Monthly Archives: August 2011

Dear Sunrise,

If I could ask you just one thing

I think I’d wonder why,

Without question

Every day

You push yourself to sky.

Reliable as summer’s rain

Dependable as moon,

You reach your warmth without condition

Into my afternoon.

I’d query why you never fail

Though clouds may try to hide,

Your glow, your strength, consistency

It HAS to live inside.

So this I ask, if just for me

Can I rise just as you?

To never mind the blackened rain

And see the world your view?

You slip away

At evenings call

Drop gently from the air,

Yet as you slide

To hidden place

I know you’ll still be there.


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Filed under Life..., Poetry

Top Ten Ways Two Gay Men Prepare for Irene.

Apparently we are in the path of what weather forecasters are calling the storm of the century. Now I realize that I’m a poster child for “skepticism” and I have been known to “pooh” these forecasts, but JUST in case, there are a few things Daryl and I need to do in preparation…

1. Check supplies of batteries. What the heck for? To put in a radio? We haven’t seen a “radio” since the seventies. (For the record, we have a DuraCell credit card)

2. Check for flashlight? Hrmpff. We’ll use our battery operated candles. It’s all about ambience.

3. Fill the bathtub with water. Um… we’ve done things in that tub that make us SURE to not use tub water for ANYthing.

4. Check bottled water. Do mixers count?

5. Get bread, eggs and milk. Oh wait… it’s NOT a snowstorm.

6. Check vodka supply. LOL. Like we’d forget that.

7. Check vodka supply, again.

8. Stay tuned to TV for up to the minute emergency coverage of the storm. Um… we have Comcast for cable and AT&T for our iphones. We’re screwed and will most likely watch a DVD of Mrs. Doubtfire.

9. Stay inside; drink plenty of fluids and rest. Wait… I think that’s if you’re sick.

10. Basically, Irene is considered an extreme blow job. Fortunately for us, we’ve got THAT one covered.


Filed under Life..., Top TENS

just a taste.

Yesterday, as I was taking advantage of the outstanding weather while enjoying my 3 mile brisk walk in the park, I was trying to think of a concept to write about later in the day using “taste.” I wanted to use metaphors that included and fused the power of the senses to bring about my love for the “flavor of tasting the day.” I know that might sound odd, but I truly enjoy food. Actually, I enjoy meals. I love the process of creating culinary atmospheres that are filled with conversation, laughter, good wine and backed with some amazing music.

I never DID author a piece about tasting the day. Just as I sat down on the sofa to get started on producing something about how the sky was mixed with clouds like a wine based rue…

I felt the earth move.

Literally, I could see and feel the condo vibrating and undulating under me. It lasted a brief ten seconds or so, but it was a very unusual sensation. As I looked at the cat for some sort of visual on her take of the experience, I saw no reaction from her as she continued to swat at a honey bee on the porch. I initially thought that perhaps my blood sugar was out of whack, or maybe I was experiencing an unusual heart palpitation.

Then I watched as several Face Book statuses began rolling like the ground beneath me. “Did anyone feel that??” “Earthquake reported at 5.8, centered in VA!” “Cell phones are jammed!”

I was not crazy. This time.

Needless to say, the activity and the buzz from this rare East Coast occurrence put a slight damper on my writing project for the day.

So I compensated. I played chef.

Below are photos of what I now fondly refer to as my “Quake Concoctions.” Enjoy.

"Earth Topplers?" Home made olive oil and fresh garlic toastettes, topped with plum tomato, sweet corn from the cob, spicy shrimp, fresh chopped basil and shaved Parmesian.


"Richter Scale Skewers?" Fresh sun-dried tomato and basil chicken sausage, skewered with local squash, Vadelia onion and red peppers on a bed of brown rice and spicy Thai sauce.


Filed under Food Creations, Life...

Top ten misconceptions about an old interracial gay couple.

Matching tee shirts are SO gay, even if they ARE Jakes Bar.

1. One of us is the “husband” and one of us is the “bitch.”
TRUTH: While we don’t strive to emulate straight stereotypical roles, we are BOTH the “bitch.”

2. Attempting to incorporate our culinary heritage into our diet, we eat fried chicken on Friday nights and goulash on Mondays.
TRUTH: We eat fried chicken any day that we require comfort food and goulash is just nasty.

3. We use 50% less sunscreen than a Caucasian gay couple.
TRUTH: We don’t go out in the sun unless there is alcohol involved and only then with a rainbow-colored parasol.

4. Our musical tastes include Lady Gaga, Bootsy Collins and Justin Bieber.
TRUTH: Daryl knows the words to Justin Bieber songs. I, on the other hand, have ear plugs.

5. We have store credit cards at Old Navy and The Gap.
TRUTH: Credit cards are not our friends.

6. My pet name is “Flashlight.”
TRUTH: Although during sex in a dark room there are times where the only one I see is me, that is not my pet name.

7. Daryl’s pet name is “Bubalicious.”
TRUTH: It is.

8. People assume that one of us is well hung.
Truth: We both are.

9. I prefer chocolate ice cream, Daryl prefers vanilla.

10. We use Kool Aid as a mixer.
TRUTH: It was just that one time!


Filed under Life..., Top TENS

final destination.

I worked 7 days in a row this past week and today was my day off. Usually, I have a list of chores including supermarket shopping, cleaning, and other errands and appointments that fill the day quicker than a bolt of lightning lights the sky. Fortunately, Daryl and I tackled the torment of grocery shopping last night after work, and most of my other errands can wait until another time. I made no plans today.

The day was mine.

I enjoy going to the movies alone on my day off. I’ve been a fan of solo movie watching for years. The very first time I attended a movie by myself was when I was about 21 and the original horror flick Halloween came out. It was a chilly, blustery autumn day and there was a new theater that just opened up in my neighborhood. I liked the fact that I didn’t have to be concerned that whoever I was with was enjoying the movie as well. It was rather liberating. I was also afforded the very best seat in the house which was dead center, about 8 rows from the screen with all the popcorn I could eat without throwing up.

So this morning, when I heard there was a new 3-D version of one of my favorite teen in peril blood fests with eye-popping, lap-dropping mangled appendages bursting from the screen, I jumped at the chance to get to the 11:00 am showing of Final Destination 5 while Daryl was at work.

Daryl and I have many similar tastes in movies including Mrs. Doubtfire, Bird Cage, Sex and the City (the first one only — the second one was a hideous disaster) and The Color Purple, however, we also share VERY different preferences for the types of movies we don’t like. For example, Daryl does not care for movies that are scary, violent or gory. On the other hand, I have always been a huge fan of horror, blood and the occasional disemboweled entrails. We have often discussed our cinematic clashes and have agreed that my solitary treks into terror are just what the witch doctor ordered.

I had the entire theater to myself this overcast morning. As I was downing my breakfast of popcorn and snow caps while the obligatory previews rolled across the large screen, I silently wondered as I put on my special glasses… why DO I like to watch death, mayhem, and destruction? Perhaps it stems from growing up on Saturdays glued to television’s “Doctor Shock’s Creature Double Feature.” The black and white classics of Vincent Price and Claude Rains were my escape into the macabre. The special effects of the great Tom Savini and his mastery of gore in the seventies with movies like Dawn of the Dead and Friday the 13th were my meaty morsels of madness. But does that truly explain WHY I am STILL attracted to these gore fests like a butcher knife to a shower?

I’m afraid of death.

Plain and simple, death scares the shit out of me. Maybe it’s having a ghastly death that bothers me. Final Destination 3-D literally THREW gruesomeness into my face. Severed heads, bones and hollow eye sockets were tossed at me like balls to a basket, bouncing randomly through the theater before landing on my lap. Who would have thought that getting an erotic massage would beHeadly… I mean be deadly? How could a simple laser eye surgery go horribly blind tossing the eyeless victim out a six-story window? And I would never think a haphazardly misplaced half inch screw could literally fuck me over. Sigh.

The unexpectedness of a horrendous death is what bothers me the most. By making just one tiny incorrect decision, I could snuff my life out in a matter of seconds. A wrong turn. A missed glance. Being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps this is why I watch this catastrophic carnage. I think by having this terror tossed at me on MY schedule, it gives me some sense of controlling death. Or at least the timing of death. Now mind you, I certainly don’t obsess about my personal method of demise, but watching this type of movie forces me to be more aware of my every step, bringing me caution.

I left the film as I came in… alone, vulnerable and continuously looking over my shoulder. I searched for loose pipes as I peed in the men’s room. I tip-toed cautiously down the empty claustrophobic hallway searching for the elusive exit sign. I looked both ways twice as I stepped into the parking lot toward my car.

As I was driving home I noticed EVERY weaving propane tanker truck in view. Loose ladders tapped dangerously with sinister glee as I passed pickup trucks covered in paint and tar. Every leaf blowing free from the side of the road mocked me while dancing across my tenuous path. Break lights winked in red just waiting for my forgotten turn.

Fortunately, today, I made it to my final destination in one piece.


Filed under Life...

this is your life.


Filed under Life...

untitled fiction.

The rain continued. It was coming in winded sheets now, almost sideways and it stung my skin through my drenched and tightening clothes. I could barely see my watery path as I continued to slide down the thickening river. I wasn’t completely sure as to exactly how I had gotten to this area of the zone, but I tried to paddle the raft forward. I wasn’t so much steering the craft as the surge of the water was moving me in any direction that it wanted to take me. I knew the story of this zone. I was beginning to panic.

Everything was gray. There was little contrast to distinguish what was land and what was water. It was monochromatic fluidity and I was lost. I had no direction. The flow of the river was my path. Unknown. Uncertain. I could no longer control my position as I squinted hard to see if I could find a safe place to make an attempt to pull over until the rain stopped or at least slowed down a bit. The river moved faster now and I didn’t see the thick gray branch that hit my head from above. For a brief moment all was quiet after a flash of bright light, as the rain began to taste warm and salty as it trickled into my mouth, and suddenly I dropped like a rag doll to the floor of the raft and the rain in my head had finally stopped.

My mouth was dusty as I opened my eyes. I tried to move my tongue in my throat to get it wet and all I could do was cough. I coughed again, as my head protested in throbbing pain. The raft was still. There was no motion as I rolled over to face the sky. It was still dark, but the rain was quiet for now. The moon and the stars still gone as the cries of frogs began to enter my ears. It was almost too peaceful as I attempted to push myself up from the floor of the raft. Its soft floor giving way as I clumsily sat upright. I blinked a few times to clear my foggy eyes and tried to make sense of where I was.

I seemed to have floated into a cove. I was surrounded by deep gray forests of finger-like tree trunks highlighted by occasional lightning flashing in the distant sky. From what I could make out, I was almost in the middle of this cove, spinning softly in a wide circle with still no direction or way. I glanced down into the floor of the raft and was relieved to see my oar had remained with me during my turbulent unconscious trip here. I fumbled in the dark again through brief flashes of light and managed to pull the oar up and sliced it into the calm cove water. It was then that I tasted my blood.

I pulled the oar up and with my right hand I touched my forehead and felt the cruel gash where that tree had tried to take me. The skin felt angry and rough and it screamed in fire as I poked and probed at my injury in the dark to see if the bleeding had stopped. It felt dried and somewhat scabby as I deducted that most of the blood I was tasting was dried and crusted about my lips. I was somewhat relieved as I continued the task of rowing toward the darkened mass of land.

The frog’s calls continued to echo in the chambers of forest as I finally felt the raft skim bottom. The sound of soft sand kissing the rubber was welcomed with barely a grin, then a furrowed brow as I knew the stories of this zone. The panic and fear welled up in my empty stomach and left my parched throat sour and sore. I grabbed a small branch and secured my landing with a burly rope tied on the raft. The frogs became silent all at once as I sat still and listened, the only sound was the heavy thumping of my heart in my tightening chest. I could feel the pressure riding up to my head and I felt the wound open as fresh blood began to stream into my left eye.

I unbuttoned my soaked shirt. My fingers ached as they quivered to find each button in the dark. I could hear the rain beginning again as its soft plops into the cove became quicker and harder eventually turning into a soft but almost musical pour. I ripped the sleeve from my discarded shirt and tied it tightly around my head to attempt to stop the flow of blood. A flash of lightning closer now, highlighted my well developed wet chest as I tried to examine it quickly for injuries during my journey. It looked clean.

I was beginning to feel some pressure in my bladder and realized that I hadn’t pissed since my trip into this hell had begun. I held on to the anchored branch and stepped onto the soft sand below. I could not help but feel dizzy and somewhat unsteady at my first step onto this place. I waited for the spinning to subside as I began to head to a small clearing in the clump of dark forest. The rain was becoming harder still as I pulled my zipper down and reached for my soft dick. It felt good to relieve myself and I shivered as I continued to pee. I closed my eyes and felt good.

Its hot breath was the first thing I felt. I didn’t recognize my own voice as I screamed in terror at the deep guttural growl in my right ear. I turned around to see nothing as I shook from the very base of my spine. I felt its breath again behind me as I turned around blindly punching at the wet air. I felt its warm spit as it drooled on my shoulder as I spun around again swinging wildly. I could not fight what I could not see. I ran. I could feel its presence behind me as the fear in my body took over. I ran faster as my boots felt like they were glued to the sand with each trodden step.

 I finally got back to the raft and leapt into it hard landing on my knees. I fumbled at the secure knot as I wanted to be free of this place, this zone. I could hear it coming even through the steady pounding of the rain. I heard it scream. I could not see what I was doing as my fingers continued their struggle to untie the knot. I pulled. I pulled as hard as I could, but it would not break free! I felt an unrecognizable moan escape my diaphragm as I was punched by a force in my stomach. The momentum lifted me backwards face up half into the water of the cove. I tried to catch my breath and rolled over to get up as I felt tiny sharp biting on my hands under the water. I pulled my hands quickly out of the water and they were covered in blood. I reached for the rope as it tumbled free of the branch. The turbulent water pulled me from the gray shore. I heard it scream again.

I was heaving deeply as I wanted to fill my aching lungs with air. I looked to the sky as I sucked in water and sky as I choked. My hands were now throbbing as I fumbled at the bottom of the raft looking for my tossed shirt to stop the bleeding. I yelled in pain as my hand hit a hard metal box of some kind. It felt about as large as a shoebox and I wondered how I didn’t see it before. I swallowed my own bile as I fumbled to open the box…


Filed under Fiction