We gotta fight the good fight effectively.
I do – only in declarative sentences.
I work, I play – only to win.
I make a clean breast: Everything is good enough – all will fall into place. :)
The more left to the imagination,
the more excitement there is.
My aim (yours, too):
To create blithe suspense and charming surprise.
I’m feeling rough, I’m feeling raw, I’m in the prime of my life. Let’s make some music, make some money, find some models for wives.
I’ll move to Paris, shoot some heroin, and fuck with the stars.
You man the island and the cocaine and the elegant cars.
Pony gigolo pork blasé peekaboo.
James Franco – what a douchekween!
Reckless with your love?
You.
Just.
Give it up.
Fearless with your life.
But no one can you trust.
Reckless with your love?
You.
Just.
Give it away.
Fearless with your life.
Living day to day.
Butchen up!
Or leave me the fuck alone, pussy!
If you’re choosing between
a muscle-up margarita and a pink bulldog –
opt neither, Fleshapoid.
Be yourself.
Your original self.
Be your essential self –
not the self you project
to protect yourself.
The experience’s worth your time – if you get 2 out of 3 (nothing less).
Rule of 3:
- Gain better skills.
- Meet new champions.
- Make more money.
Getting way more than you deserve.
This is the story of a society that falls down
and while it is falling,
it repeats to itself to hearten:
Thus far it’s all right, thus far it’s all right, thus far it’s all right.
You’re an insidious inhibitor of growth,
forever unquestioning,
forever mindlessly avid and self-exonerating,
forever wed to self-righteous certainties.
You dictate.
You have to go.
Bang-boom.
Columbine!
I wonder
if you think
I can’t do that
for myself.
I wonder
if you think
I’m unworthy
or inadequate
or I can’t take care
of my life.
Red cloudburst.
In a comfortable pair of blood drawstring pants.
Son, your ego is writing checks your body can’t cash.
God, I loved Him.
He gives you His blessing.
He knows what’s in your heart.
My self-esteem, my image, everything soared
under His exuberant, loving care.
Neglect from self-absorption.
No one ever cared if we were being pushed too hard or assaulted too much.
We just got tougher, stronger, shrewder, pushier, colder, lonelier.
Mystical gurgle.
The imbecility of our masses can’t be cured
- by spreading enlightenment,
- by democratizing information,
- by combating what is adjudged to be false
- by what is adjudged to be true.
Tearoom!
Saturnalia!
Bacchanalia!
Members Only ὄργιον!
Bacchanalia!
Saturnalia!
Nootropics.
I don’t want an orgy in Village People + OshKosh B’gosh leather.
Dewey buys νους nous and τρέπειν trepein
at his group therapy – the backroom of the Black Party.
The smart drugs alter the availability of his brain’s supply
of neurotransmitters, enzymes, and hormones,
by improving his brain’s oxygen supply,
by stimulating nerve growth.
These memory and cognitive enhancers improve
intelligence, motivation, attention, and concentration.
Dewey now sees meaningful patterns in large amounts
of disparate information – with no side effects.
And among his brethren, he now recognizes
the alert νους nous and gorged τρέπειν trepein
expression in their eyes.
I want a family and a mortgage and a Maserati.
Yves waiting for Adam.
Adam looking at Yves.
Witch Trials of 1692.
You are all about reciprocity.
If you are pushing harder than he is,
than it ain’t worth it.
Besides, you never want to play second to anyone.
He’s deliberately choosing him over you.
Play second fiddle to no one.
You have to close the door
because if you don’t,
you won’t be open to other possibilities.
You really believe that.
Don’t wait for no one,
not unless they put it in writing and sign a contract.
Ἡ Πότνια Θηρῶν.
You wear fuck-me heels.
I wear takeover boots.
Prêt-à-manger.
Daddybear in Texas?
Muffin Top!
Prêt-à-porter!
It’s all about the silver gauntlets!
The heroism of lasso and bracelets.
The patriotism of stars and eagle.
Éirinn go Brách.
War.
Peace.
Amity.
The insecurity of attachment.
- The avoidance of flaky-lax-casual repression.
- The anxiety of clingy-needy-gluey protest.
Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Adopt the pace
of nature:
Her secret
is patience.”
The being of the gay: A revolutionary epiphany.
There’s still a lingering belief that gay culture
is inherently extroverted (ahem),
or that there’s even a gay culture (monolith).
It may interest some that there exist gay men
who are more interested
in catching the latest movie,
enjoying a cup of coffee,
playing video games,
or catching up on their booklist.”
The key to life – and progress.
We,
to deal with the anxiety of influence,
deliberately misread our ancestors,
which in turn allows us
to compose something
we feel is original,
like the last Post-Empire bar
in Manhattan
that does not brew its own bitters
and charge $20 for an artisanal cocktail.”
Death by Face IV.
Chiseled cheekbones to grate Rothbury red Leicester cheese on.
Was this the face that drowned a thousand ships?
Once upon a time there were three very different little girls who grew up to be three very different women with three things in common: They’re brilliant, they’re beautiful, and they work for me. My name is Charlie.
Who we are,
beset by
what we are taken to be.
Turn three corners, and you’re back where you started.
Money is the same as sex or air.
Having it only feels normal, not invincible.
But not having it is pain beyond words.
Rejection makes me turn the corner.
Keep turning.
Just keep turning.
Money is the same as sex or air.
Having it only feels normal, not invincible.
But not having it is pain beyond words.
Now that I’m older, the stars shed light upon my face, but when I found myself alone, I feel like I, I am blind.
Stay calm and keep hunting.
Angoisse.
I am common.
I don’t care about anyone but myself.
Okay, I care about cactuses, palm trees, and moonshine.
Prickly, swaying, and poisonous to the touch.
Nadine Gordimer.
Power is something of which I am convinced
there is no innocence this side of the womb.”
Death by Jockstrap.
Polar Ginger kray-kray!
My look for spring!
Eleanor Roosevelt.
Life must be lived and curiosity kept alive.
One must never, for whatever reason, turn his back on life.”
Lightfoot, nothing special.
“What’s his name? Anyway, what’s he like – this dude that you’re having a relationship with as you put it?”
“His name’s Thierry. What’s wrong with putting it like that?”
“You don’t have to tell me about him. It’s none of my business, anyway.”
“No, I don’t mind telling you about him. He’s, um, he’s really, direct and, uh, emotional, and sincere – everything. I mean, we’ve got this real connection between us. We never lie to each other.”
“What? Never?”
“No. Never.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not trying to embarrass you.”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“What are you going to do, then?”
“Do?”
“For a living.”
“Write novels.”
“Does it pay well?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t actually sold any yet.”
“Oh. How are you going to provide for your family then?”
“What family?”
“Oh, the one you’ll have one day.”
“Bloody hell. Give me time.”
“Why?”
“Well, because I’m, I’m still, you know, still having relationships.”
“What, more than one?”
“Well, not simultaneously, no.”
“Anyway, marriage is a relationship.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, you said you were going to have relationships and then get married as if they were two different things.”
“No, I didn’t say I was going to get married.”
“Well, no, I suppose you didn’t technically, no.”
“Too bloody right, I didn’t. I’ll never get married.”
“Oh, Dewey, I think you will.”
“Why?”
“Why? You’re not original enough not to.”
Noticed something about you.
All disco balls slow…
Memories of grace…
…meaningless to anyone else.
…down and eventually stop.
Édouard Levé.
You move me.
Post-Empire like Edward Saïd.
What the fuck is Bret Easton Ellis talking about?!
Excavation time: Sour grapes’ bitter end.
Dewey has had a bit of a rough time
(well, always),
drinking issues
(now – along with steady doses of prescriptions),
has not fared as well as he thought he would,
stuck in the wilderness of his head and self-control.
This is someone who’s had great failure,
great pain and anguish.
He must get right,
but he’s clueless –
he’s no resolutions specialist about this,
and nor is anyone else for him.
He’ll never quit
(prolly),
but he’s tired, exhausted –
and the impatient marks and scars
are lack of faith, trust
and seeing our world outside-in instead of inside-out.
He’s never been able to capture that moment
he had as a socialite eons ago
(the best time of life –
like some in high school or college,
all pathetic)
and now he’s going into the terror of middle age,
so you can identify with all those things.
It’s the idea of it being halftime.
You got half left,
it forces you to look back at your life
whether you like it or not.
It can be a disappointment.
You can relate it to Dewey and his life.
Men, like Dewey, typically exercise
their masculinity through what they do.
Their sense of virility manifests itself
through work and play. Or not.
But Dewey’s not dark or bitter.
He’s not.
If he were, it would be hidden
like all the other guys are hiding it,
trying to fucking step on one another’s heads.
Those are the people who are really that way
as they’re smiling.
As opposed to someone, like Dewey,
saying it like it is.”
Death by Face III.
Pretty, English, brown, Negroid features, construction, boxing…
Ummm…
Was this the face that drowned a thousand ships?
…Hell to the yeah!
…I’m done, just throw me into my pine box.
Like a duck: Calm on the surface, but always paddling like the dickens underneath.
Homeboy Sandman, baybee!
You fall…
…hard and quick.
Amos ’n’ Andy with frosted tips realness.
We are human.
We are postrace.
But, regrettably,
not our iconography.
Some looks – like this tap-dancing Basquiat one – wrrkq
better on others than some.
Epic fail, Prepurchintwink.
History’s fault.
Junkpunch. 
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