Zilla3-D
Zilla Marches in222 May, Gay

According to Rebecca Mead’s “My Life in Middlemarch,” the writer George Eliot warns against ‘men of maxims’ in her book “The Mill on the Floss,” with the claim that all people of “broad, strong sense” are skeptical of such men, “because such people early discern that the mysterious complexity of our life is not to be embraced by maxims, and that to lace ourselves up in formulas of that sort is to repress all the divine promptings and inspirations that spring from growing insight and sympathy.”

Which comes off as a sort of maxim against maxims, and as such one should be skeptical of such a claim and look at the larger context in which that notion dwells, she sells seashells by the sheshore, hoor.

So as you might know, I turn a skeptical eyeball on sayings that say we should always be happy happy happy or that Dog has a plan or various other affirmational posterchilds, because it comes off as a marketing strategy selling conformity to someone’s ideal that they often don’t live up to - Eliot also had the notion that men of maxims are less likely to live up to their maxims than others who stroll along without the need to parrot and howl their ideals from the hills. Howevs, in the larger context of Eliot’s notions and potions, one otter try being sympathetic with others, which makes sensical to moi given how I’m often intolerant of folks who’ve traits I don’t mind in moiself, elf.

But ‘tis interesting to listen to folks say this or that and contradict themselves in the same sentence or paragraph or behaviour or actions, factions. I tend to prefer misanthropes and curmudgeons with a hidden heart of gold to the sort of la-di-da critters who feel a burning need to tell youse they’re all dat and a bag of chips, pips.

So, now that I’ve prostelitized moi upliftational, affirmational, and empowering missive, all of youse need to conform to moi norm - trust and obey, there is no other whey, gay.

theparisreview:

The illustrated Walt Whitman.
WWZD?

WWZD?

OK, so here’s what’s happened a few times: a profile featuring a photos of a guy in his 30s with a body of death contacts me asking if I want to be his subboi.

That’s one of those schticks that’s kinda sexy but mostly stoopidito and I’d played along with them, even going so far to address them as “sir” which is one of the most ridiculous things in the world. “Sir” is considered a sign of R.E.S.P.E.C.T. by some circle jerkers, but ‘tis funny when folks in the U.S. insist upon such stuff, ‘cuz we’ve notions about equality and such, Dutch - although of course such idealistic notions aren’t all that well understood or thought out by those who use ‘em the most - look it up in the dictionary if you donut accept moi take, Fake and Jake.

Anywho, regards moi would-be doms - I tell ‘em at some point that they need to quit preying on desperate middle-aged guys and find something more production to do with their lice - oh yah, I acknowledge that the could rationalize their actions by rationalizing that they’re at least providing a small ray of HOPE to some guy wooking for wuv in all the wong places, Aces.

But - and ‘tis a big butt I cantaloupe lie - let’s not be too eager to rationalize and justify our actions without lookin’ at ‘em a bit more closely.

But - another big butt, I cantaloupe lie - I restrained moiself from suggesting they commit suicide as a way to atone for their reprehensible actions and try to add a bit of honor and dignity to their lice. Such sound advice would likely be ignored, ugh - and of course one can’t realistically expect someone with such a lack of there there to have the honor and courage it takes to kill oneself, elf.


And there’re other vehicles for redemption, and as a liberal I’m forced to buy into the notion that people can change and make amends - I think ‘tis also a Christian notion, e’en though many loud and proud Christians sometimes or oftentimes espouse something shawkin’ly different - especially in relation to scary dark people, here is the steeple.

WWJD? Kill ‘em all and let Dog sort ‘em out, trout pout.

So a message to all you fakers and takers and bakers: as the good sistah Sister Wendy once said vis-a-vis a painting depicting RAPE: when we rape someone, and there are many ways one can rape someone, we are really raping ourselves, elves.

She didn’t actually rhyme, but we walnut hold it against her, fer sure.

Smooches,
Z

hashtag just a number

Someone on one of these sites asked moi if I bought into the youth-oriented culture schick, but they didn’t say why they thought I would, James.

So it seemed a curious take on moiself, elf - ‘cuz in terms of sexual attraction I’d generally gone for older guys ala Meloni and Company - unlike the lot who has moved on from Justin Beebs now that he’s too long in the tooth, fairy.

But ‘tis innerestin’ to hear others takes, Jakes, e’en if their takes often say more about them than moi - at the veddy least ‘tis a good way to get to know someone, and ‘tisn’t it a funny notion that folks can’t say a single thing without revealing lots and lots of stuff about themselves, although what they revealo others depends on others POVs and analytical abilities, wheeze.

Nadalest, I’d been thunkin’ aboot yout’ culture being venerated in moi homoland, and I suspect that to some extent I bobblehead along with it, BECAUSE: just yesterday someone noticed I had a book in a series that began in the 1970s and asked if I was having ‘flashbacks’ - AS IF I WAS OLD ENOUGH TO REMEMBER THE NINE-TEEN SEVENTIES?

Omigawsh, are you crazeballs? I look like a sweet young delicate creature you hideous flocker. Errr, egggzept that she kiiiiiIIiiida had a point ‘cuz I was old enough to read in the 1970s, BUT ONLY ‘CUZ I WAS REMARKABLY PRECOCIOUS FOR MY AGE. Yeeeesh, what a blow!

And despite moi preference for older guys - or guys moi age, which I still think of as older - I’m not into the falling apart at the seams critters as a rule, and prefer the fit and foxy type, believe the hype. Oh, don’t get moi wrong - I loved George Burns as a comedian, but I can’t imagine getting freaky with him, even when he was alive, Clive.

Oh, and lest we forget, there’s a brand of old folks I avoid like a fat kid avoids not eating, which is the sort of shrieky and preachy critter who tsk tsk tsks o’er Smiley Miley and Company showing too much ankle.

But I’m going to stake a claim that: moi preferences aren’t ageist in the sense that young people or old people can be guilty of everything I don’t like, Mike.

So there’s a six of won halve a dozen of a dozer, rosary. I could go on and on and on, but I’m trying to under-think things so that I can blend in with the masses and masses who prefer not to use their noodles, boodles.

Smooches,
Z

I suspect that those who are looking for love love love - a lasting love - have a better chance of finding it as the years go by ‘cuz if one plays their cards riot: they’re better at sifting and sorting and have more going for them as they get older; but there must be a sort of tipping point, ‘cuz it seems that someone who is 125 years old will have fewer chances than a 70 year old no matter how much they’ve kept in shape mentally or physically.

Anywho, ‘tis been windy in this neck of the woods, James * hysterical ever’ time! * and now we’ve gotten a bit of snow and mostly rain, in the main. I love such weather, so i’m glad winter hasn’t entirely deserted us, Augustus.

Oh yah - in telly vision news for those of youse who don’t watch it but like to read all aboot it: there was a guest judge on Dancing With the Stars - some fat woman who has a show in which she screams at kids apparently, nice work if you can get it; and she gave Maks and his podner - that Olympic ice dancer - a negative review, so the hostess asked Maks what he thought of her criticism, and true to form he let it be known he wasn’t impressed and didn’t care what she said, so once again he added a bit of zing to an otherwise boring show.

Maks: if you’re reading this and have decided to give homosex a go, lemme know, yo!

And I was switching between DWTS, The Voice, and the Giants ballgame - and I missed seeing the one contestant I like on The Voice, the black woman. I caught the performance of the lesbian country singer - who I like because she’s a lesbian - but her performance was boooooooooooring and sounded like any other contempo country artist - I’m more Dolly, Willie, Patsy, and company than newer artists, although I used to like that Carrie Underwood song in which she sang about destroying her cheating boyfriend’s truck, Chuck.

In happier news: the S.F. Giants won a 14 or 15 inning game against the Pittsburg Pirates, and came back from being 6 runs behind. So ‘twas good news for moi and other Giant fanazoids, but less so for Pirates fanazoids, but the game of baseball is such that there’s lots of ups and downs - a friend of mine who knows stuff said that baseball players tend to be the most superstitous of atheletes, because most of the time they fail at whatevs they’re doing - and I’ll accept that as accurate ‘till someone I think has more there there offers other evidence, make sense.

Smooches,
Z

Zilla Envy

We’ve heard about penis envy, but have we heard anyone talk about vagina envy eggggzept those foolish creatures who say they envy women for being ABLE TO SPAWN?

Nadalest, there was a scene in the new Chris Meloni sitcom - You Don’t Know Jack - in which he grabs his wife and preps to take her privacy in the kitchen, and the kids walk in on them while she’s astride him - of course it being network telly both of their privacies are covered.

So of course I couldn’t help wondering what ‘twould be like to ride Meloni, but unless he’s a closet homo I’ll prolly ne’er know - and I think riding him as a guy would be different than riding him as a gal, Val.

Envy - there’s also POZ envy, which is something I made up in reference to negative guys who deliberately want to become POZ for whatevs reasons - I think a biggie is so they can enjoy unprotected sex - and I guess if sex is hugely important it might seem worth it - it comes off as rather limited and desperate, and solly for being judgemental for youse folks who don’t like judgemental people, but in moi judgement I can’t see moiself having sex with someone who has unprotected sex.

I told that to someone yesterday online, and they blocked moi, which was nice of them, but of course I had to let them know ‘twas a blecchy move, so I visited their other profile and blasted ‘em - and ‘tis their loss in the sense that I could’ve referred them to someone else who has bb sex with other negative guys - although given the plethora of STDs, I’m unclear why being HIV negative is considered enough, woof.


So that’s today’s post, and I hope ya’ll’re fine and whale - I’m kiiiiiiiiiiiinda tuckered out - I’d a looooonger bike ride than usual yesterday and moi booty is sore and boo hoo hoo, woe is moi. But Zill keeps swinging, wing a ding dingin’.

Smoocholas,
Z

homo yo-yo

Every once in a whilst I’ll get involved in a blogland conversation and then drop the ball - or others critters will drop the ball. And I was thinking about how that mirrors conversations and such in real time, but is unlike how it generally goes in books or novels in which there’s a beginning, middle, end.

So one such conversation that stuck with moi is someone’d posted a blog on how gay is the new black - and I’m not egggzactly sure how ‘twas meant, but suffice to say: any category that’s outside the mainstream will usually have similar experiences in their adventures on the continuum of trying to fit in or resisting fitting in.

And I was thinking about this whilst reading a book called “Tell the Wolves I’m Home” which is about an angsty teen girl who is saved by a magical homosexual who’s only purpose for existence is to drop everything and serve her NEEDS. So that’s a rather common stereotypical character in entertainment media - ala the way U.S. black folks used minstrel shows partly as a way of representing themselves as harmless simpletons - although of course folks of colour can ne’er pass as well as homos who orange of colour. Of course there’s also gangsta rap or queer activists to represent those who are determined to remain on the margins of respectability, albeit in such ways as they support the mainstream notions of deviance and thus ne’er fundamentally challenge the status quo, yo.

So … what was the point? Errrr, not sure, but I think ‘twas about presentation of self ala Goffman or Butler’s performative identity, or something else, Michael or Fred Phelps.

Oh no, homo - ‘twas about re-picking up conversations and such - so whoevs brung up that notion thanks a zill for this slog, and for those who don’t like it we’ll find out who ‘twas who brung up that notion and villify them, Vem.

Smooches,
Z

sides of moon

I managed to get one of my email accounts down to 1 unread message (from 20something), and another down to 27 (from 60 something) and another down to 111 (from 160something).

Yeeeesh, and still they keep rollin’ in and in and in - not to mention the 40 or so SPAMs I get per day, eh?


Anywho, in other news I had a kick ass hike through the hills last evening - ‘twas almost sunset when I set out and dark by the time I’d gone up the hills and down to the beach - and on the homo stretch of the journey I saw a small coyote sniffing around before crossing the street on feet so fleet.

AND sad news: the latest bicycle seems to’ve had pedals of clay, how gay izzat? Specifically, one of the pedals fell apart, so now I need to return it before the 30 days are up and it turns totally into a pumpkin, Zin.


Anywhat, moi next blog will be a sizzling discussion of the social construct and performative identity of individualism and such stuff, or it might be about Stevie Nicks.

Smooches,
Z

W o W

The lead singer of Neon Trees was on Chelsea Lately last night, and he’s a gay Mormon - so she’d asked if other Mormons were blecchy toward him, but he said the biggest sort of hissy-fits had come from gay atheists - and omigosh, as a nominal gay atheist - not to mention a vegan - that sums up why I’m always - ALWAYS - on the fence with identies and such, ‘cuz geeez:

The thing with idealists and concrete identities is the tendency toward being extremist and reactionary, and if you don’t know the egggzamples, then youse need to pay more attention, son.

He also said the guy he’s attracted to are are the inappropriate ones like on Duck Dynasty, and I assume that puts him at odds with the branch of our fine community that values HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS BASED ON EQUALITY AND MUTUAL RESPECT AND AFFIRMING EACH OTHER AS BEING UNIQUE AND SPECIAL AND THE BRIGHTEST LIGHT IN THE GALAXY.

You go gurl!

Anywho, in other homo news, I’d mentioned that I’m a bit over guys who want to exchange 70 or so emails with nary a hint of a time and place to meet up, and that’s one of those calls where I assess: to what extent do I want to get laid? I’ve nothing against revealing such pressing issues as whether or not I like Chinese food, but we gotta admit: the sorta creature who cares about such rubbish is prolly not all that great in the sack anywho, but then again he might be, because perhaps he channels his caring about nonsensical things into the sack - sex, we must admit, is rather ridiculous, so folks who’re into ridiculous sheet make the best lovers, no doubt trout pout.

So six of one half a dozen of nothing - I tend to draw the most delible line when folks ask for dick or ass pics - yeeesh; some innerweb folks are on the spoiled rotten side and egggzpect waaaaaaaaaaaay too much - and for all those who howl about how the younger generation are the ones who expect instant gratification from the innerwebs, ‘tis most often older folks who want pics and whatevs right flockin’ now, brown cow.

Sow it goes as we go on sowing weeds of wisdom throughout the land, and we hope ya’ll’re as well as youse deserve to be, oui.

Z

numbers racket

I’d noted that I’ve noticed the numbers for other blogs are higher than mine, which as someone noted is rather telling; and one thing it tells is I’m rather petty, small-minded, and looking for affirmation on the innerwebs, which makes sense ‘cuz that’s something I regularly accuse other of, Dove.

Why does of and dove rhyme, mime?


Anywho, I’m more comfortable that I otter be with moi imperfections, and of course I’m the sorta irrational sort who justifies this or that claimin’ ‘tis part of moi multi-facted persona, yah.

Regardlest, in moi defense, I wish that super-fun-awesome blogs like mine were more highly rewarded than the ones I view as lame and tame - and I get it: we all have different preferences and such, and I’m not above stuff that appeals to the least common denominator, ‘cuz I’ve rather base tastes and try to keep it rather low-class to appeal to the mass.

But geeez: ‘tis sad sad sad that certains homos aren’t more like yo-yos.

Anywho, second agenda laden rant. Hmmnnn, can’t really think of anything else riot now that I JUST HAVE TO PUT OUT THERE ON THE INNERWEBS OR I WILL DIE/T, so I s’pose we’ll stick a flock in it and call it a gay, eh?

Smooches,
Z