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:

CLICK HERE

     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

Headgasm

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

Spurting...Splashing...Spilling

My head fills with blinding white brilliance

Bodies of work knit from within my skull

The volume is overwhelming

Art Exhibits

Novels

Full-length Studio Albums

Spills from my lips...Drips from my ears...Coats my throat

Only with you.

"Thomas Penfound" by Daniel Sannwald

Where I've Been: Map of Human Sexuality 2010

Find out where I've journeyed on the Map of Human Sexuality! Or get your own here!

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.

Amen 

"Peter Stark" by Dylan Rosser