Archive for the ‘personal’ Category

American Penis

You may or may not be aware of my desire to participate in the World Naked Bike Ride in Portland.  I was shocked to discover it’s existence less than a year ago from a girl I’d met online.   Honestly, if I’d had the money I would have gone to this year’s event.

My best friend was a little confused by this concept.   “Would you really do that?”

“YES.”  The words ran from my mouth almost before he could finish his.   There isn’t a doubt in my mind that I would be willing to disrobe in front of others.

“Why do you want to?”

“An overwhelming desire to show the world my genitals?”


“–nothing.”  Admittedly, I’m not in it to spread awareness of bike riders like the hippies out there.   I’m just trying to spread awareness about my cock.

In essence, it is like climbing a mountain to me.  You do it “Because it’s there.”   Because you can.  I mean, why not??   I’m not ashamed of my body.  It’s just nudity.   Sexuality doesn’t have to be scary.   It’s natural.   It is a natural thing for a human being to want to feel the wind and the sun on their naked skin.   To deny it is to deny ourselves.  –okay I made that part up.   But it’s true.

Cock Sock

Lets be honest.  It’s only a penis.  What’s so scary about that?  Its not as though I have the words “this machine kills pussy” tattooed on it.   It’s screwed up American Sexual Politics that govern our lives, spreading teen pregnancy and venereal diseases in it’s wake.    Maybe if we all got naked a little more often, we would be mentally, physically and emotionally better off.

“This machine kills sexual hang ups.”

“and fucks your mouth.”


The Dirty Thirty

There are certain milestones in everyone’s life.   We attach a special significance to certain birthdays.

The 1st birthday is more about the parents than the kids.  Generally they’re still happy to discover they have feet at that point.   Your 13th birthday is  proof that you’re growing up. You’re a teen now.  Woo. Hoo.   Sweet 16 is about freedom. You can drive now.  You can leave the nest, making it much easier to have sloppy, drunken teen sex.   18 is graduation and 21 is the official age of adulthood and drinking… even though you’ve probably been at it for about 8 years at that point.

But all of that pales in comparison to the dreaded, dirty 30.

The Dirty Thirty takes you from the wonderous state of adulthood of 21 having one foot in the grave.  Suddenly you’re 3-0.  You’re old!  You’re dying! And whereas in previous years people celebrated your birth, when it comes to 30 they spend an entire year laughing at you and asking stupid questions like

Sooooo…   THIRTY, huh?  That’s rough.  How you feel about that?

Really?  How do I feel about it?   I’ll tell you how I feel.   I don’t give a shit.   Yeah, in a month I’ll be 3 decades old.    But I’ll only be one day closer to death than I was the day before.

Besides, for all that age robs of you in time, the one thing it provides is burdgeoning fearlessness.   Youth is for the birds, you see.  But I am the finest of wines; I only get better with age.

Mine will be the dirtiest of thirties.  I plan to engage in a level of debauchery that can only be defined as a travesty.  30 shall be my year of recknoning and wreckage.    Villages, prepare to be raped!  Women, get ready to be plundered!  Boats will sink!   Cities will raze to the ground!  Children will shit their pants!

It should be quite a decade.

Untenable Me


Just, just stop.

Every word you speak. Every time you look in my direction. Even just hearing you say my name… I want you more.

I don’t know if its infatuation or crush or unmitigated passion and desire, but a part of me needs you. Foolishly, I don’t believe its the getting with you as much as the being with you that concerns me.

Proximity is the villain here. It’s not just that fucking intoxicating scent that you have. I can literally feel when you’re in the room. And just like that, BAM, I’m on edge. My nerves are on fire in all the best ways for all the wrong reasons. Madness. This is madness.


You know don’t you? Are you that devious, or that naive?

Lust_by_Violator3Stolen glances across a room. My devoted attention, hanging on your every word as I stare into those gorgeous brown eyes. I focus on your lips, thinking about what it would be like to kiss them. Imagine taking you in my arms. Kissing you. Kissing you all over. And then you smile. YOU SMILE! And it’s everything I can do to keep from tearing every. last. stitch. from your skin and taking you there on the floor. I try to focus as you go on about your day, but in between each word, in the spaces between every breath, every heartbeat– I get these flashes of us. Of you whisperin my name in my ear. Of sweat and fingers and limbs and touching. Breaths of you and I in intense heat. Trysts. Sex. Love making. FUCK.  That’s what this is.  Lust.


And there you go looking beautiful. Reminding me you’re taken when I just want to take you. Running circles in my mind. And I can’t breathe. It’s too warm in this room. This collar is too tight. I feel like I want to claw my own skin off.


Just stop it.


Enough of this.

No Compromise, No Surrender

I’ve never been the kind of man that follows others. Maybe it’s the stubborn Sicilian in me.  I do not believe in accepting the world as it is.  Nor do I accept a concept as truth based on the person who speaks it.  I have been called arrogant, condescending, intolerable and all manner of half-wit insults.

It is not enough to say “this is truth because I say it is so.”   It is unacceptable to allow wrongs because the rights do not come easy.

The reality is that the world will make you bend.  Compromise is inevitabile.  What matters is that you never compromise who you are, or what you believe.  For when  you do, you are lost.

They’ll come at you hard and fast from directions you cannot fathom.  But you must not break.  At times you may waver and falter, but you do not fall, you do not break.

Never accept easy answers.

Never allow others to determine who you are.

Never shirk personal responsibility.

Never allow fear to control you.

No compromise.

No surrender.

Get Naked!!

In spite of my Roman Catholic upbringing, I do not subscribe to the theory that sex and sexuality are shameful.  Horseshit.   Nor do I believe the human body is something we should be ashamed of, though that’s something I struggle with just as much as anyone.  We shouldn’t be afraid of nudity.  It doesn’t make you vulnerable. It’s who you are.

Less than a year ago, a girl I know from Oregon informed me that she would be getting naked this June for the World Naked Bike Ride.   I was intrigued… at first because she was talking about herself naked, but later at the thought of the event.

Apparently the WNBR is this event that occurs in 70 locations throughout the globe.   It’s a bunch of hippies who shed their clothes and don bicycles to spread awarness about cyclist safety, energy consumption and  the size of their genitals.

I’m not reallydown with the message.  I don’t have a problem with hippies as long as they keep their political and –marajuanical– opinions to themselves. And yet I am bemused at the thought.  Naked fleshy apendages are bemusing.

I really wanted to do it this year, but circumstances would not permit.  But after hearing a first person account of the event, I am more driven than every to pop wheelies and woodies in Oregon next year.

“Do you really think you could get naked in front of all those people?”  a friend asked.   Absolutely.  It’s scary, but doable.   That said, I may try to get hold of some viagra or cialis beforehand.  Mine is not a “show-penis”.

It has, however, some of the qualities of a stunt penis.

You may ask why someone like me would do something like this.  It’s like sky diving without the whole “falling to your death” part.  It’s about facing your fears.   Once you’ve waved your penis (or flashed your ‘gyna) around a major American city going ten miles an hour, you’ve got bragging rights.

You get to say “I did this.”  Something only a handful of people have ever done.  Something very few people would ever do.

At the very least, I figure my odds of scoring with some drunk hippie chick are increased when we’re both naked and pulsing with adrenaline.

Cool Mountain Scottish

For a short time I lived in Arizona.

I spent a semester at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff.


In the center of NAU sits the bookstore and the post office.   And in that bookstore works a woman.  I don’t know her name or where she’s from.  Truth be told I don’t even remember her face.   But everyday at 11:00, she plays the bagpipes.

It’s not something you ever expect to hear.  And it may be something you never hear.  But I was in the right place at the right time one day.   And there she was, in plain clothes on her lunch break with only her bagpipes and a turkey sandwich, seated on the side of the bookstore.   Most people walked right past her.   Some gave her bizarre looks as they went.  But still she played.

Not me though.  Along with a few others, I listened as she played the slow, soulful music of the Scots.   There’s a story there, I’m sure.   Something brilliant.  Maybe tragic.  But I never asked.  Every day, or as often as possible, I would sit for a minute and listen to her song.

She’s probably still out there, next to a brown brick building, playing her song.


The Cowboy In Us All

We are the farmers and the soldiers.  The teachers and the shop owners.  Butchers and bakers, and yes, even candlestick makers. 

We are the stay at home mothers and waitresses.  Bridge builders and rail workers.  The immigrants and the legacies.  Dreamers and artisans and athletes alike.   We are the body and the spirit of America.   Our fathers and grandfathers and many ancestors built this nation, not by the color of their skin or the shade of their collar, but by the sweat of their brow.

In the end, we’re just simple folk trying to carve out a life for us and our children in this world.  We can sense the shift in the world, the mighty quake that splits the ground and divides us all.  We know you’re out there.  We know that you wish us gone and silent.   You paint us in darkness and hate, hoping the fire of your lies will burn out the truth.

Suddenly we are Un-American for our dissent and disagreement.  As if our right to speak should not be and had never been but for some grievous error on the part of the Founders.   We are not the lunatic fringe this new regime paints us out to be.  We are many and we are strong.   We are not foolish ideologs.  We are believers; placing our faith in our fellow man and in the spirit of Democracy.

It is the duty of every man, woman and child to speak out and to question our nation’s leadership.  This is not the treason this administration details.  It is our heritage.  It is our right.  It is our duty in the face of poor leadership and the deaths of Democracy and Capitalism.   It is not us who have betrayed our nation.  It is our leaders who have betrayed us; betrayed the stone foundation that our world was built upon.  You claim Americans are arrogant?  The entire 20th century, from the Industrial Age to the Modern Age was made possible by the will of free men and women in this very nation, and the priviledge of a free market economy.  Where would the people of Earth be without Thomas Edison, Henry Ford, Benjamin Franklin and Harry Truman and the women and men who came before and after them?

We are not arrogant.  

We are forgetful.  Our sin is not arrogance, but sloth.  We have sat idly by far too long, resting on the priviledges and conveniences provided by our parents.  We’ve forgotten the will and the dreams that made us special.   But no more.  You have spurned us to action.  You’ve envoked our benevolent wrath.  And soon this mighty wind will rise into a hurricane, and we will take back our nation.  We will restore all that is good and brilliant about the United States of America.   You cannot silence us all.  We’re not soldiers or gun fanatics or even freedom fighters.  

We are believers.  We are Americans. And very soon you will remember what that means.


“The price of liberty is eternal vigilance.” -Thomas Jefferson

“The first step in oppressing a people is to suppress their voices.  Stand up and be heard.” -Adam Relayson