Young, hung, and full of vitriol...

I can't offer works of staggering genius, but what you will get are my sometimes funny, questioningly intelligent, frighteningly vitriolic, occasionally shockingly sweet, but almost always charmingly grouchy ramblings on music, film, politics, society, pop culture, literature, queer life, travel, Kansas City, and the mundane, yet surreal aspects of everyday.

I'm a queer punk country boy in his late 30s, who has settled back in the midwest after a decade or so of living around the country. My boyfriend, MJ and I moved to Kansas City a couple of years ago after an insanely surreal life in rural, southeast Kansas. This is my attempt at getting back into writing after a longer than anticipated hiatus. I'm still a bit rusty, so be gentle with me...A bottle of wine, some Barry White, and a can of Crisco usually does the job.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The stories are always better at night. Exaggerated with whisky and Camel Filters, Cure songs and Special K, the age old tale of boys that chase boys and the girls that love them. It gets easier with age, they tell me....but what if the worst time of my life really is the best time of my life? Maybe the lies I told myself to make me like myself are the reasons that I don’t. Hmm...well pretentious pondering and empty bottle self analysis isn’t pretty and rarely gets on with the show, but angst...angst is always sexy. The fresh scar underneath the scab...that’s what this story is. The brutally lovely night stories...

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