Sunday, June 30, 2013
Not BSD Minister of Propaganda Karl Marxxx, the original 19th century Marx, or at least a superhero rendition of him. I, for one, choose to interpret the comic-book communist above as a "hero" and not a "villain". With a piece of meat that big wouldn't you?
I'd certainly let his "hammer and sickle" tickle my pickle any ole day of the werk week.
I "asked" for Judith Halberstam's "The Queer Art of Failure" and got a wealth of wisdom more. Here are just a few of the books (and one healthy boner) to prove it. And yes, that IS a dead baby bird.
Tales of Desire, Tennessee Williams
Jack Holmes And His Friend, Edmund White
The complete collection of Physique Pictorial
Bob Mizer: Private Works
Bob Mizer: Private Works
Oops! Forgot to include London Triptych by Jonathan Kemp
My favorite postcard (of more than a dozen)
Boner (and dead baby bird). . . Didn't think about how this might look until after I snapped the pic. Judith Halberstam's The Queer Art of Failure
A Gregg Woolard original
Saturday, June 29, 2013
It wasn't my intention to have dueling portraits post on the same day, but I wouldn't even have known about this one, if it weren't for BSD reader Winston, who discovered this incredible likeness of me while trolling the interwebs earlier this week and passed it forward.
"Beyond credible" might go further to describe illustrator Jason Shorr's complimentary rendition than any other adjective of praise I can offer (and I can think of several). I look far better in conté crayon than I do in person, and that's no easy task. Drawing is hard! I can't imagine that's my butt either, but I enjoy pretending it might be. Finally all those squats are paying off, albeit in the realm of the imaginary. I'm happy with what I can get, drawn on paper or otherwise.
Now I just need to find the artist and get him to start animating my porn!!! Jason Shorr where art thou?
I think I found you! Fast, I know. Above is Jason's self portrait. A Boy with Beard too!? Grrrrrrr.
"Shocked" might not go far enough to describe my surprise and delight upon opening a package addressed to me and BSD Minister of Propaganda Karl Marxxx. Inside, I discovered the following:
1. "OH HI", HI HO, a folder:
2. A colorful letter:
1. "OH HI", HI HO, a folder:
2. A colorful letter:
3. A hand-drawn postcard of "poop":
4. An obscure drawing of?? The Atlanta Cyclorama?
5. A portrait of me in colored pencil. My mouth is full of nothing but flowers for Minneapolis-based artist Joe Sinness, both metaphorically and literally. I don't even know what to say. Beautiful.
Up close and floral:
To see more of Joe's incredible work, visit his website HERE. Good enough to eat!
1. You Are My Flower-- Flatt and Scruggs
2. Flowers-- Prince Samo
3. Intor / Flowers-- Grimes
4. Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall-- Simon & Garfunkel
5. Shit Makes the Flowers Grow-- Folk Uke
6. Feet Prints on Flower Dreads-- Dustin Wong
7. Day of the Sunflowers (We March On)-- Yoko Ono and Basement Jaxxx
8. A Flowering Tree, Act I, Scene 2: Flores Chorus-- John Adams composer
9. As The Life of a Flower-- The Chuck Wagon Gang
10. Flower-- Deerhoof
11. Toad Flower-- Beijing International Children's Choir
12. You Are My Flower-- Willie Nelson
Friday, June 28, 2013
The ingredients in this maple-themed "master cleanse" seem awfully familiar, but I just can't place it?
Hmm. Either way, perfect match for a hearty breakfast. Mmmmmmmmmmm. Yum. My favorite!
Fresh off the skillet: pancocks!
Or maybe you'd prefer to drizzle your syrup on Ryan Gosling?
Thankfully I'm in Canada where the maple syrup flows from the kitchen tap just like it should.
Phil's music video masterpiece below:
Thursday, June 27, 2013
As some of you may know, I'll be in Toronto this weekend for the Fit Primpin' Pride Party. I've been told pre-sales tickets are already gone, but you still might be able to get tickets at the door. Of course, if book stores events are more your style, I'll be doing another event that evening that's a bit less "spanky."
The longest-running gay bookstore in the world, Glad Day Book Shop is hosting a fun event Friday from 6pm to 7pm to celebrate Big Shoe Diaries' Minister of Propaganda, Karl Marks' We're Here We're Queer We're Mad Libs title as well as Toronto's own J. Bone's now infamous Colby Kokigami illustrations. Both items will be available for sale at the bookstore and I'll sign 'em anyway you want.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
I had the strangest dream I was talking to BSD Minister of Propaganda Karl Marxxx on the phone but I couldn't hear him, no matter what I tried. I think I may have found my answer.
Thank G-d I didn't get the cordless!
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
If you're a fan of LA-based photographer Gabe Ayala as much as I am (and I should be, he took some of the best photos of me EVER), you'll love his new zine: TYPE / FACE. With five different covers to choose from, and lots of beautiful butts in between, including "Boy with Beard", Big Brother contestant, and new Colby Crush Will Wikle, "The Best Ass in New York", there is much to admire. You can even find something from lil ole me! I tell the sad story of a failed attempt to submit admittedly lousy "artwork" to a feminist academic journal in a piece I call "Mashed Turpatoes".
Gabe hopes to release future issues quarterly. Score your copy of the inaugural edition HERE.
Big Brother bares all-- reality show asset Will Wikle
It's me! (Loser!)
Ass homage to Claes Oldenburg?
Monday, June 24, 2013
Turns out "pride" transcends borders and so will I this coming Friday. For the first time in my LIFE, I will have the honor to explore the largest city in the second largest country in the world!
This Friday night, I will personally man my signature "Spanking Station" for Fit Primpin! at Toronto's Great Hall. I've been practicing with my paddle all week. Don't delay! Get your tickets HERE.
Drop the "N" and add a "D":
"Bound for Canaan's Land", James Abbington conductor
Sunday, June 23, 2013
And I'd pull my knees to my chest and watch Louie's face go all closed-eyed and slack-lipped, and watch Louie's stomach muscles bunch up and relax over and over (like an accordian playing "Lady of Spain" double time) as he fucked me. Or I'd do Louie, holding one of his small, perfect feet in each hand, sucking his slightly cheezy toes as I worked. Or we'd beat off in each other's face, talking dirty at one another like the boys in the blue movies ("yeah, Baby, beat that thing!"), and laugh self-consciously afterward.
Chapter 60 of Larry Duplechan's Eight Days A Week:
Saturday, June 22, 2013
You'd think I'd like a movie about leftist eco-terrorist freegans who call themselves "The East" and pour buckets of crude oil down the pristine hallways of soul-less, WASP-nest East Hampton. Lord knows there was plenty of DC chino bashing (a favorite sport of this inveterate Baltimoron), a beautiful "Colby doppelganger" Jesus-clone hippy leader to fall in love with, MULTIPLE gorgeous "Boys with Beards" to drool over and even a couple of gratuitous male ass-shots to tip the scales. I would pretty much fuck female lead Brit Marling in her Birkenstocks, deep in the woods, any day of the week. I don't care how gay I am and how creepy that sounds.
What's not to like?
. . . And I did like it, especially the genuinely erotic "consensual bathing" scene. Pulling off that kind of PC authenticity believably and truly making it hot is no easy task, especially given the predilection for power/domination themes prevalent in so much of our collective erotic imaginary, i.e. porn. If anything, you should see the movie for this scene alone.
I did like the film. . . until the end, which came predictably enough, even despite my own magical, memory-erasing "green" inspiration. All of my hopes for "brilliance" fell apart.
Do you know the type of movie you really hope is smarter than it lets on? For example: was that unintentional camp you just saw on screen? A flash of meta-brilliance? Or the sad mark of a minor slip-up? The film has all the potential to be a masterpiece. It's there. But can they pull it off? Or will it end up simply a bad joke told by filmmakers you'd really like to give more credit than they're due. Word to the wise: don't ever take for granted something as "metaphor" that's simply bad narrative. When the mystery-thriller tropes run headlong into the aesthetic deadzone of uneasy laughter (always subconsciously accompanied by "did they mean to do that?") you know you're headed in the wrong direction, no matter how much you'd like to re-write the filmmakers' intention for the better.
Why the hell exactly does the plucky, stick-in-the-mud, amoral liberal with an innate sense for dead center in every ethical quandary ALWAYS have to beat the loveable, but wrongheaded leftists with more heart than common-sense? I get it. We all get it. American liberalism trumps all. Yes, most movies function to reaffirm normative expectations for the masses, but good film doesn't have to. The state of the world is enough to drive anyone, of almost any ideological stripe, to madness. If the ecological devastation of consumer capitalism doesn't turn your stomach, it should at least make you question the prospects for fun in a future on a warming planet. Can't we have at least one fully-formed film that gives up permission to indulge in the sheer joy of catharsis without a liberal morality-tale tacked to the conclusion? Where's the Left's revenge fantasy? . . . Besides 1917 of course. Or is that just the "mistake" of hubris and radical paranoia we self-flagellating know-it-alls constantly need to remind us of our own precocious will-to-failure?
If anything, this film, with so much promise and little delivery, makes me long for an old-fashioned Soviet chin-stroker-- straight from the old east. Solaris, where art thou?