So many men... so little time

Sorry about the silence. I'm behind in posting, what with lifes little projects getting in the way of the good stuff.

Sit tight, I'll be back...

Wanderlust, or was it lust, straight-up, no chaser

One thing is for certain, I have a bad case of wanderlust, especially this time of year. Wanderlust, that is, a great desire to roam around and travel, though I certainly can say I have my share of that second syllable, and sometimes, no scratch that, usually, the two coincide.

I get exited about a trip to K-mart, especially if there are men to sample at the deli counter when I get there.

What is that old saying something about the dick being greener on the other side of the fence?

... was it dick? Or was that grass? But I digress...

{I don't know I get my lustings all mixed up this time of year}

Just a random thought... nothing to see here.

I got to keep moving
I got to keep moving
blues falling down like hail
blues falling down like hail

And the day keeps on remindin' me,
there's a hellhound on my trail
hellhound on my trail
hellhound on my trail

-Robert Johnson

Robert Johnson - Hellhound on my Trail

Robert Johnson, king of the delta blues.

Signs of the times

Sadly, the sign on the door reads, "Due to the current state of the economy... Bust-a-Nut Donuts is Closed. Thank you for 7 great years!"

This is tragic, first Lehman Brothers and AIG, now this! I'm shattered!

Sayn’t Loo-Way

I collect scorned cities like I collect scorned men. Take for instance one of my favorite towns in the world, St. Louis.

Caught somewhere between north and south, east and west, in some ways it's the biggest little town in America, in others ways, it's the smallest big city in the world. Oh, it has its slices of newly gentrified charm, of course, mainly crowded around vast Forest Park, once home to the 1904 World's Fair, back in the day when St. Louis was a contender.

These days most of the city totters at the crumbling edges of the grave, both literally and figuratively, a gritty urban ruin made up of long abandoned 19^th Century row houses, way past their prime. Any way you approach it, St. Louis is a rough town and a perennial contender for the FBI's "most violent city" statistic. In the so-called "gateway" city, the corpses pile up like garbage bags on a Saturday night.

I was introduced to the mean streets of St. Louis a few years ago and fell in and out of love. For a while I planned to marry a guy from the north side, but long distance romances never quite work out, and we drifted apart. No telling what ever happened to the guy. The last I heard he wound up haunting the campus of the Missouri State Penitentiary. Too bad, really, he was so good at the long stroke, if you know what I mean. Sweet chocolate bone, with a creamy ending! But I digress.

These days I confine my St. Louis relationships to about forty five minutes, just long enough for everybody to get that feeling that they came for.

And so I spent the early New Year's hours in St. Louis, with a lanky man named Demetrius, or Darnell, or something that started with a "D." Whatever his name was, he had a big "D" and asked me to throw that "P" and wound up "diggin' in my guts," you know, fucking me up the ass, in a little apartment in a red brick corner apartment up over an empty storefront that used to sell "Deli Meats" sometime during the last Century before the neighborhood stores left town.

… And it was brewt-ee-ful!

Nelly: St. Louie

You can find me in St. Louie...