Is it too soon for Christmas decorations? Of course it is, but if that’s what you need to get through the rest of this year, have at it. We need to stop stealing joy from others just because it differs from ours.
09
October
2025
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October
2025
09
October
2025
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October
2025
A New Creative Haunt
A creative jolt is oxygen to me. Feeling the inspiration to finally crack a new project is a gift from the Gods. That process begins with a proper cafe haunt, and a writing routine that requires some practice to get back into the familiarity of the thing again.
If I could make a wish
I think I’d pass
Can’t think of anythin’ I need
No cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound
Nothing to eat, no books to read
A cafe haunt provides the background atmosphere for the birth of a new project – one forged in the fall, when inspiration is high – when it’s been so low this feels especially powerful. I haven’t done a proper project since 2019 – and when you think of all the absolutely bat-shit crazy insanity that’s transpired since 2019, I have no idea what sort of creative dam is about to bust the fuck open, but stand back Buenos Aires or you’re gonna get something on you.
Peace came upon me
And it leaves me weak
So sleep, silent angel
Go to sleep
It’s been such a long time since I worked on a project, and I’m only just beginning to put things together for the next one. Taking it as slow as I want, without any anticipated end date, I intend to enjoy these creative moments, to open myself up to the whims of the muses and the universe – they have always whispered and tapped me on the shoulder when I’m supposed to heed something.
Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe
And to love you
All I need is the air that I breathe
Yes, to love you
All I need is the air that I breathe
08
October
2025
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October
2025
Whispers of Projected Intentions
While ‘The Projects’ page of this website is pretty busted (if you scroll down in each you can find the images, but most won’t be bothered) I’m embarking on what might be the next project, due tentatively in the latter half of 2026. Right now, it’s very early stages, so my ears and eyes are open to all influences the universe sees fit to throw my way. Thus far, it’s been calamitous, chaotic, and all sorts of mid-life crisis containment… this one’s going to be a doozy.
08
October
2025
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October
2025
08
October
2025
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October
2025
Mr. Oud Comes Alive
A fashion show sung by the great Celine Dion is a celebration of all that is cheesy, wrong, and doomed with the world – but Mr. Oud cannot be bothered with geopolitical commentary; for all his supposed vanity and self-glorification, he knows he is at heart an insignificant creature in the grand scheme of things. If you find this hard to believe, perhaps your view of your own importance is slightly askew too. That’s not a criticism, just an opportunity to examine, set to a dramatic version of ‘I’m Alive’ at a time when some of us are easing into middle-age without a lot of inspiration.
Mr. Oud moves too swiftly to be stifled by such contemplation. Quicksilver and lightning, golden handcuffs tightening, and a dark sky finally brightening, Mr. Oud flies between dusk and dawn. Pin pricks of sequined sparkle form constellations across a firmament of night. Celine knows sequins. Mr. Oud knows how to sparkle. Both know the power of a song.
07
October
2025
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October
2025
October Pink
I love how much deeper the colors of the blooms that come this late in the gardening year become. Partly due to the lower light in the sky – a light that burns with more focused intensity due to its dwindling potency – and partly due to its more precarious rate of survival – any frosty night could swiftly end the spell – the color switch may be in my head, but its beauty is no less for that.
Here is a pink ‘Endless Summer’ hydrangea bloom, just coming into its own while its brethren have long since dried and withered away. A toast to such resilience.
07
October
2025
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October
2025
#TinyThreads: An Insignificant Series
After fifty fucking years I’m dead-ass exhausted of mustering main character energy to carry this fucking show. Somebody else needs to take the wheel, and don’t dress like it doesn’t matter.
07
October
2025
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October
2025
In A World of Bitter, Be the Sweet
When dealing with an invasive vine like bittersweet, show no mercy. At this point, there is more of this plant than anyone wants, so if you want to harvest its fruit for decoration, have at it. The trick and key is to pick your stems while the berries are golden but fully intact and not yet open – once cut, they will open up fully indoors. If you pick them after they’ve opened, and already sowing their bright orange guts, it’s too late, and they will shed all their golden shells everywhere, making an annoying mess.
When you’re saddled with an annoying vine that is sucking the life out of more delicate native plants, be ruthless, but try to harness the beauty if you can. (Get it from the roots after you get it from the top.)
06
October
2025
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October
2025
When the Moon is Hunty
Today marks the first super moon of the year – usually the Hunter’s Moon but this time it’s the Harvest Moon – and this Virgo will attempt to lay low while embracing and harnessing whatever positive energy may be released. At times of tumultuous astrological events, it’s usually best to go with the flow rather than fight or resist the chaos. Framing the day in that light is generally a good way to deal with whatever disruptions erupt. Expectation leads manifestation, whether we realize it or not.
There’s a Madonna song for the Hunter’s Moon, but we have not yet reached it on the Madonna timeline, so I won’t jump the gun. Patience is power. Instead, above is a song to go with the fragrance of oud that permeates this fall season.
06
October
2025
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October
2025
A Skinny-Dipping Recap
At this point in the year, every swim could be the last swim, so I celebrate each one with that in mind. Looking at the next few days of weather, it is quite likely that yesterday marked that final swim of the season, and while my body laughed at the idea of skinny-dipping (skinny?!) I went ahead and doffed my pesky clothes for one last pool dunk. Summer lives in the heart – and yesterday it lived in the sun and warmth – on with the weekly blog recap because technically it’s already fall…
We are in a full-scale dictatorship in case anyone cares.
Our lone Dazzler of the Day was Jay Shetty.
For those who wanted actual skinny-dipping photos, here you go.
A gratuitously shirtless Robert Irwin post.
‘Myrrhe Mystere’ – a Tom Ford Private Blend for the season.
Glinda has always been my savage girl.
Where was this song when I needed it?
Decaf is the forgotten bastard child.
Mr. Oud makes mysterious motions.
Block Blast thinks I have a dry box.
Mr. Oud makes a musical selection.
Ben Cohen gives a glimpse of ass cheek.
More than a glimpse of ass cheek.
05
October
2025
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October
2025
The Contortionist
A door to a memory corridor has opened. Allowing in just a little light, it is enough to navigate the first few feet of space, the first few memories. Dusty and musty, with cobwebs to tickle the ears, the place is dim, but if I concentrate enough and focus, I can find my way along the darkened hall, reaching portals to more distinct memory planes. Excavating such passages is sometimes dangerous work ~ there is something to be said for leaving things in the past. How does the saying go? When you dig up the past, all you get is dirty…
Twisted all my limbs for you
Two of them in knots and two of them in loops
Ribbons tied around like a noose
Wonder if I’ll ever get it loose
I don’t wanna bruise for you
Holding back my words until my face is blue
I don’t really care about your crew
You can tell ’em what you wanted to
Sometimes one needs to get down in the dirt, to play with the past so as to make sense of present predicaments. This is the year for nostalgia too, as we celebrate milestone birthdays and anniversaries, including the 30th anniversary of when I found the Boston condo and convinced my parents to invest in it (which turned into the most lucrative investment of their lives). Fall brings Boston back to mind, and with it countless memories of decades ago, when living there alone made a warrior out of me.
Bones are crushing, bones are crushing (pushin’ me)
Bodies touching, bodies touching (lovin’ me)
Blood is pumping, blood is pumping (pullin’ me)
Feeling nothing, feeling nothing (fuckin’ me)
Bones are crushing, bones are crushing (crushin’ me)
Bodies touching, bodies touching (touchin’ me)
Being a single gay guy in Boston in the 90’s was very different from what it must be like today. There were no social media or online hookup apps, so connecting with other gay men on the prowl was a game of hunting and gathering, with the high-stakes pay-off of not having to spend a night on your own. Back then the only way we had to connect was to pick up on a knowing glance, a look held just a little longer than normal, a smile and the crinkle of a kind pair of eyes. A dance of desire would ensue, usually ending up in someone’s apartment, an awkward introduction and quick dismissal of roommates, and the frantic frenzy of a desperate act of sex in the search for love. I wish I’d known then that sometimes the chase and the sexual act were a means and an end all of their own.
I’m done, I’m done, done doin’ back bends, I break and I snap
It’s no fun, no fun, pushed myself into a box while you held
Out a gun, I’m done, ooh-ah, ha-ha, ha, ha, ha-ah
I’m done, I’m done, oh-ah, ha-ha, ha, ha, ha-ah
Twisting all my bones like screws
Stretching my self-worth, just like you usually do
Caught you like the cold or a flu
Praying that I’ll someday be immune
Got me like a bad tattoo (ooh-ooh-ooh)
Always under skin, even when it gets removed (ooh)
Never get a chance to undo (ooh-ooh-ooh)
Positions that you forced my way into (ooh)
On rare occasions I did understand this, and on those evenings I could let down my persistent guard, give in to the sheer abandon of the night, and indulge in a primal release that would rival the tentative steps to love I was usually so careful to make. The body would give in to its pleasure, sensations falling around us like the petals of a peony that let go all at once ~ a cascade of orgiastic ecstasy, sending ripples deeper and deeper into the night. Come the morning, the only danger was in risking an emotional connection by sharing something raw and tender, something easily prevented by a hasty exit and utterances of empty promise.
Bones are crushing, bones are crushing (pushin’ me)
Bodies touching, bodies touching (lovin’ me)
Blood is pumping, blood is pumping (pullin’ me)
Feeling nothing, feeling nothing (fuckin’ me)
Bones are crushing, bones are crushing (crushin’ me)
Bodies touching, bodies touching (touchin’ me)
More often I was alone then, it being against my nature to be forward enough to invite anyone over with any regularity. I’d twist my internal justifications around in my head, contorting my feelings into something manageable, and almost convincing myself that it didn’t matter. There was a difference between being alone and being lonely, and I determined and insisted that I was only indulging in the former. To admit loneliness would have been to admit defeat. Ever the contortionist, even then, the mind led the body, and the body followed – undefeated.
I’m done, I’m done, done doin’ back bends, I break and I snap
It’s no fun, no fun, pushed myself into a box while you held out
A gun, I’m done, ooh-ah, ha-ha, ha, ha, ha-ah
I’m done, I’m done, ooh-ah, ha-ha, ha, ha, ha-ah
05
October
2025
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October
2025
Ben Cohen Saves the World
There was talk that he might not do a calendar this year, but Ben Cohen rallied and realized the world needed this more than ever. Teaming up with longtime collaborator Leo Holden of Snooty Fox Images, the Ben Cohen calendar is once again available for viewing pleasure throughout all of 2026. It usually sells out with a few weeks, so head on over to the Ben Cohen website here to order yours before they’re gone.
See also these Ben Cohen Calendar posts from the post:
05
October
2025
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October
2025
Mr. Oud Makes a Musical Selection
He remained, right up until the end, somehow unknowable. Even with all of his eventual revelations, all the written secrets, published and unpublished, even with all of his pictures and photo shoots, his relentless self-promotion and sustained social media presence, he stayed such a secret.
He told you repeatedly you didn’t know him.
You don’t know him.
Mr. Oud wanted to be known, just not in that way.
You give your hand to me and then you say, “Hello”
And I can hardly speak, my heart is beating so
And anyone can tell, you think you know me well
Well, you don’t know me (No, you don’t know me)
No, you don’t know the one who dreams of you at night
And longs to kiss your lips and longs to hold you tight
Oh, I’m just a friend, that’s all I’ve ever been
‘Cause you don’t know me (No, you don’t know me)
Oh, I never knew the art of making love
Though my heart aches with love for you
Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by
A chance that you might love me too (Love me too)
He maintains a murky state of suspension, some colloidal haze that surrounded his every movement, and even his absence, as if a fragrant fog would descend upon every mention of his name, every story whispered or shared in his wake.
You give your hand to me and then you say, “Goodbye”
I watch you walk away beside the lucky guy
Oh, to never, never know the one who loved you so
Well, you don’t know me
Mr. Oud sits languidly in a little lobby bar where this song plays in the background. It is the end of summer, or the end of winter, because all the seasons are one in a little lobby bar. Mr. Oud is a man of all seasons, defying weather as much as he defies augury, then he remembers he knows nothing of Shakespeare. The song plays him off, though you don’t notice until it is over and he is gone again.
Oh, I never knew the art of making love
Though my heart aches with love for you
Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by
A chance that you might love me too (Love me too)
Oh, you give your hand to me and then you say, “Goodbye”
I watch you walk away beside the lucky guy
Oh, you never, never know the one who loved you so
Well, you don’t know me
04
October
2025
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October
2025
Squirrel in the Sky
Our squirrels and birds and chipmunks have been feasting on the bountiful dogwood fruit harvest this year, and by feasting I mean going bonkers and cuckoo for the pretty red fruits dangling in the sky. The squirrels especially have become contortionists and acrobats in order to secure their mealy meals, balancing on precious perches and somehow never falling or losing their footing (pawing?) – they are little circus performers and whenever Andy and I catch their act we pause in our day to watch for a bit.
This is crunch time for these creatures – saving up for what is typically a long and lean winter. While it’s a circus act for the eyes, it’s life or death for them: the dangerous life of a squirrel, where if the flying danger from an airborne hawk doesn’t get you, an extended winter without access to sustenance might. Fall casts a deceptively comfortable spell if you lose your focus.
04
October
2025
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October
2025
#TinyThreads: An Insignificant Series
All I wanted to do was play Block Blast and the ads are attacking me like I’m some dried up old prune.
Is no place in this world safe anymore? I thought this was a game for the children…
