Tag: Aaron Rose

Categories
art Gay Rant

Hallooweeeen

Back on excellent form I decided to go Halloween party hopping.  Started at SHLA which was a fucking BLAST.  Wearing a huge fur hat, all night it was stroked and fondled.  The rest of me wrapped tightly in black.  My new heroin chic thin frame.

My waist has shrunk from a chunky 36 ins to a very palatable 33ins.

Yum fucking yum.  Nice to wear all those form fitting togs.  Vintage Helmut Lang.

Actually, even though I intended to run around town my Halloween party hopping ended as it began.  I started at SHLA and ended my night there.

It’s time to start eating again.  I am getting too thin.

Anyway, the party at SHLA was really well planned.  They had spent a fortune on art installations and costumes.  Money well spent…the theme for the night: phobias.

Ornithophobia (birds)

Chiroptophobia (bats)

Emetophobia (vomit)

Dendrophobia (trees)

Arachnophobia (spiders)

Aviophobia (flying)

They should have had a homophobia themed room:   Spiteful little fingers.  Eyes that gaze out over your shoulder looking for something better.  Meaningless conversations.  Somebody whispering that they love you as they pick your pocket.

For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.

The greater part of my evening was spent on a sofa on the terrace flirting with an important (she said) artist (male) and a successful (he said) gallery owner (female), flirting and groping.  He was dressed as wolf man and she a pussy cat.  He told me to touch his cock which I did.  The gallerist squealed.  Then she joined in.  Finger sucking.  She gave me her card.  I left it on the table.

She said, “Which would you prefer?  To eat my pussy or suck his cock?”

I told her that I could do both at the same time.

Nikki Haskell joined us dressed as Marie Antoinette.  Everybody loves Nikki.  The ‘important’ artist asked her to touch his balls and she told him very imperiously to fondle hers.

“They’re made of pink satin.”  She said.

I met a bunch of  drunk ‘A’ gays who wanted to whisk me away to a gay party in Laurel Canyon but I bailed at the last moment.    I am not ready to throw myself into anything too gay at the moment..anyway I had too much fun flirting with the straight men stoking my hat.

It was a very festive end to the past few months.  The BEST thing about the party was that everybody from all the other parties all over town popped by so one really didn’t have to move at all.

Most famous person there:  Leo.  He asked if I had made anything since AKA.

Todd Feldman my ex-agent was having a party that I fully intended to join but why bother?

Spent the earlier part of yesterday with Luke who very kindly bought me lunch.

Like it or not there is still a shadow cast over me from the morbid events of the past few months, this will take time to pass but I am NOT staying at home being miserable.  I am out there doing what I do best: meeting people and having fun.

I took one number from one man but will delete it.  I have no desire to meet or engage with another man…not after JB.  That was enough to last a decade.  The idea of getting close with anyone other than those I already know is enough.

Ashley and Aaron Rose for breakfast.  Satie’s Gymnopedie playing.

Drifting over the garden like something aromatic.  Carrying me over the lush vegetation and down to the sea.

Life:  this is it my friend.  It is as it always was.

On my own.  Thank God!

Categories
art Malibu Rant

Sweet Thing

The rain has finally stopped pouring over the house and into the view.  The skies have cleared. The sun is shining.  The sea is glistening…etc.

Confined to my room with painfully torn ligaments.

Ashley has been running around fetching and carrying.

Sweet thing.

Paying gardeners, buying logs, feeding me pain pills.

This evening she and her friend Aaron Rose sat by the roaring fire whilst my blue eyed friend Bowdy entertained us with unusually funny impressions. When he started his ‘performance’ I was dreading that he was going to be terrible.  He was GREAT!

It’s incredibly unusual in LA to meet a young actor who can actually act.

Aaron is curating a street art show at MOCA.  Next week he is in Paris working with young artists.  A commercials director..apparently they make a ton of money.  Do I wish that I had the ability to make commercials?  Just talking about it, the prospect of it…made the inside of my mouth dry up.

With Ashley making busy around the house life is filling up again with unusual and interesting people.  She is such a doll.

We discussed these three words:  Nigger.  Cunt.  Faggot.  The impact each word has and the power we invest in them.  It was a fascinating conversation.  We felt really naughty talking about each of them…as if overheard we might be arrested or torn from our lives.  It felt subversive.

We were talking about the concentration camps and Aaron revealed that he didn’t know that the pink triangle, symbol of gay pride, originated there.  The pink triangle (German: Rosa Winkel) was one of the Nazi concentration camp badges, used to identify homosexual men, as well as those imprisoned for sexual offenses such as rape, bestiality, and pedophilia. Originally intended as a badge of shame, the pink triangle (often inverted from its Nazi usage)  is second in popularity within the gay community only to the rainbow flag.

Alan Davies the British comedian and I had a fight in the Neptune Pub, Whitstable twenty-five years ago when he started wearing the Pink Triangle to prove his solidarity with gays and lesbians.  The problem was,  he was homophobic towards me.  After a huge shouting match and a bitchy struggle he removed the pink triangle.

I have been reading my old blogs.  The ones written when I first arrived here in the USA.   Not only are they a very good read but life sure was full up with people places and things.  Of late (and more contemplative) the written journey has been internal rather than external.

Every day I get closer to my goal of exorcising the ghosts of past love.  Things are getting so much better.  Not so very long ago I didn’t think I could go anywhere that we had been together..not Paris nor New York or Whitstable.   I feared that just walking down the same street we had strolled would ruin it for me.  But, you know, that was the voice of shame whispering seductively in my ear.  The shame I felt about failing to keep him.  The shame of making bad choices in love.

I am better than that.  Paris is a big city.  I am a bigger man.

I sometimes wonder in whose arms he rests now?  Placating him.  Telling him the lies he needs to hear.  Is he happy?  I know in my heart, I know that he will never truly be happy.  He has made terrible mistakes and those mistakes may never be forgiven.  He will try to put it right but not for her.  He wants her to forgive him so he can feel better about himself.

He will be in perpetual torment until he truly understands a selfless apology. Equally, she needs to fully embrace the act of forgiveness.  Can she forgive him?  Eventually she will.  She has no option.

Living with hate or resentment in one’s heart can ruin your life.

Forgive him for being frail and flawed and weak and cowardly and for telling inexcusable lies?  Yes, we can do that.  Eventually.

We are connected forever.  A dance with death.  A marriage with the Devil.  There is something oddly Gothic about it.

I called the small claims court to have the date moved so I can go to London and deal with this bollocks stuff.  Directly to London.

Sooner or later Jake and I will face each other.  Whether it is in the court room or on the street he will pay what he owes me.  He would be such a fool not to.

We will bump into each other.  I know that scenario.  If he has worked properly on himself he will have undergone the change he so badly wanted.  He will be gay.  Not like when I first met him:  A gay man sheltering in the husk of a straight man’s life.  He will be true to his own nature, to the mannerisms and voice that he was so scared to reveal.  I began to see the occasional gay moment when we were in France, the twist of the mouth, the limp wrist, the effeminate draw on the cigarette.  All quite normal for a delicate, passive homosexual.  Endearing.

Like so many ‘straight acting’ gay men he is petrified of being seen to be gay.

He will be revealed.  He will find happiness.  I pray for it.