Sexy books

After a brief and torrid sojourn with the Motley Crue autobiography I have gone back to my true love, the Yukio Mishima Sea of Fertility tetralogy. This is the 2nd book, “Runaway Horses”. The way he writes about boys sets the heart racing. I can’t imagine how great it would be if he liked girls.

-----------------------------------------

This is part of a larger plate lithograph I drew from a photo of a gypsy and a dancing bear. I always loved this photo. Years later my friend showed me exactly the same photo, but I haven’t seen it since. After I finished the lithograph I decided to splash some random ink across a new plate a-la Toulouse Lautrec. It ruined it; the same way I ruined the silkscreen cat T-shirt by adding a purple box at the end, and the Danse Arts poster by deciding in the last minute to make a random pattern on each one.

Interlude

I saw a man on the street today playing electric guitar. He was wasted away, all muscle and bone, almost elderly, with a rock’n’roll hairstyle, singing Cantonese pop from the 60’s. His speakers were rigged to his bicycle, and he had a kind of shrine surrounding him of news articles and photos and a fluffy white pet resting on a stool with a sign in English and Chinese warning you not to touch the dog or it’ll bite.
Turns out it was Danny Hui, old rising star who was torn from fame by heroin abuse, now alive again and performing on a Mong Kok street, half circus act, half giant.
I gave him $10 then the rest of the crowd started dropping money into the various hats and buckets around him. It’s crowd mentality – very hard to be the first one when everyone is watching.
I can’t imagine the balls this man must have. It sounded great, amid all the empty noise and clutter on the street. Imagine, amid all those people … a human.

Selling death

Whenever it crosses my mind I might die, I try to evaluate how many cute girls may die too, and this is how I gauge how big a tragedy it will be.
When groups of people die though, the news always says something like: “Twelve people died, including 4 children”. What does that mean? Children are more valuable than adults?
I think it’s not fair; the papers should get some perspective.

Thoughts (part 2)

What if I was the last man on Earth? How would it work? Would different countries take turns sending their best women? Would they get one shot, or would it be like a set of 10 opportunities? Would I get to name all the offspring? Would I get holidays? Would the younger girls have to go to the back of the line because they still had a chance with the second generation?

Boy power

I still have the eye-liner I borrowed from my mother 20 years ago. I’ve been using it a lot recently … it’s my new look. I’m thinking of starting a whole product line – make-up for men. The theme will be part “I want to be beautiful” and part “I don’t give the slightest, tiny fuck”. I want to call it “Fuck you, fuck me.”

A successful descent

My plane landed in torrential rain, and for a moment while we were descending I let my imagination wander and felt the possibility of disaster. It seemed an okay time to die – I had just used one of my free passes into the “Prestige Lounge”, the next issue of the magazine was mostly laid out, I’d read most of the Motley Crue autobiography, I had recently procured a satisfying orgasm. I had called my parents a couple of days ago and my last blog entry mentioned crashing and going to heaven. It seemed an okay time to go, and as fear started to creep in I remembered Tommy Lee and Nikki Sixx standing up during turbulence and yelling “Fuck God, let’s crash!” and then I felt strong again.

Fun in Seoul

I’m en route from Old Lady Manhattan to Hong Kong, now in the Korean Air “Prestige Lounge” in Seoul. I must have crashed and gone to heaven. First a beautiful girl gave me a towel and took me to my own private shower room. After trying all the free hair products they had and taking “look-I’m-Tommy-Lee” naked photos of myself in the mirror with my phone I realised I was missing out on the free bar, so I dressed and hit the bottle, and the cappuccino machine, and the pastry counter. I finished the bottle of Jack, then when I went back to start on the Scotch there was a brand new bottle of Jack waiting for me. Man, I’m inspired. I gotta make money. This is how I want to live.

---------------------------------

I haven’t drawn for 2 weeks. This is a scan of an old plate lithograph from “Elfonzo’s Lost Cat”, a story I wrote about a man who lost his cat, then hatched a plan to find it by circling his house, gradually expanding the diameter of his search so as not to miss any spot. He grew obsessed, insane, looking for his cat. It ended with him taking a dump on the sidewalk and looking up and seeing his cat, but being too absorbed in his manic search to recognise the animal anymore.