Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Rerun: Post opposed to the forgetting of these three (orig. 01/22/08)


Robert Bingham

(1966 - 1999)

Ian wandered the neighborhood. It would be cool, he decided, if someone tried to fuck with him, and he scanned the street for a young drug dealer to humiliate. He was ready for a fight. A dealer with peach fuzz riding a bicycle, it would be nice to break the kid's nose and steal his drugs. Ian walked down the middle of the sidewalk. People got out of his way. He walked and walked until he found himself in front of the video store. On a nearby tenement doorstep he rested. His beer was nearly empty, and he dug in his pocket and pulled out a badly mangled pack of cigarettes and a lighter he did not recognize. There was one cigarette left over from last night. He took this as a sign but what the sign meant he did not know. The cigarette was crooked, losing tobacco, thoroughly like himself, slightly moist. He lit it, took a long drag, and made a plan. There was vodka in the freezer, and now he knew where she kept the Valium. Already he was thrilled. All the ingredients for a recovery were there. He decided to make a party of it. -- from Robert Bingham's ''This is How A Woman Gets Hit'

'On November 28, 1999, six months after his marriage and in the same November week that page proofs of his first novel came off the press, Robert Bingham was found dead from an accidental heroin overdose in the bathroom of his New York City apartment. He was 33 years-old. The scion of a storied Kentucky newspaper family, Bingham had a reputation for being different from other rich people. "He was without a snobbish bone in his body, able to empathize with people completely different from himself and extraordinarily generous with anyone he loved, believed in, pitied, admired, or was flattered by persistently enough," wrote Samantha Gillison on the Web magazine Bingham's death was an abrupt ending to a writing career still brimming with promise. After an early start - the New Yorker published his first story when he was twenty-six - Bingham earned a reputation for poignant portrayals of disaffected and burned-out rich young men. He also published the work of other similarly brilliant-yet-bizarre writers in Open City, a witty, provocative, and often dark literary magazine that Bingham cofounded and bankrolled.' -- obit

Samatha Gillson: 'Bingham loved rock music and his aesthetic sensibility was punk, vintage East Coast, early 1980s. As an artist (and person) he was much closer to, say, Dee Dee Ramone than to people like Michael Chabon or Jeffrey Eugenides (writers whom he has been compared to). He adored the work of Robert Stone, Dylan Thomas and Graham Greene but he reveled in Pavement. He became close friends with Pavement's Stephen Malkmus who wrote a song in memorium to Bingham, 'Church on White', which appears on his first solo album. Bingham believed that what he was looking for could be found in the hardest, ugliest places in our culture and psyche. And when he couldn't stand what he saw there, he sought escape in pure adrenaline-saturated sensation by (for just a few examples) driving too fast, moshing too enthusiastically at hardcore shows, inserting himself into politically unstable Third World countries, telling people what he thought of them to their faces, gambling huge sums of money, shooting guns and taking drugs.'


Bo Huston


'I read Bo Huston's The Listener 3 yrs ago and have been waiting anxiously for Mr. Huston to write something else. He masterfully, deftly renders characters. Jane would have been 2 dimensional and awful in the hands of any other writer, but she seemed wonderful and alive and completely insane. "Freud's Big Trouble" was my favorite, though; it seemed one of the most complete and well done short stories I've read in a long while. I'm very tempted to compare Mr. H. with Flannery O'Connor, and to my mind there would be no higher compliment. Does anybody know when/if he will publish again?' -- amazon review, 1999

'Just now, while engaged in the endless moving of my books from pile to pile (not unlike Sisyphus; but why does it seem like such an achievement?), I found a cache of all of Bo Huston's books. I had met Bo Huston years and years ago, during that short-shock burst of cocky youth that compels one to publish zines and do performance art. I read his novel Remember Me and arranged for Bo Huston to give a reading. The reading was postponed a few times because Bo, who was HIV-positive, was undergoing a variety of treatments; at one point, he'd gone repeatedly to Switzerland to have his entire blood supply removed and exposed to nitrogen; he went temporarily blind for a bit, but on the whole recommended the procedure for those seeking a different kind of vacation.

'Bo Huston didn't write like John Rechy or Genet or Proust -- none of the ostentatious fireworks of style (Kenneth Anger's roman candle! ah, no) nor incantatory invocations of that thin membrane pulsating between spirit and infection -- oh, none of the radical subversions I'd associated with "queer texts" after carrying and holding conspiciously aloft stuff like Reinaldo Arenas and Notre Dame des Fleurs and the like. Nor was Remember Me like the somewhat facile and doggedly friendly Armistead Maupin or David Leavitt, no; oh, Remember Me was a sustained breath before an eternity of weeping; it's about--- oh, read it yourself if you want to know. Parts of it remind me of Angels in America: Perestroika, it's that strange and vibrant. (Then again, a boy who read Remember Me based on my romanticised advocacy returned it to me, puzzled and dismissive. "It's like Raymond Carver or Chekhov," he shrugged. What a strange dismissal.)

'The day Bo finally read, I bought all his books and brought them to the reading. There were only a few people there, but Bo didn't seem disappointed. The demeanour he projected, his voice, was unlike the meditative proto-Hamlet's-father's-ghost's-like voice with which I'd read Remember Me; it was, rather, a sardonic, bitter voice, veined with bemusement and resignation; Bo's still-handsome face, thinned with travail, skin heroin-ravaged and scarred again by treatment, as he read resembled that of a much-weathered cowboy's: eyes that had seen miles and miles of work. After the reading our small group adjourned to a bar, where Bo, hyping up his Pity-Me-I'm-Dying cred, got the management to allow us to chainsmoke.

'So this was years ago, as I was saying; Bo, whose books had been previously published by small queer-oriented houses, finally sold a novel, The Dream Life, to St Martins Press, a mainstream publisher; and, as if the effort of playing it straight had taxed the sense of zut dolour that had tethered him to life, Bo Huston died.' -- dumb-john.diaryland


Tristan Egolf

(1971 - 2005)

"... The Railway-Miscarriage/River-Rat Theory would have it that John was prematurely miscarried into a stainless-steel toilet bowl on a high-speed express train cutting through the woods due southwest of Baker, and that he ended up, battered and disoriented, though still alive, face-down on the Patokah railroad tracks with half a rail tie in his ass and two pounds of afterbirth scattered through the gravel for a mile to the south. His mother, reportedly a wealthy heiress from Chicago who was seven months into term, had gone to the lavatory after developing acute stomach pains. Ten minutes later a passing conductor heard a series of screams and a thrashing about in the commode. After trying the handle and finding it jammed, he kicked down the door. He found the lady in question in a bloody awful mess. She was straining and lurching with one leg hiked up on the sink and both fists wrapped around a pustulating umbilical cord leading from between her drawn legs downward into the bowl. The conductor flew into a panic. He squeezed through the doorway and grappled for a hold on the cord. He could make out the misshapen infant jammed in the chute and howling in a high-pitched wail on the other side of the drop flap, just over the tracks. The screams sounded out all over the passenger car. The mother finally lost her footing in the sauce and pitched over into the hallway. She lost consciousness, leaving the rest in the conductor's hands, literally. The conductor made one last effort at dislodging the maimed infant, but the cord soon snapped, and up came the broken end. It was a terrible scene. By the time the young mother came to her senses with a crowd of passengers standing over her, she wanted nothing more than to turn her back on the whole dreadful affair. Of course, no one thought for a second that the child might have actually survived..." -- Tristan Egolf's 'Lord of the Barnyard'

'Tristan Egolf's brief life story reads like a fairy tale. A punk rocker who dissolved his band Kitschchao when they were about to be become successful turned street busker in Paris, he struck up an acquaintance with the daughter of Patrick Modiano, a prominent French author and screenwriter (''Lacombe Lucien"). Modiano helped publish Egolf's first novel, 'Lord of the Barnyard, in France after it has received 76 rejections from American publishers. Subsequently published in Britain and the United States, Barnyard received gushing reviews. Le Monde likened Egolf to Mark Twain, J.P. Donleavy, and Cormac McCarthy. The French paper Liberation and the Times of London both compared Egolf -- presciently, it turned out -- to John Kennedy Toole, the talented New Orleans novelist who killed himself at age 32.

'With the subtitle of Killing The Fatted Calf And Arming The Aware In The Corn Belt, Lord of the Barnyard is seemingly rough, even formless. It tells of Kalten- brunner, whose father dies before his birth. The boy shows a knack with chickens and sheep on the family farm, raises hell at school - so much so that the homestead falls victim to predatory Methodists and he is consigned to work on a barge. But that is only a quarter of it, mildness itself compared with Kaltenbrunner's subsequent work at a poultry plant, veritable sweetness beside garbage collecting, which sets in motion a strike, and more uproar. The book is not perfect, its manic energy precludes tidiness; it has its own volition, and editorial neatness would have made it sludge.

'In 2002, Egolf published his second novel, The Skirt And the Fiddle, which was less successful and received mixed reviews. Kornwolf, his third novel, which was published post-humously in 2005, was written amid Egolf's activities with the Smoketown Six, whose anti-war protests in Lancaster, Philadelphia, included burning an effigy of George Bush and posing, near-naked, in a pyramid similar to that of the Iraqi prisoners at Abu Ghraib. They were arrested, released, and their subsequent lawsuit for violation of civil rights is yet to be resolved. According to Egolf's friends and family members, that, and a loss of inspiration as a writer, was likely the upside of the manic depression which caused him to shoot himself in the head in his Lancaster, Pennsylvania apartment on May 7, 2005 at the age of 33.' -- obit

Kitschchoa 'Gone Sane'


p.s. Hey. Three writers, dead while young, new to you, or maybe not, all of them superb, whose works won't, I hope, just go, or, in most cases, stay o.o.p., and gradually disappear.

Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Meet woodpecker, CIRCUS_CLOWN, Ask4face, ImaponyNoIreallyam, and DC's other select international male slaves for the month of June 2015


GOUGEme, 19
I am here just for HUGE COCKS. Looking for HUGE COCKS. Just XXL or XXXXL or much larger cocks to fuck me hard. When you meet me you'll be so horny because I look that good. Living in WLA. I dont want to know you ..................... just please to be superficial like me. (Apparently I'm boring so there's a positive that isn't scary for anyone's health.) Signed, Dog


LifeOrDeath, 22
I need ur help please. My wife needs an immediate operation on her breast para I remove Ang left side Aron d na daw mukatag Ang cancer cells. She's been suffering this illness for about a year na and naluoy nako nya. I'll do everything and anything u want in exchange for ur financial help. This money is not for me but for my wife. This is a matter between life and death and I'll do everything just to save her.pwd ko makgsex og bayot bsta mkakwarta LNG mi. We still need dako2 pa na amount. By the way str8 ko and f ever Naa, Mao niy frst experience naq.


666cumdump4all, 22
Am literally with psycho am cool with serious ones'
anticipating I become Insu


yearsandyearsandyears, 23
subhuman pain&toiletslave begs to turn over its fagnips, fagcock, fagballs to a SADOMASTER or SADOMASTERS for nolimit torture, punishment for HIS/THEIR pleasure,/satisfaction. these are attached to subhuman pain&toiletslave ONLY as pain-receptacles. "it" begs for a SADOMASTER who would enjoy torturing its cock, balls, and nips until the painslave begged to have them removed. "it" begs for any/all kinds of humiliation/degradation. fagholes for any/all use, any insertions--facehole and cunthole there to take any/all of MASTER's body excretions, and any use of asswiper inside its facehole.. Group urinal--incl. hooded/blindfolded--never allowed to see its PISSMASTERS. """Especially--longtime ELECTRO of fagcock, fagballs, fagcunthole to absolute knock out limit of pain then harm death or whathaveyou, i won't know care. NO consideration of "it"'s begging to stop, "can't take it," "please." If two MASTERS each OWNS a fagtit and a fagball. NO affection, kissing, of subhuman pain&toilets slave.


Anonymous - 03.Jun.2015
I am psychic and I have received messages that a dead body will wash up onshore near Rimini in the next three days if it hasn't. If it isn't this cunt's corpse, and everything tells me it is, it should be.


veryslave, 21
guys..there is something about name is martin..I stay woodlands..I'm 21years old..very feminine as you can see in my photos..and of cos I'm str8..add me up..thank you..


Teenslavetonight4lyfe, 19
I want someone in the area to take me as a real 24/7 permanent no escape lifelong fem sex slave. At 7:30 pm tonight I'm going to stand on the corner of 3rd Street and Marlboro Ave in the deserted warehouse area where no one will see my abduction happen. I'll be standing there until someone kidnaps me or until tomorrow morning if nobody does. I will let you grab, handcuff, blindfold, chloroform me and make me your slave forever with no resistance but only tonight because I'm in a mood.


ImaponyNoIreallyam, 18
I'm looking to serve as a pony (There's no such thing as too much pony).

A couple of things about me.

I love pony play.

I'm very playful and lighthearted like a pony.


MolochsSon, 21
Young and gey without inhibit and Shredded as hell. With one aim. Best time to message me is when I'm drunk. I also take a long time to reply, don't take it personal. You'll find my information in the message if you get it.


Anonymous - 06.Jun.2015
No fuck but can be fisting is the height of embarrassment

Anonymous - 12.May.2015
To save everybody time, this is his message: "This is my aim. Either I suck your cock till you cum in my mouth or you fuck your wife, girlfriend or a whore in front of me or you fist me".


i am very dirty young twink. just looking for love and someone said i can find it here. when u are close to me my character get a little bit strange. HAHAHA also accepting song requests too. smile emoticon


Beathimnolimits, 19
He is a whore piece of fucking shit. I have fucked and used this bitch until he bores the fucking hell out of me. Unfortunately for reasons I will discuss in private he cannot be released, traded, sold. You are invited to bash this teen faggot with extreme violence and total destruction. Please note that for legal reasons any discussion of snuffing him is fantasy talk regarding the time you and he will spend together. The discussion of snuff in any context and at anytime, regardless of its intended purposes in asking, will be discussed by you and he strictly from your personal preferences and NOT in any type of context that might be construed as a criminally liable exchange, even if implicitly described as such by either party(s). What you are agreeing on is usage of his time only. Whatever you and he choose to do is mutually consensual between consenting adults, and as equals.


virginneedsbreeding, 22
Need and want my cherry popped ASAP you want my hole you got it open it as wide as you want but I warn you it's so tight you can't even push your little finger in it


hormonally_yours, 21
I'm in need for money, who's ready to buy a kidney? a doctor or whatever


Eros, 24
Eros appears in ancient Greek sources under several different guises. In the earliest sources (the cosmogonies, the earliest philosophers, and texts referring to the mystery religions), he is one of the primordial gods involved in the coming into being of the cosmos. But in later sources, Eros is represented as the son of Aphrodite, whose mischievous interventions in the affairs of gods and mortals cause bonds of love to form, often illicitly. Ultimately, in the later satirical poets, he is represented as a blindfolded child, the precursor to the chubby Renaissance Cupid – whereas in early Greek poetry and art, Eros was depicted as an adult male who embodies sexual power, and a profound artist.

A cult of Eros existed in pre-classical Greece, but it was much less important than that of Aphrodite. However, in late antiquity, Eros was worshiped by a fertility cult in Thespiae. In Athens, he shared a very popular cult with Aphrodite, and the fourth day of every month was sacred to him.

I'm a huge couponer and love to cook.


Ask4Face, 23
Israeli boy looking for BB fun in my hotel. In Berlin only 3.6-4.6. I always wanted to try a raw cock. I heard in Berlin its the best.

I do not put my face because I am very shameful haha (not ask me).


urpainpigslave, 20
All the way sex torture slave chem driven thats me.

sex.torture.chem,parteeeeeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeeee.eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

sex.torture.chem parteeeeeeeeeeeeeeee sex.torture.chem,parteeeeeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeeee.eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Laughing in the face of danger since 1998!



BoyDoor, 24
Although I am only 168 cm tall, this is my L-stand between my smooth silky legs ....! In Plug infusions I was definitely the best choice, my full lips sweeten, my fresh breath, my ultimate crisp and oversize receiving Po and my manoeuvrable smooth body can go for many hours in the pan, cool calm and gentel but can be crazy also if provoked, and I'll serve my breakfast - whatever it should be. I am happy if you will make me no available.


Boylover-si - 02.Jun.2015
youre so true STEPH06150= first phantasy i had was seein the boy lying dead in a coffin and me stealing him for necro= i never think like that= i thot maybe its his makeup cuz its all most too much like a corpses= i thot i was crazey

STEPH06150 - 12.May.2015
Never seen a so beautiful boy in all my life.
I'll make you "no available", baby.
You would look so right in an open coffin.


vortexslave, 23
A right platform to get hole of heaven

P.S. The first picture is not supposed to be sideways


moonlight_breakfast, 24
a question for you extreme sadist sirs on behalf of my master ---- is there a sedative or means of sedation that will keep a boy pain free but conscious while he is being burned alive? thank you sirs.


1966andy - 20.Jan.2015
i gotta agree with stern.

stern444 - 02.Jan.2015
why in the fuck would you want to use a sedative


woodpecker, 24
I am a 24 year old boy. I am a health professional so I require 100% privacy; my career cannot be compromised. If I have your word that none of our activities will be leaked, in any way shape or form, I will dedicate my service to you, Sir.

I am willing to try as much as master will allow me in that it will not involve risks to my career. As a result, I cannot part take in faecal (shit) play, in any bloodying whose source is not a minor looking, easily reparable cut that can be hidden by my clothing and in the taking of drugs whose effects do not wear off completely within two hours of ingestion; I also cannot shave my head or get tattoos as that will violate my professionalism and could ruin my career.

I have discovered BDSM whilst blogging on Tumblr. I have a set of three butt plugs, a collar and a cage. Currently my cage is the Atomic Jock Cock Lock, but I will get the cb6000 within a few weeks. The butt plugs are small, medium, and large.


chucklockhart, 21
i just wanna talk about porn

i'm nerdy, wear glasses sometimes




hellboyslutfuck, 18
I am a 18 year old old guy who really loves sex,even in girls ang guys or even gays

I want tomeet "boyfriend"

I will lick yur ass so much like a lolly

If I am very sentimental soul and you put comporit,We remain a long-time relationship

I need help me


p.s. Hey. Due to circumstances beyond my control, I will not be doing the blog/p.s. tomorrow or Thursday. You'll get rerun posts on those days, and I'll be back with a new post and a full p.s., in which I'll catch up with your accumulated comments, on Friday. ** Adrienne White, Hi. Actually, some band did do that recently, which I found out after I'd made the post. I can't remember the band, I think a Black Metal unit. Thank you re: the recipients list! ** David Ehrenstein, Ah, good old Vinyl Fetish, indeed. Oh, I would so love to have one of those Ashbury collages, sigh. ** Tosh Berman, Hi. Your return to vinyl was something of an inspiration for the post, in fact. You have Chang's 'White Album'! Cool! The reason/project why you and Lun*na are there sounds super interesting. Yeah, huh, makes sense about Detroit's possibilities. I've read that it is being something of a new magnet for artists, in fact. It all makes sense. ** Bill, Thanks! Yeah, not only on iTunes but four albums' worth. Surprised the heck out of me too. ** Tomkendall, Hi, Tom! I do love Guston and his pink a lot. Like Rothko? Interesting. I'm strange, I think, in that I don't like Rothko so much. It seems too heavy and aggressively powerful or something. I have a problem with work that strikes me that way. Like Kiefer, who I can't stand. I don't know. I don't think I can define the problem immediately, or not in a rushing p.s. Thank you much about the gif work. Fingers continuously and ever more crossed about the novel's reception at the front desks, man. ** Thomas Moronic, Thank you, I will, I'm sure. I assume you've seen Marclay's 'The Clock', or parts of it? What incredible thing that is. Mind boggling. Great vinyl thoughts. People I know who are especially into vinyl records often say how sexy the medium is relative to other music formats, and I can totally get that even if I can quite put my finger on why. ** L@rstonovich, Dude! Awesomeness supreme at your kind visit! Kinda going sounds perfectly good. Enviable even. 'I Remember' is so great, no? Man, hang out whenever the mood strikes. Would be sweetness on my end. Lots of love to you. ** _Black_Acrylic, Thank you, B. I thought there some kind of adoptive relationship between that post and yours too. That records one being your post's wide-eyed little half-brother or something. I'll go indulge in those Italo-Disco tracks asap. Thank you, Ben. ** Chris Goode, Hello, maestro! I wonder if I could squeeze out a cassette-associative stack/post. Hm. I'll try. Me too, btw. I miss that web of record stores too. In LA, where the vinyl rebirth/re-fetish seems to have its epicenter, that's actually becoming the case again. It's sweet if different. Oh, gosh, that's so not a dumb question. Well, it's a short story because I built it using my understanding of and feel for 'the short story'. I approached it the exact way I would approach writing a short story using written language, but imagining the gif, with its weird limitations and freedoms, its blatancy and secrecy, etc., etc. as a language rather than as a visual medium. Doing that, the quivery, stiff gif can become a sentence, a word, a paragraph, etc. So, there is, within 'TAMT', a narrative trajectory, characters, etc., but they don't reveal themselves the way text fiction reveals theirs because ... well, because their possibilities and limitations are very different. I've made poems of gifs, and, to me anyway, they're very different things because they're built on different foundations and have different schemes and obligations. The reason I labeled it a short story is because I think possibly an interest for the reader would be in determining how it is a short story. I imagine that particular investigation, should a reader undertake it, would be interesting in maybe the same way that undertaking that task as the work's author is interesting. Also, I think, given that the gif as literature form is pretty foreign at this point since I don't know of others trying that experiment, I think it's important to sway readers away from the immediate assumption that it's visual art because it's not built to work like visual art. But the gif form is weird, and, like I said, is weirdly restrictive and offering of strange freedoms too, and, like my fiction, in fact, I think I end up employing poetry, for instance, within the work to do certain jobs that strict fiction in the conventional sense does not allow necessarily. All that said, if it reads a poem, I think that's totally cool and very interesting. If I keep working in the gif form, and I'm pretty excited by it, so I probably will, I like the idea that I could eventually discard the labeling and let them telegraph what they are less didactically. I don't know. I'm incredibly grateful that you're interested enough to wonder about these things and question the work and my intentions. Thank you ever so much! Yeah, Michael's film is beautiful, right? And 'Elri', its star is also one of the stars of Zac's and my film, and he's great. ** Kier, Hey, hey! Thanks, pal. I do have the Marclay record, and it is sleeved, thereby destroying its intended effect, which seemed more interesting as a plan when I did that years ago than it does now. Copenhagen envy. I love that city. Oh, jeez, on the hair length thing. That's so retro and boring, that question. Work it to your advantage somehow, I guess? I'm so glad you're drawing again! Oh, at some point, Zac and I want to talk to you about a project thing and see if you're interested, Probably not for a while, but your drawings would be involved. I don't have snapchat, no. I'm only about 50% sure what that even is, ha ha. But let's figure out a way to snap each other. That sounds fun. I'm good, just finishing up the theater piece and working on the new film script and wishing the summer would go the fuck away. How were your next three days? Tell me! Big love, me. ** Steevee, Pink eye sucks. Shit, I hope the medicines make it go away pronto. ** Postitbreakup, Hi! Lengthily employed is a total victory. One I've never managed, ha ha. Yeah, a decade, it's true. Cool and totally bizarre. It is 10 years old. I should have done an anniversary something or other, but I spaced. Much love to you, Josh! ** Chilly Jay Chill, Hi, Jeff. Thanks, bud. Jabes, yeah, he's great. I'll have to check back to see if I've done him on the blog. If not, or even if so, I will. Great idea. Guest-posts would be manna, if you have the time. Thank you! No news, just waiting to see if the festivals that we applied to will accept us. That's all that's happening right now. ** Armando, Hi, man! It's good to see you! I'm glad you're better! No, I just have the structure planned out in my head, and some of the detail stuff like characters and setting and 'story' and so on before I write. I like to have a really strict structure beforehand and then try to improvise within it when I write. You have a great day too. Love, me. ** Okay. Slaves Day. The blog will see you in older garb tomorrow and on Thursday, and I'll see you directly again on Friday, like I said.