Who I Am

I eat my own cum.
My girlfriend pegs me hard in my ass.
I don't have to know you, to suck your toes.
I have a true relationship with God.

I have multiple, sexual partners.
I eat pussy and suck cock.
I eat my cake and have it, too.
I am 100% committed to my lovers

 I am not contradictory.
I am not complex.
I am not shallow
I am not deep
I am simply who I am.

'Ubakagi' by Ashkan Honarvar (Perverted by negative and embossing effects)

Eating Eye Candy

Damn, he is so pretty!
*Add as friend*
OMG! He accepted me!

     He is a genius with his camera phone.  Perfect angles of his abs made of gold bricks and perfect pectorals.  Clicking through his photo album, because I'm his friend now I can see more shots...more flesh...more downward angles.  I wish I could see the rest of his cock, but Facebook won't let him go further than his curly mound.  I wonder if he's on Fetlife?
Why does he have to live so far away?

     LMAO!  We LOL at the same episode of South Park.  He makes the funniest observations.  Who would've thought someone so gorgeous could be so deep!  He quotes famous authors and my favorite song lyrics.  I love that he fights against gay bullying, he posts the latest articles.  He's so current!
     I wish I was smart enough for six pack abs, sometimes.  The world would open up for me.  I'm funny.  I'm have thoughts.  But I LOL by myself about shows no one knows about.  Maybe if I could get closer to him, ingest him, I could pick up some of his trait?  I could suck up his beauty.  Eat enough of his good genes that I take then on.  Why do you have to live so far away?

Hope he doesn't mind
*copy + paste*
This is just an experiment...
Will they like my updates?
Will they LOL
Will they OMG at my body...I mean, your body?

*56 New Notifications*
"Faces V" by Askhan Honarvar

"Ewww" + "Yum!" = ????

     Conflicting.  Contradicting.  Confusing.  A strand of experiences swells in my mind, turning my stomach, activating my gag reflex; yet, hardening my erection.  Have you ever experienced disgust and arousal simultaneously?
     The internal civil war excites me.  Self-preservation dukes it out with my curiosity.  My logic argues with the strange, silent pervert dwelling within.  This conflict gives me the dissonance I've grown to really like; the sensation of being pulled in two different directions.
     There is also the element of fear during this dynamic.  If I find a climax within the disgust, would that transform me in to the very thing I loathe?  If I find the silver lining of pleasure within an otherwise fucked situation, would that take me a step further than curious?  Is this the nasty broth of which fetishes are born?

     The portfiloio of Daikichi Amono epitomizes the erotic-repulsive cocktail I speak of.  When confronted by something toxic, I love the way my body responds.  Launching adrenaline...Heightening my senses... I also love betraying my instincts, diving deeper into the danger.  (Within reason, of course.)

Remember 'Beloved'?

Do you remember this song?

The Artist...The Title...The Album
Are all unimportant.
What is important: the magic after the play button being pressed.


Now do you remember?
     This song used to put us in a trance.  This song became an inevitable anchor, sinking us deeper into madness.  Heightening our passion, 'Beloved' numbed the pain of being rubbed raw.  The intro alone would clear the room, whether everyone left the premises or not.
     The hypnotic lead harp would cast a deep shadow over bright summer afternoons.  The subtle, rapid percussion would automatically cancel our plans.  The way Yusef's horn moaned, inspired us to perform an impromptu performance.  Whimper.  Chatter.  Yelp.  Scream.  Slap.  We became a part of the ensemble.
Playing this song on repeat,
...Tuesday would fade into Thursday...
...Voice mailboxes filled to their capacity...
...Appointments became requests to reschedule...

     Do you remember 'Beloved'?  Do you remember the applause, the cheers?  We truly believed the standing ovation was for us.  We felt like we were fucking in front of an adoring audience.  Or, did we feel like an orchestra was in our bedroom?  Who was where is unimportant.  What is important: the magic still there after the stop button has been pressed.

"Eden" by Denis Rouvre

     "Beloved" by Yusef Lateef, in my opinion, is one of the sexiest songs every composed.  The polyrhythmic percussion...The moaning horns...The seductive harp...There are countless erotic elements to this song.  There are countless positions...countless experiments...countless orgasms, I have experienced to this record.  There is an undeniable charge...

I just returned from seeing Yusef Lateef live at the Grace Cathedral.

For my review of the performance:

Welcome to The Dark Deluxe

If you haven't noticed, I have peculiar taste.

      Avant-garde and dissonant music.  Strange and exotic cuisine.  Crazy movies that gives me a headache. Anything experimental... Anything fresh... Anything the stimulates a strange response: I need it.
     This peculiar taste has proven to be an isolating quality.  I've never met anyone who listens to the kind of music that's in my collection.  Nor have I found anyone willing to go dutch with me at an expense, bizarre restaurant.  There is a lot in my iPod and refrigerator that I have to enjoy alone.  (And let's not get into my ill-fated, movie suggestions!)
     The primary purpose of this new blog is to put it out there.  John Zorn. Visitor Q.  Fernet Branca.  Alice Coltrane.  Holy Mountain.  Dinuguan.  These are a few of my favorite things.  Hopefully, I can find others that appreciate the lesser known pleasures.

For upscale + underground
Sounds, Cinema and Cuisine

Check out my new blog:

Auto-Sthenolagnia: My Search for a Fitness Dom

I envision him...
Prying my jaws open with his thumbs,
Pouring protein shakes slowly down my throat.
"That's a good boy."

Jogging besides me,
Tanning my hide when my pace slows to a crawl.

Counting my reps,
Forcing me to lift more than I've ever had,
"C'mon! Push it out!"

     For the last few months, I've been looking for a "Fitness Dom".  It's like a workout partner, with a BDSM aspect.  This would be just the catalyst I need to break through to the next level.  Having a kinky companion to weight train and run with me, would be a great addition to my life.  I am in love with the idea of being tangibly transformed by a relationship.

I envision him...
Pulling the shirt up from my sweating torso,
"You're looking real good there, Boy."
Prying my jaws open with his thumbs,
He shakes protein in spurts down my throat.
"That's a good boy."

     In my book, sex doesn't only make everything better, it makes everything okay.  If he wanted to bind my arms and lock me onto a StairMaster for hours...  If he wanted to greet each rep of my sit-ups with his erection...  If he wants to swat my ass to add speed to my squats...That would be fine by me!  Ultimately, I believe that I would accomplish more under his discipline than my own.  Plus, the reward of sexual favors would be a great motivator.
     I've been posting ads here and there, with little luck.  People find the prospect of forced exercise and diet domination alluring, but I haven't found anyone willing to go all the way.  The people I have encountered are there intellectually, but the problem seems to lie in the transition from theory to triceps extensions.  Another bump in the road: finding someone fit enough themselves to take on the challenge.  It's one thing to shout orders in between fistfuls of popcorn, but I'm looking for someone who's also looking to transform.
     For now, I'll continue to fantasize.  Nude yoga and stretching.  Long distance runs to an erotic end.  A thousand and one ways to take a protein shake.  I'm sure something will come up.  Maybe someone would read this post and respond?

Keep Fighting


For we may walk in flesh,

we do not war according to the flesh,

for the weapons of our warfare are not of flesh,

but divinely powerful for the destruction of fortresses.

 (2 Corinthians 10:3-4)

     Keep fighting...For the spoils of war could still be yours.  Despite your wounds, the mortal blow has yet to be delivered.  Do not forfeit your grip from your sword's handle...victory hasn't escaped you.

      The barrier of your flesh may be broken.  The integrity of your bones may have wilted.  But, what better shield than a man's heart and spirit?

    Triumph dangles right before your battle-blinded eyes. Victory is still within the reach of your broken limbs.  Draw from it.  Reach with all your will...See with the vision inside your faith...Draw from it.

 The vivid images above are from the gallery of GJ Art.

The word "epic" scrolled across my mind viewing his work.

Each image is painted atop an untold legend.

To follow his journeys of elegant battles and  beautiful warriors:


Salirophiliac He(art)

I've wanted to press the "delete" key.
I've wanted to send my novels through the shredder.
...Fruitless Frustration...
...Painful Potential...
Would become void if I just gave up the ghost of my gift.

I never had the gall, balls or guts to destroy what was sacred.

She does.

     She wets...burns...pisses on her art. By capturing the destruction of her innermost thoughts, she reveals the sacred art of surrender.  Watching her words waste away under the running faucet...Witnessing the paper collapsing beneath a stream of urine...Burning the pages to her journal, we can take note of what really happens to a dream deferred. 

A new collection is coming soon...

To visit her blog:

An Untitled Exchange II

     We arranged to meet in the parking lot of 24 Hour Fitness at 6 am.  Anyone up this early, I automatically consider them harmless.  The flagrantly fraudulent, “Guy Smith” wanted to suck my cock somewhere between the conclusion of my morning workout and punching in for work.  I was happy to oblige.
     He was an older, Hispanic gentleman; a little overweight with a salt & pepper goatee.  He looked like management material, wearing his light blue dress shirt and striped tie.  Once inside of his car, he says looking towards the ground, “I’m kind of ashamed about this…need.  You know?  I’m married.”
    Never looking at my face, he kept his eyes on my crotch, “Sometimes I think it’s not so much that I like sucking cock, I just hate having mine.  Touching other cocks just does something to me; weird, huh?”  His hand nervously drifts over to my thigh,
    Once we got to his motel room, I started to take my shirt off and wiggled from my pants.  He unbuttoned his shirt then asked, “Do you want me to take off my pants?” 
    Nonchalantly, I nodded, “Sure.”  Sitting on the corner of the bed, I watched him drop trou.  The origin of his fetish became evident: his penis looked like an uncircumcised olive.  Being that his ad mentioned NSA head, I wasn’t turned off by it.  Instead, I was aroused by his supposed inferiority.  Although he probably makes way more money than me…He has the wife, kids and the nice house in the hills; my dick is bigger.  (Stupid, I know, but this idea of cock related superiority made me rock hard!)
    Dropping to his knees quickly, the tip of my dick hit the back of his throat before I knew it.  Bobbing his head slowly, up and down, he stayed completely fixated on my erection.  I realized, since meeting, he has never looked me in the face.  Shame?  Objectification?  Who knows?  Who cares?
The sound of his greed, gagging and slurping
The sight of his lustful, cock sucking trance
In that moment,
I felt like an observer watching one man’s devotion

    Lifting his head from my lap, a long strand of drool  connected his lips to the head of my dick.  Pumping his fist up and down, “Man, I wish I had a cock like this…so hard…and fuckin’ healthy!”  Jerking me off with his right hand, I noticed that he was swatting at his own cock with his left.  “I fuckin’ hate this shit!  You know what I'd do with a dick like this?”  He was beating himself up...literally.  Tightly gripping the base, he started to suck just the purple tip, “Thank you.  Mmmmm.  Thank you….Do you cum quickly?”
    Knowing I can take forever, I just said, “It depends.”
    “If you don’t mind, can I drop you back off at the gym, I have to get to work.”
    And just like that, almost as quickly as he dropped to his knees, I was hopping out of his car.  Only on Craig’s List.  Walking home from the gym, I felt strange processing what just happened.  I was definitely used.  But I was very inspired by our exchange.  The funny thing: if I would’ve came, I would’ve felt the exact opposite.
    Guy has crossed my mind since then.  He was a flagrant example of what happens within me subconsciously.  While getting my rocks off, there’s an envious quality to my greed.  I may not punch my junk the way he did, but I, too, beat myself up while worshiping others.  Once again, Craig's List has brought about brilliance...


     For reasons I've yet to discover, I need it.  The feeling of being a little disturbed by the person answering the door.  Awkward. Kinky.  Creepy.  It arouses me, on some inexplicable level, to be in his company.  Of course, I identify.  Being pinched between two lives has left me twisted, too.

This is for the men
Who has to slay an immortal appetite
Before his daughter's class is dismissed.  

The middle-aged, professionals 
Who have only twenty minutes to perform their lifelong fantasy.

The lonely retirees
Who are desperate for cock, contact and conversation.

I need you.
The above art: "Mistletoe" by Julian Baker

Holy Anger: BSFF (Rated R)

<a href="http://bslade.bandcamp.com/track/bsff-rated-r">BSFF (rated R) by @BSLADE</a>

     Sonically speaking, I've been slapped in the face my Fantasia... Gut checked by Pharoah Sanders horn... But, Tonex pummels me relentlessly with his voice!  This is so great to hear, the sheer power of his vocals had me standing up in my living room.  He mixes the raw spiritual forces of gospel and spews poignant venom:

I got yo faggot!
I got yo bitch!
I got yo sissy!
I got yo switch!
I got yo fairy!
I got yo dike!
We gone get rowdy!
Rowdy tonight!

     I've always believed in holy anger.  This is a brilliant, catastrophic example.  This caliber of frustration and passion yields a sharp out-lashing; which is necessary.  Tonex, now known at Brian Slade, is on the cusp of greatness.  Or, rather, the world is on the cusp of recognizing what was there all along.

Do yourself a favor and evolve.

He is releasing his mixtape, "A Brilliant Catastrophe" for free download.

A P(art) II: A New Hunger

     Carrying my cocooned lover over my shoulder, the thought: “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” crawled across my mind. There’s a first for everything. Before an audience of 150+ people, I stood still wearing only a small pair of black bikini briefs. I was oblivious to the bravery required until it was too late to be afraid. "What am I doing?"

"Give me watercolors oils, tempera tubes...
Coarse, thick, pliant brushes."

     The rush was surreal, I had an outer body experience, which made me a blind member of the audience. Watching but not seeing. Hearing the subtle whispers. I could feel her presence dancing around me. Slicing the air, I could smell her elegance filling the atmosphere.

"I’ll swim in an icy mountain lake
kissing rainbow-striped trout."

      The paint was colder than I anticipated. Deliberately smearing paint across my body, she anointed my chest, arms and legs with color. I wanted to arch my back. I wanted to twitch. I wanted to giggle. Unable to look down at myself, I had no idea what I looked like. All I could feel was her chilly caresses and dedicated touch. All I could see was the audience staring blankly in my direction.

"My very bloodstream flows with electric awakenings
Each capillary expanding to its full capacity
Trying to see how vast 
This spirit can be."

      I begged my blood to stay at bay. I prayed that my circulation wouldn’t betray me with an erection. The paintbrushes and fingertips against my skin threatened to add volume to my briefs. Wet. Messy. Course. Abstract. My arousal was as sure as the gravity pulling the paint down my thighs.

"I’ll become a forest nymph.
Swinging and swaying in the language of the wind
Learning the lessons of growing from wild daisies."

      That was our cue to exit. Instead of draping My Moon over my shoulder, I took her into my arms as my bride and walked off the stage. Walking slowly, the thought, “This is me, skinny legs and all,” whispered in my mind.

      Looking in the mirror backstage, all I could say was, “Wow.” Yellow and red slithered across my brown skin. Blue and violet dripped down my sides. I lifted. I stood. I lifted. I was a human canvas, but aren’t we all? Aren’t we all adorned by the colors of life? Decorated by the shades of experience and expectation? “Wow.”

For more images of our body painting performance by Mim Art:

     The poetry in pink were extracted from Darcy Lyon's poem, "A New Hunger" from her latest book "The Wisdom of Desire".  The performance was a part of an amazing book launch, which featured spoken word, dancing and music.  This sophisticated evening left me full of inspiration...full of wonder...full of gratefulness to be a part of this extraordinary event. 

Timophilia: Green Pussy

You want some of this green pussy?
You want me to give it up to you, long and hard?

...Flex your muscles...
...Seduce my flesh...
...Do a back flip...

Whatever you do,
Do not attempt to slip your cock into my pocket without consent.
Did you think your fingers would go unnoticed?
Did you think I wouldn't catch you trying to go balls deep?
I haven't the faintest idea of what kind of sluts you're used to...
But this cherry, green pussy is virgin tight...

Tight enough to cut off your circulation.
Tight enough to leave you asphyxiated.
Tight enough to leave you dismembered.

You want some of this green pussy?
You want to eat from it?
You want it to keep you warm?

Ask politely...
Request seductively...
Make a proposal...

Whatever you do,
Don't put your hand in this cookie jar without consent.
Because, this sweet, tight, greener-than-green pussy...has teeth.

Waiting for Magic

     Suddenly, I can see why.  I can see why boys like you make strange fashion choices.  Your ankle watch makes no sense while standing, but once I caught a glimpse of you it all came together.  Your legs pinned to your ears...Your ass opening idly...waiting for the magic to happen.  Disappointing.
     Watching you freeze into a solo missionary melted my erection limp.  Your knees glued to your chest turned me off...Your eyelids stuck shut in expectation sickened me.  What am I to do with a lifeless sex doll?  What am I to do with that growing list of locations you want me to touch?  What am I to do with that winking brown eye I am steadily losing interest in?  Experiment.
     Suddenly, I can see why.  I can see why life has been having its way with you.  On your feet, you are just as passive.  Waiting for magic to happen.  The world pokes at that winking eye and walks away.  Life spills its seed onto your infertile mind and body.  Disappointing.

Cole Mohr by Armin Morbach


Ejaculating Backwards

Instead of shooting pearls, I backfire

Instead of falling unconscious, I dream with eyes wide open

Climbing towards the peak
Quivering from climax
My head fills with blinding white brilliance
Bodies of work knit from within my skull

The volume is overwhelming
Art Exhibits
Full-length Studio Albums
Spills from my lips...Drips from my ears...Coats my throat

Only with you.

"Thomas Penfound" by Daniel Sannwald

Folsom Street Fair 2010: Dark Reunion

     At the Folsom Street Fair, I really appreciated seeing other black people there with their freak flags flying high.  Young black men with harnesses... Older black women with their riding crops...We were in attendance! This was so good to see.  It was a sweet confirmation that I wasn't the the only one.
     Beyond seeing them with my own eyes, I touched...sniffed...experienced their kink.  I felt a tremendous degree of love coming from them.  Their faces brightened with the same smile as I approached them.  Some took me into their arms and spanked my ass affectionately.  Elders look at my semi-nude body with approval and pride.  I needed this...deeply.  I felt a great deal of relief to finally not be the only black person...to not be a novelty...
     To be a black person in this sub-culture, for me, is being a minority within a minority.  A very small percentage of African Americans can get into whips and chains...voluntarily.  But, at Folsom, I found that it takes a very special individual to be black and perverse.  To become so self evolved, shackles and slavery become a new experience, taking on new meanings!  I see it as a profound way of expressing that our history does not determine our futures...also, a great way of dominating white slaves fair and square.

"The Naked Violence" By Mert & Marcus

The Eleventh Degree: Vermillion Prayer

     Drunken on devotion, my dreams drill deep into you.  Plowing.  Churning.  Reaping at your soil as if tonight's harvest was the last...as though, this moment is the last fruitful season.
     We've been waiting for this night.  On the wings of high anticipation, our most primal passions take flight.  Suckling.  Panting.  Gnawing on each other's flesh.  Tonight, I will be depositing my seed into the stars.

Make a wish.

     Drunken on the wine of the unborn, it's rich vermillion shade excites me.  I swear, I could hear my ancestor's drums banging in my ears as I smeared across my belly and chest.  Celebratory cymbals and bells rang as I coated my face.  The taste of life on my tongue, made my blood dance in my veins!
     Covered in scarlet, I visualized: lengthy strands of zeroes in my bank account...Sterling, luxury items sparkling in my chambers...Exotic natives rubbing my feet and toes.  Plowing.  Churning.  Reaping every last drop of what could be...as though, this moment is the last fruitful moment.

My seed,
Flowing from me,
Will not return to me void.


"Peter Stark" by Dylan Rosser



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