Sofisticashun

THAT father-son relationship is creepy WEIRD. They sleep in the same bed. He's 53. His dad is 80. And they sleep in the same bed. I guess when you're rich and (very, very) old there's nothing left to do but stick your dick into anything. I'm not implying he fucks his 53 year old son, well ok yeah maybe, consenting adults and all, I'm just saying WHY would you mutually admit to sleeping in the same bed with your 80 year old dad as if that's normal behavior? Literotica, isn't supposed to be a how-to handbook! 

We all know there's something very not right going on here. Years ago, when his dad got a girlfriend, and she thought his grown adult son needed to make friends and healthy relationships, the son instead got wasted and tried to kill himself. 

What's the son going to do when his dad dies? His dad is in his 80's. He doesn't have much time left!

Wow. 

Just wow. 

I don't know why anything surprises me anymore. I guess it's why people are into the whole "That's mine!" possession ownership. That's MY bar, and MY bartender, and MY seat, and those are MY friends. Not yours! They're just being protective (in a batshit crazy kinda way) so no one ends up accidentally befriending a nutjob old man for a brief period of time. 

If his oldest daughter ever wanted to collaborate on a book about yet one more fucked up old white man, I'm so in!

I'm protective of my loved ones too, but i don't put them on a leash, unless they ask nicely.

Withal

I'm beginning to understand why loved ones get mad I'm not the jealous type. They want to feel protected, I guess.

I got your backs! 

And while I knowingly on occasion put myself in questionable situations, I'm more worried about these morons who post in public forums. Holy shit. 

"I don't understand why he doesn't return my email!" 

Really?? Huh. Interesting. And you're only 43 years old.

"What do selfies mean?"

Ok yeah. There's no hope for you. 

Recently I poked fun at a loved one who went a little nutty because I didn't return our usual morning text message. I accidentally dropped my cell phone in a coworker's car the night before and didn't get my phone back until noon the next day. But my loved one had already called the cops by 11am. -- Long story short, I consider myself lucky to be so loved and cared about. 

Still

Nutty? Yes, baby, kinda nutty.

Then again

I get emails from guys who "invite" me to a GB, and oh by the way you're the one getting GB. Whoooo!!! Like I'm sitting around just A'HOPING for an invite to a GB where five guys want to fuck me in the ass. Neat! 

The other day some guy in a car got pissed off at me because he had to wait 15 seconds while I crossed an intersection at the venice circle. He laid on the horn for the entire 15 seconds THEN he proceeded to drive around the venice circle THREE TIMES before figuring out how to exit the circle. FYI any exit out of the circle will take you to a main boulevard where you can catch a freeway going east, north or south. Pico, Washington, Venice, they're all main boulevards.

And

Are we so quick to abandon the Ching Ching Ding Dong Foundation?? Some 110 year old Asian bitch almost murdered 3 people with her auto-mo-beel plowing through an intersection as kids were crossing at the designated (right of way) cross walk. 

Ok. 

You know what? 

I'm sorry I called you "nutty" for calling the cops at 11am.

You're right.

And 

I'm lucky! 

Sooooooo everyone not working next week raise your hand.

Monte Thrasher

I liked the Los Feliz, mural. But this is why you (now) paint on canvas. Everyone wants to be Michelangelo, but then with a flick of a wrist, your art is gone. Forever. We're a dying breed. Everyone's a photographer. Everyone's a film maker. There are no "next generation" artists in the near future. All we can do is preserve our work somehow, and hope maybe some day someone will be inspired.

Fump thee

No, not since old people (ie our age range) took over Facebook. After 30 years of age we've already made our dearest friends cliqued and bonded, and have arrived where we need to be. It was just a "but what if?" Moment. You know me, I get those sometimes. Don't worry I've since returned to my senses. 

Tea?

I was thinking of going to Arizona, or New Mexico, for a while. Means I have to get on a plane. Wait. Who flies to both states? Dammit. --- Yea even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

Tea?

Mud people

Myself included. As in Earth day, that just past. 

I'm all for science. I chose it over religion in every theological discussion. HOWEVER philosophy is my master. I'm ruled by reason even when I'm being unreasonable. Philosophy corrects me and my loved ones who aren't shy telling me when I'm wrong. Constantly. In text. Email. Phone messages. Over drinks. (Seriously, let it go.)

But that's me.

NOT the guy in Utah (fuck of course Utah) who reportedly "fake" pissed himself to make his young daughter feel better about accidentally pissing herself. AND as if THAT wasn't bad enough, dad then took A PICTURE with the crotch of his jeans soaking wet, his arm around his little daughter who's head is barely above his belt, and then posted the photo on the internet.

Crackerjack parenting right there!

Fake news? Christ I hope so. 

If I had pee'd myself as a little kid, I would have been made fun of, ridiculed, bullied, as any kid would have been, including this girl. But MY dad would have said, "So then kick their asses." And that would have been the end of it. 

Also crackerjack parenting but "slightly" better than her dad taking a photo of his arm around her while proudly showing off a soaking wet crotch...

All to make her feel better?

Um

??

Every time a story like that comes out of Utah or Minnesota, I literally hold my breath while I read through the entire story until I'm CERTAIN it's not a report on one of my (not so) distant relatives.

I don't push philosophy onto people but I do encourage those around public offenders to see them as being responsible for their actions, as we are for ours. 

Less medication. Less excuses. 

More self evaluation. More self fixing. 

According to his oldest daughter, my batshit crazy landlord walked into his office where his little granddaughter was watching TV. My landlord said hi to his granddaughter, the little girl said hi, then continued watching TV as little kids do. My insane landlord made the comment, "Oh. I guess she likes the TV more than me" and the next day (coincidentally) the TV was broken. 

That's not dementia. That's cause and effect. 

Premeditated.

Fucking asshole.

If mud people can just RELAX making others comprehend science 24/7 long enough to let people use their brains as nature intended, mud on!

I'm muddy. More earthy. Not afraid to get dirty. But I'm also an organ donor because I believe in science and helping others (this way) after I'm dead. 

"Science is the best way to understand the truth."

Yes and no. 

O.J. Simpson. That was a scientific guilty LOCK but alas not so much. You can't rely on science alone to shine the bright beacon of truth because first you have to understand it, comprehend it, cause and effect, use it in your every day life. Therefor, Philosophy. 

But let's not shun religion all together. 

Yeah. I said that. 

Years ago, Geffen museum displayed a "sculpture" of the Virgin Mary with a sewage pipe running through her abdomen. As an artist I was disgusted. That's not art. It's a waste of time and materials.

Freedom of speech, yes. 

Art, no.

Art makes the world a more thoughtful place, beautiful, enchanting, mysterious, compelling, NOT hateful. 

A lot of science is wasted on humans. 

Rejuvenation? Blah.

I'm Asian, kind of. Our hot-ass kung-fu is held together via myth and legend for years and years, and then one day the sun doesn't shine as bright through the clouds of make believe and BAM!!!! Our shit falls completely apart. Suddenly we look 100 years old.

Human restoration?

Why? What for?

Dead is dead, and that's how it ends for all of us. Sooner or later. Buried or burned.

"There are no alternative (scientific) facts."

But...

There's more than one way to reach the same conclusion, yes?

Religion, science, and/or philosophy. Let's give credit where credit is due. 

But 

That's just like science taking all the credit. 

Perhaps O.J. Simpson would have been found guilty (even without science) had an alternative route been considered to reach the same conclusion where science failed.

Kudos to you anyway muddies for taking the streets in protest, awareness, ok no, I have no idea why you took to the streets.

Because you're here, you denounce scientific empiricism...

Get used to it?

Not quite as catchy as that other saying. 

Simone. Jeff. And me

I explain who Simone Gordon, is, HERE in this blog.

In short, in writing, and only in writing, she is I.

My real name goes on my artwork.

Many years ago when I lived in the valley, when I was better at social media, when I was better at USING social media to advertise my art, and myself as an artist, through Facebook I started talking with artist Jeff Pittarelli.

Jeff, at the time, lived in Long Beach, and if you've ever known a painter, a sculptor, or a graphite artist, or if you, yourself, are in Fine Arts, then you know the solitary world of it. Jeff and I, along with a few other male artists, would text each other during the nights we were drawing and painting.

I draw like a painter. Initially I was a painter. I started taking classes but I don't see geometry, juxtaposition, and colors the way a painter should. So I draw. Large scale. 18x24 and bigger. https://instagram.com/p/BFvRrVgpLHT/ My drawings are usually much bigger then most canvas I exhibit with.

One night, feeling very lonely for my friend Simone, I began drawing her. This is the only portrait I ever made of her. I titled this drawing FLOWER GIRL https://instagram.com/p/BS7hECxg1jI/ and I've never put her on display. This idiotic blog, and the random Instagram account I made for this idiotic blog, are the only places I've ever showed her.

Correction: She's on my (Culver City gallery) art page.

An artist friend of mine and I are talking about putting together an exhibit this summer, just his works and mine, which will be a challenge since we use entirely different mediums, and entirely different subject matter. But if I don't exhibit with him, I'll display my new works elsewhere.

And that is what I am doing. Last night. Tonight. Drawing. That's it. I want to display all new works. Which means 25 new drawings. Over half of those drawings will be rejected by one gallery curator (owner) or another, and over half of those remaining drawings will be censored. My large scale drawings take about 15 to 30 hours to draw. This STRONG ARM drawing took 10 hours https://instagram.com/p/BS7hAeyAmMY/ and I most likely won't even exhibit it. Some drawings are just drawings. Practice.

When I lived on Detroit Street friends would come over, hang out, pile up on my tiny loveseat and/or bed and watch movies on my 19 inch TV, drink, get high, whetever. I didn't care. They did their thing. I did mine. But that was then. This is now. And now, I get irritated much, much quicker.

I had always hoped I would find my "David", my muse, my masterpiece, and when he didn't come, I quit. But I have been recently inspired once more.

And

He'll probably never know it.

I wonder what Jeff is up to these day?

In his absence, I am instead Netflixing Versailles.

Back to the drawing board.

Man muscle

7 1/2 hours later...

https://instagram.com/p/BS5T6fNgaG4/

A man's muscle

Years ago, when I first moved to Los Angeles, I rented a shack for an apartment on Detroit and Fountain, in Hollywood, for $475 a month. It had a full bathroom, kitchen sink, refrigerator, and enough living space for a full size bed, 19 inch TV, love-seat, and my drafting table. That's it. I lived in that apartment for 8 years. I was the only non-Russian in the building, on the street, in the neighborhood. I loved that apartment. Everyone in the building mind their own business even though we were all wise to one another. 4am parallel walks of shame, stumbling up the stairs, reaching our respectful floors, into our individual apartments, no one hurting anyone else, live and let live. 

I was originally going to move into the building next door, but upon delivering my first month's rent/deposit check, that building manager was nowhere to be found. Only I alone kept our afternoon appointment. That particular building manager probably rented my apartment out from under me. BUT there was a "for rent" sign on the building next door for the same size apartment.

"Same price. No deposit. This check will cover two months." Said the next door building manager.

Sold!

Lived there 8 years.

I made some good art in that beautiful little shack. 

If those walls could talk! 

I was always exhibiting somewhere. Nonstop creative flow. I was fortunate to regularly work with a small group of extremely fit male models in their early 20's to late 30's. Most of them had posed in Playgirl, or modeled for adult sex toy companies, posed in erotic magazines, films, your garden variety Hollywood sex workers, etc., etc.

Back then I knew a bunch of male artists who had all exhibited their works together and used the same nude female models, and those female models intro'd me to THEIR male model friends... 

The mighty circle jerk of Hollywood. 

Good times!

One male model in particular had an almost perfect orbicular scar on his right arm. The scar was deep, and old. The skin tissue on his arm pulled tight around the burrowed flesh like the tiny bullet hole on my leg. I wanted to hear his story. A few times in casual conversation I asked, "What happened there?" But he would only brush me off with a coy none of your business, "Football injury" or "That one time in band camp." He never actually told me how he got that scar. He had great arms though. Muscular. Strong. Steady.

I used to draw that model keeping the scar on his arm. At first it bothered him I included his scar in the drawings but later he was ok with it. 

I hung my drawings all over that little shack apartment. Every now and then my neighbors would walk past. If my door was open they'd sometimes knock and inquire after any new drawings. I'd invite them in. They'd look at my work. Talk in Russian amongst themselves. Give me the thumbs up. Maybe have a glass of wine. Leave. 

My building manager was a late 40-something, short, heavy set, tough Russian lady with curly brown wire hair, and the craziest laugh I ever heard from a woman. I could hear her laughing from her first floor apartment, around the courtyard and up into my second floor apartment even with my windows shut. 

One day my building manager stopped by to check out some new drawings including the the arm-scar model. 

"What do you think that is?" I asked my building manager. "He won't tell me what it is, or how he got it. I'm sure I can guess though."

My building manager thought for a minute, then with her index and middle fingers gently traced the air over the arm-scar drawings and quietly said, "Cigar. Many times. I like these."

I exhibited about a half dozen arm-scar drawings I titled STRONG ARM I, II, III, IV, etc.

Today

There's a guy I see around my neighborhood for the past 14 months. He's in a wheelchair. I've only ever seen him in a wheelchair. Really good looking guy. Was he in the military? Was he in a car accident? Was he heroic? Villainous? Was he born without the use of his legs? Super good looking guy. He's caught me gazing at him a few times. Awkward. Once he looked back at me, over his shoulder, arched his eyebrow, serious facial expression. Handsome. There's a Starbucks I go to when he passes by. One day few weeks ago he was right next to me going into the same Starbucks. Perfect opportunity to say hi, he was right beside me, but I chickened out. 

Cluck. 

Few days ago he was wearing a muscle shirt. Great arms. Strong hands. I'd love to draw him.

It's our job as artists, writers, and actors, to narrate stories. Even the most challenging horrific ones. The craft is in how you articulate. 

I'm from Minnesota. Raised tough. Had to be. You either survived the arctic cold winters, survived the kill or be killed mentality, and survived the puritan conformity, or die.  

Once upon a time in the U.S. if a man made sexual advances on another man, the "victim" was ALLOWED to commit homicide rather than just say, "No, thank you. I'm not into men." 

And 

Women had to accept being beaten and raped by their husbands. "Rule of thumb" they called it. A husband could beat his wife as long as the stick he beat her with wasn't any wider than his thumb. 

That mentality included Minnesota, for a long time.

And as angry as it makes me, I can't tell those vile stories in my artwork. I'm no good at it. My heart's not in it. Instead I choose not to acknowledge depraved men in my art, but rather put the heroes who fight true depravity (i.e. Chechnya) on my artistic pedestal.

STRONG ARM (2017)

A new series https://instagram.com/p/BSz8cY-g4Xi/

That's what I'm working on.  

I love renaissance art. Renaissance artists made their own paint from scratch, that's how important painting was to them. And look what they created with it! I have so much admiration for renaissance sculptors and the men I draw, and what they represent, I chisel my men like marble. Strong and beautiful.

And 

I would do so even if I was a man. Of that I'm certain.

It's raining men!

Porn star Kayden Gray has a beautiful King Kong sized dick. 

So does Michael Lucas. 

Michael Lucas, is quite possibly the most beautiful naked man on the internet. 

Aaaaand that's how this blog is gonna go.

Gay male models over straight one?

Tagline: Less hassle. More fun. 

I can always approach a gay model with, "Hi. I'm an artist. I like your (whatever) and would love to shoot some reference shots for drawing/s I'm working on. What kind of compensation would you require for your time IF you were interested posing for me?" And after perhaps one or two questions from the potential model, this particular conversation would come to an end. We'd move on. Simple. --With straight men that exact same dialogue always (ALWAYS) goes way longer than need be. 

"You want to take pictures of my WHAT?? Of my back??? My butt??!! Nude?? I don't get it. Why??? You're an artist?? And you want to draw my back?? My BACK?? What for?? Do you exhibit these drawing?? Seriously, of my back?? Why my butt?? Why nude?? Are you going to be nude when you take the pictures?? Because if I have to be nude, you have to be nude!! ... Hey, where you going?

It's why artists of yore hired prostitutes to pose for them. Way. Less. Hassle. 

I can keep an image in my head for a long time and draw from it, but after a while drawings/paintings can look exactly the same if you're not careful. Stale. Repetition. Boring. And then no one will display your work anymore like Jackson Pollock, followed ten years later, bald, fat, drunk, broke, ending up accidentally decapitating your lover's friend. 

Artist block. Sucks. 

(Especially for your lover's friend.)

Sexy new motivation always gets my blood pumping. I can only imagine THIS must be what a bone hard erection must feel like. I'm jealous of you men. You get erections and I love the way you cum. I love being a woman, I just also love the way a man cums. I love holding on while it pulsates in my hand. If I was a man for a day I'd cum as many times possible. In other words, I'd be a typical man for a day.

Anyway...

Dear photographers, why do you pose your models without their hands?

I love drawing men's hands. Arms and hands.

2017, male models hide their hands when posing, I.e. Chase Crawford, Devin Paisley, etc. I blame their photographers. In historic theater/art world, showing your hands was considered feminine. Dating back to Shakespeare's plays, showing your hands artistically was/is considered womanly, which today is an archaic way of thinking. And still, men, all men, for the most part hide their hands (especially) when photographed nude, or partly nude. They hide their hands in their pockets, in their hair, behind their heads, fingers entwined together, or use their hands to make fists or semi-fists what I refer to as "the grip" even when there's nothing there to grip, because arching the fingers in a fist/gripping pose is considered masculine. I blame photographers more than models. 

Is he sexy naked? Absolutely. But I need more. Not every drawing requires nudity. Stop hiding your hands! If you have to use nudity to sell your art, it says more about the artist than the work. "No matter who he paints, the painter always paints himself."

I need more. Not JUST nudity.

Need more. Want more. Demand MORE from yourself. Always. The moment we're content, it's over.

I can't help but observe a gorgeous creative tide in gay porn still photography --that tide being visual in-depth continuity. 

Men in gay porn are in AMAZING shape, and the continuity in gay porn still photography resemble what I recreate with my graphite nude drawings, only in my drawings it's more distinct because with 8b graphite, I can. We're (right here) you and I. 

Straight porn still photography is very bright and glossy for its industry of women. I don't work in color so I relate to the light/dark continuity of showing off a man's muscle. MUSCLES. Showing off a man's muscles. 

It's about art, not character. You don't have to be gay to recognize artistic continuity. 

And

It's not because gay men are feminine and know how to "decorate". I know PLENTY of women who can't buy two throw pillows without turning a beautiful $3,000 sofa into something I wouldn't be buried in. 

Dear LGBTQ comedy people. Um. LGBTQ... gay, lesbian, b... b... basketball, tacos, quarterback? 

I don't have ten minutes worth of material.

It's raining men. Hallelujah! I love the gays. I really do. My lawyer's gay. No. That's a lie. My lawyer's got a smoking hot wife. He's a dear born English gentleman... 

So possibly bisexual. 

I'd surround myself with gays for the rest of my life if I could afford it. I just don't make your income to live in Chelsea. (Sigh)

Gay activists

Gay Republicans

Gay Christians 

Wait.

Gay Christians??!! (smh) What?!

No. Stop. Do your thing. I don't care.

You can BE anything.

You can DO anything, even here in Marina Del Rey. You can do anything BUT wait for a red light at the intersection of Marina Point Drive and Lincoln. Yesterday I saw a 90 year old woman "Evel Knievel" through the intersection into oncoming traffic. It was amazing. Fuck that red light! She's 90! She doesn't have much time left!

Maybe one day a threesome with adult stars Michael Lucas, and Kayden Gray?

Yes, I know they're gay, but if the FBI and Mexican law enforcement can work together to find Tom Brady's football jersey, well then...

Slash Fiction

Dear (adult film director) Michael Lucas. How do I get into a gay porn? Just one movie. 15 solid seconds of full frontal face screen time just to say I was in a porno. I don't want any lines THOUGH (discursively) my voice has been repeatedly compared to Marilyn Monroe, and actress Lili Taylor, BUT that's not important. Being in a gay porno is now on my bucket list. I'm the only artsy person in Los Angeles, that I know of, who hasn't been an extra on either big or small screen. Not that it hasn't been offered, it was just never my thing until now.

Being as how Wiki dubs you the "gay porn neocon kingpin" makes you first on my outreach list. Plus your wiki picture is smoking hot, and strangely I'm going through a phase where I'm really into looking at hot guys but have zero interest fucking them. No, no, I'm totally straight, it's just...

My brain is a complicated piece of equipment sometimes. I'm presently intrigued by this incredibly good looking guy in a wheelchair. Seen him around for a year now. Lately it's been killing me. I'm dying to get into a conversation with him. I think he's on to me but...

Anyway look,

I'm also a visual artist. One of the few female artists in Los Angeles to hang nude male works at the Antebellum. https://instagram.com/p/BFvRrVgpLHT/

(Oh) and I do makeup. Tit for tat?

What do I look like?

Like this https://instagram.com/p/BSX0lVGAQaz/

Does it really matter??

I'm sure you have some Asian male talent who maybe has a sister, etc., storyline. P.S. I could write it.

Please Kik me at 90069girl (aka A Girl)

Cheers.

Gay porn

I want to be in one. How do we make this happen? Not star in one (duh, obviously) I just want to BE IN one. With all the fags I hag on, you think at least ONE of you guys would be in porn, but NO, you all have to be network executives, and directors, and lawyers, and doctors, and shit. Not one among you in porn. Fuck.