crash

helmet x shades

Born

Born of hate
Bred in rage
Never believing in a state of grace
Fed with guts
Used for glory
Just useless words to a heartbreaking story
Honed with lies
Sharpened by cruelty
Always made to feel stupid and guilty

But you are a man
A man with a beating heart
And you have hands
Hands in which, I beg you, please accept my heart
And an open will with a life less than pure
But together, facing rapture, we have found something worth living for

Guilty, oh!
For everyone's responsibilities
Guilty, oh!
Of your own fluidity
Guilty, oh!
For being hot as City summer heat
Guilty, oh!
Shall I read you Socrates?

We're in bed. We're naked. You're wearing glasses and all I want to do is fuck you.

Guilty, you are not
Born of hate, bred in rage
How could you ever attain a state of grace?
Fed with guts, being used for glory
Feed your heart to me, for I adore thee
Honed with lies, fucked by cruelty
But you were never proven guilty

No, you were never proven guilty
No, you are still worthy
No, you are a master
A fucking disaster
An asshole drinker
A mister maybe never
A fucker emotionless
I'm not fucking impressed
But you were never guilty and that is why I adore thee.

What happens when drugs meet me.

it's always hard to look at someone in the eye and hear that we're not they want - even when we feel that they were put into our lives for the divine purpose of love. knowing that no matter what we do or say, nothing can change who they are and what they want - it makes us powerless and insignificant. it's hard to think of them living their lives free of us; joyous, purposeful and beautiful while we're left holding on to the hurt that comes with the letting go of something that feels like an organ made for our sole intention. we are in agony and feel complete rejection... but perhaps this is the true understanding: our ingrained feelings are not the only emotions in play; the person we love isn't rejecting us - they are simply accepting themselves.

Do the Beyonce. Arnaldo James Photography, 2011

"somalia, bosnia, cuba, colombia, ecuador, mexico, butanne, morocco, botswana, ghana, india, serbia, syria, lebanon, zambia, namibia, bali, mali, chile, malawi, bequia, st. vincent, trinidad and norway, china, canada, USA and UK, nepal, nigeria, ethiopia, north k, myanmar, panama, philippines, nicaragua, palestine and greece, peru and france; it's so simple, do the dance."

a very random thought i had: i will actually never have the feeling of having sex with the woman who is pregnant with my child. if you think really deeply about this, it's a little sad.

i'm not particularly attracted to pregnant women in any way - sexual or general interest-wise - but imagine being in love with a person, deciding you want to have a baby together and then make love to that person knowing that inside, they are carrying the fruits of your immeasurable love. that's some hot emotional sex.

and hot emotional sex is the best sex. you know it.

For the love of Gay, part une (because everyone knows French is the language of the lovers. Lovers are gay).

For the time being, I live in Trinidad which is a small island in the Caribbean with a big cultural heritage and very big conservative minds, voices, thoughts and lots and lots and loooots of priests.

So it's no surprise that online dating sites - or rather hook up sites - are big business for gay men here. Much of the country's homosexual population is still lurking in the closet like it's 1975, while the ones who are out and living their lives face the stigmitisation that they are not "living on the down low" - a very in-demand trait considering how many men abhorrently administer their very serious intent on only hooking up with masculine, discreet, closeted, married, girlfriended men through a barrage of insulting words on their dating site profiles.

Yes, I'm gay and I don't live the idealised life of Bambi and his thumpy rabbit friend. I don't live in a perfect world where my tastes are as varied as a Frenchman's wine palette - give me scruff, a gravelly voice and a man who doesn't use words like "fabulous" or "ostentatious" and I will probably blush like a virgin whose first pubic hair has just become visible. However, how can there still be gay men living in this year of the Vagina, Twenty-fucking-Thirteen, who believe that someone who lives their life openly and freely (the term "out" grates my nuts. Gay is in, ask HBO) is less than a man? How can there be men who still think that hooking up with people in your twenties, all the way into your forties, without ever knowing the freedom of true love, is "normal"?

I think of myself right now, as I am: a 23-year-old male, living in the Caribbean, pursuing life, figuring out the important things in life (black jeans or blue jeans today?) and gay, gay, gay, gay, gaaaaay. I can't run from it. It's not "who I am". (I know there are so many schools of thought on this one. Is it who we are? Is it not who we are? Is it our dog? Wait... hang on... our dog is really the one who is gay! This has been a matter of gross gay projection! You're saved! Jesus and her 12 girl scouts welcome you into Heaven! Yey, now shut the fuck up and let me finish this post, thanks). But you know what: it's a very large part of who I am. The way I think, the way I dress, the way I comb my hair, the way I speak, what I speak of, who I want to be around, what I watch on television, what I don't watch on television, what I get tattooed on my body - all or slightly in part or maybe probably a very minuscule derivative are affected by the fact that I love cock. The thought of having a job, earning my own money, living in my own house, driving my own car, buying mixed vodka drinks with all the earning I've been doing... the thought of all this while NOT being able to also enjoy the insatiable fact that I am gay makes my knees tremble and I'm sitting down for Christ's cocksake!

Being gay is one of the most delicious experiences I have ever had. I appreciate a woman's ass and tits, albeit in a slightly different way than a heterosexual man (ha, like that exists) may appreciate it (I mostly appreciate how delicately her tits hang in the balance, while admiring the silhouette of that chiffon blouse... oh, wait, is it chiffon or silk?) I can't explain the rush of emotions I get when my palm wraps around a particularly beautiful cock that belongs to a beautiful man, neither can I imagine what it must be like to not care about chapped lips or not moisturising one's face. Ok, I'm kinda kidding about some of these (the kinda kidding that is true and makes you laugh awkwardly because what else are you fucking to do? Just act like you're watching an episode of the Kardashians).

Being gay is fun. And dating a man who is comfortable in that, who owns it, steps up to the plate and can take it. A man whose family members support and love him, whose co-workers say all kinds of fucked up shit like, "Mike can come fishing. The homos like fishing, yeah?" because they KNOW he's a homo, whose 9-year-old niece still asks about his ex from three years ago because she loves his leopard print eye-glasses case - this is the man I would like to date. A man whose life isn't immersed in homosexuality, but whose homosexuality is immersed in his life. And whose only experience being "downlow" is during fucking.