Sunday 31 October 2010

COCK MATTERS

Image by CM for eye2eye designs international
Copyright 2010 All Rights Reserved

Yesterday in a pedestrian quarter of Chichester- an ancient city on the south coast of the UK, I chanced upon the delights of a not unattractive street entertainer; as part of his act he blew up a purple balloon, long and thin and upward curving, crowd pleasingly phallic. He proceeded to slowly swallow said massive penis substitute to increasing applause from one and all- including my husband and I, parked cosily in our eyrie, a window seat in Starbucks. It got me thinking. Cockcentricity is so widespread- all ages, classes, genders and nationalities. The demographic of the laughing crowd in public on a Saturday afternoon said as much. Fellatio rules. Though no-one would admit to it.

QUEER MESSIAH: Now this is me having fun interacting with Wikipedia on this same issue very close to our gonads- the bishop we so love to spank for pleasure, and all the others we worship and obsess about at approximately five-minute intervals throughout the waking hours which, in truth, may as well be re-named the wanking hours. Today’s blog concerns....
Human penis size
Wikipedia: ‘Human penis size is the measured length and width of the human penis. The most accurate measurement of the human penis comes from several measurements at different times, as there is natural variability in size due to arousal level, time of day, room temperature, frequency of sexual activity, and unreliability of the measurement methods. When compared to other primates, including large primates such as the gorilla, the genitalia of male humans are large, both in absolute terms and in relative size to the rest of the body.’
QUEER MESSIAH: In your deepest darkest moments of penis envy- usually following a masturbational session with gay porn which is deliciously infested with the extreme penis, you can console yourself with the thought that your dick is still going to be bigger than a Silverback Gorilla. Although I did watch the remake of King Kong recently- proportionately he must have also been King Dong. He’d have never fitted his woody into her would he? A little spoken of dark aspect of the movie.

Image by CM for eye2eye designs international
Copyright 2010 All Rights Reserved

W: ‘Penis size results vary, with studies that rely on self-measurement reporting a significantly higher average than those with staff measuring, but a mean human penis is approximately 12.9–15.0 cm (5.1–5.9 in) in length.’
QUEER MESSIAH: Blimey, imagine that- 1] your self-measurement being unreliable NEVER! 2] your penis being a ‘mean’ penis 3] having your stiffie measured by the staff. It sounds so very privileged, frightfully upstairs and downstairs. Fluff me some more m’lord.
W: ‘Flaccid penis length is a poor estimate of erect length. Most of human penis growth happens between infancy and the age of five, and in five years after the onset of puberty. Age is not believed to negatively correlate with penis size, and studies have not found a relation between penis size and race. There is evidence both for and against a link between penis size and the size of other body parts.’
QUEER MESSIAH: Well! I have favourite a video from YouTube where a black man marvellously bemoans the fact that their sexual partners have exaggerated expectations and that there are in fact many black men with average size penises and smaller. I am Welsh with freckles have large ears and size eleven feet. Say no more.

Web images of cut and uncut cocks
in flaccid and erect states

W: ‘Some environmental factors in addition to genetic, such as the presence of endocrine disrupters, can affect penis growth. An adult penis with an erect length of less than 7 cm or just over 2 inches but otherwise formed normally is referred to in a medical context as having the micropenis condition.’


Web image of an ERECT micropenis

QUEER MESSIAH: Now this illustration was illuminating- and if you can be bothered to search me out as sgryptogenus on YouTube you will find that I have a channel called, unsurprisingly THE QUEER MESSIAH, and you will additionally find that I have a favourite video from Finland there about a club for men with small penises. SURPRISE- here it is. It is beautiful and poignant.





Perceptions of penis size

W: ‘Perceptions of penis size are culture-specific. In Ancient Greece and in Renaissance art, an uncircumcised and small penis was culturally seen as desirable in a man, whereas a bigger or circumcised penis was viewed as comical or grotesque. Ancient Rome may have had a contrary view, and a larger penis size was preferred in medieval Arabic Literature.’
QUEER MESSIAH: I remember fondly, gazing up at the statue of Michelangelo’s breathtakingly beautiful David and thinking, like most of the girls in my class, what’s all the fuss about- it’s not going to hurt half as much as it’s rumoured. Yes I got a semi. I was eleven.

David's pants

W: ‘Males may quite easily underestimate the size of their own penis relative to that of others, and many men who believe that their penis is of inadequate size have average-sized penises. The perception of having a large penis is linked to higher self esteem in general, but also among gay men specifically.’
QUEER MESSIAH: We only have our greedy selves to blame- oh, and the megalithic Millivres and the rest of the Gay Sex Industry. I once owned a latex reproduction of a porn star’s cock we bought in Prowler. It was implausible; an ice breaker at dinner parties; not in the least practical, our eyes did not deceive us and neither of us made the attempt. It would only have been of sexual use to those practiced in the grim art of fisting. We eventually gave it away to friends in the East End of London.

A phallic tree in Africa

W: ‘For women, width rather than length is a more important factor of sexual stimulation. Marketers of penis enlargement products exploit fears of inadequacy, but there is no consensus in the scientific community of any non-surgical technique that permanently increases either the thickness or length of the erect penis that already falls into the normal range.’
QUEER MESSIAH: Which should bring an end to the sales of those ridiculous vacuum pumps- a fool is easily parted from their pink pounds. ER facilities need no longer be plagued by damaged dicks subjected to prolonged stretching by the deployment of string and a house brick. Wise up.

Historical perceptions

W:’According to Kenneth Dover's landmark study "Greek Homosexuality", Greek art had extreme interest in the genitals, but was not obsessed with size. The weekly Q&A column "The Straight Dope" deduces, based on pornographic Greek art work and Dover's aforementioned study, that in Ancient Greece an uncircumcised and small penis was culturally seen as desirable in a man, whereas a bigger or circumcised penis was viewed as comical or grotesque (at least in the high-brow view), usually being found on "fertility gods, half-animal critters such as satyrs, ugly old men, and barbarians."
QUEER MESSIAH: Mind does it for me every time. BUT now this I love.
W: ‘Penis size is also alluded to in the Bible: “In the same way, I became disgusted with Oholibah and rejected her, just as I had rejected her sister, because she flaunted herself before them and gave herself to satisfy their lusts. Yet she turned to even greater prostitution, remembering her youth when she was a prostitute in Egypt. She lusted after lovers with genitals as large as a donkey’s and emissions like those of a horse. Ezekiel 23:18–20, NEW LIVING TRANSLATION’
QUEER MESSIAH: This comes from The Old Testament- a history of the ancient Jews and not at all a Christian Religious Text, a collection of mythic and idiosyncratic writings that have allowed deluded bigots to attack whomsoever they like since time immemorial. Visit the notorious www.godhatesfaggots.com for proof of that. If gays are sinners then so are so are people who wear clothes composed of two threads. And who’d have thought that the revered Ezekiel would have ‘allegedly’ written  ‘She lusted after lovers with genitals as large as a donkey’s and emissions like those of a horse.’ Off with his head! What utter garbage it all is.

Web image of the notorious American Baptist Church
whose mission is to eliminate Gays

Male self-perception
W: ‘Males may quite easily underestimate the size of their own penis relative to that of others, because of the foreshortening obtained from looking down, or because of the accumulation of fat at the base of the penis. A survey by sexologists showed that many men who believed that their penis was of inadequate size had average-sized penises. Another study found sex education of standard penile measurements to be helpful and relieving for patients concerned about small penis size, most of whom had incorrect beliefs of what is considered medically normal. The perception of having a large penis is linked to higher self esteem.’
QUEER MESSIAH: So get a grip and remember that it’s what you do with it that matters. Practice practice practice. A bad lover never blames his tool.


Among gay men

W: ‘A study undertaken at Utrecht University found that the majority of homosexual men in the study regarded a large penis as ideal, and having one was linked to self esteem. One study analysing the self-reported Kinsey data set found that homosexual men had statistically larger penises than their heterosexual counterparts. One potential explanation given is a difference in the exposure to androgen hormones in the developing embryo. Evidence points towards men of each of these two orientations being equally likely to exaggerate the size of their penis.’
QUEER MESSIAH: Gay men exaggerate everything. Get real, embrace honesty and be so much happier. CM


Friday 29 October 2010

BRING IT ON TOMORROW- new lyric for THE QUEER MESSIAH BANNED

QUEER MESSIAH UNCUT
Image by CM for eye2eyedesigns international
Copyright 2010 All Rights Reserved.



BRING IT ON TOMORROW

I’ve been busy working on my superficial surface
I’ve been buffing up my gay look to a party shine
It’s all a chuffing nightmare but bloody well worth it
If the gloss deceives the world I’m still thirty nine.

Forty years on this fabulous scene who’d have thought it?
Been there, done it, had him- I was way before my time.
Fifty six is pushing it-  trying to pass off as nubile rent.
I’m no liar, still an arse for hire, bent one hundred percent.

Bent one hundred per cent sweet baby
Just the way your gay God made me
Born to suck cock born to fuck fucking chuff
Born to cruise the streets coz love’s never enough
Loves not enough when sex is all there is

Yes there were sordid times, the torrid squalid crimes
Of fashion matched by horrid crimes of passion hatched
In bar back-rooms wanking stranger’s todgers in the gloom
Being robbed by cunts who’d caught your eye made you swoon.

Oh! In every bugger’s life there are countless painful moments
Time when you wish time would monsoon down the drain
When you say off the cuff shit in a couldn’t care less way-
Bring it on tomorrow- you can’t come fucking soon enough.

Bent one hundred per cent sweet baby
Just the way your gay God made me
Born to suck cock born to fucking fuck chuff
Born to cruise the streets coz love’s never enough
Loves not enough when sex is all there is


Written by Chris Madoch © 2010 All Rights Reserved as a possible lyric for THE QUEER MESSIAH BANNED and Lee Harding’s musical composition.


Image by CM for eye2eyedesigns international
Copyright 2010 All Rights Reserved.

NO POOF IS SNOW-WHITE

Image by CM for eye2eyedesigns international
Copyright 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Had a great telephone conversation yesterday with a very great Welsh friend I have met and now work with via the social network Facebook- utterly thrilling to have a crackle free line at last [It took me, with all my skills, THREE WEEKS to persuade British Telecom that the fault lay with their telegraph pole and not with our equipment within the home- let this be a warning to everyone with a BT account. Like most commercial giants they are wizard at income and mithering when it comes to expenditure, whist glossing up their ‘brilliant’ service in mega-bucks advertising campaigns.] This matter is no segue, it directly concerned our chat since we ultimately agreed that honesty- however painful it may be, should totally underpin everything we do. And that is not in any way a religious point of view, far from it; that is the shared point of view of left of centre intellects who still care for the plight of mankind and community in particular.
It is a key factor in our despair and undoing. It is a vital factor in our possible repair.
The both of us had nattered widely- agreeing that China somewhat surreptitiously ruled the world and would continue to do so for the foreseeable future and that, within the next decade, everyone in the USA would be working either directly or indirectly for a Chinese or an Indian employer. China is a giant hypocrite- luddite about social liberality, homophobic, yet happy to embrace Hong-Kong and, more particularly, Shanghai: the foremost capitalist city in the world whose boast is that anything you desire can be bought there if you can pay the price.
It’s easy to knock Johnny foreigner- practically a national sport now in most western countries. On our doorstep- indeed under our own door mats, the truth is an altogether different animal. In central London Soho, Chinatown and the Gay Village are adjacent to each other. There are Chinese rent boys, and pink pounds are spent in Chinese restaurants- the two communities rub along though it is not exactly frottage. The Chinese are a powerful community in London. The Gay community is not- and why is that. My guess is that its ties are weaker than nationality and that it floats on a raft of lies.
Image by CM for eye2eyedesigns international
Copyright 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
If this is the age of artifice as opposed to art underpinned by truth then it is doomed and no community I know in the world more attracted to artifice is my own GLBT community. It seems we love flim flam, smoke and mirrors, the cosmetic, superficiality, fakes, charades- anything and everything to avoid the truth. Heterosexuals run us a close second.
To my dying day I will champion social liberalism; free love; a society free of nannying restraints and censorship BUT the sad thing is so few of us can handle these things without deceit and, to make matters worse, deceit is a great weapon in the armoury of the vast capitalist industry happy to prey on our community and the sex-world generally. We understand deceit far more than we understand honesty.
I am not a beast but I have had experiences in the seedy underworld of our community which is deliberately kept hidden BECAUSE IT IS MORE PROFITABLE THAT WAY. But I swear I will explode if I hear another simpering twat hold forth that they have never cottaged; cruised the heath or groped in back-rooms. NO POOF IS SNOW-WHITE.
My friend on the phone- heterosexual by the way, sees this pattern of deep denial of the truth as being widespread. People living with each other for years not actually having any idea who the other is- strangers within a marriage. Writers continuing to write when it is patently clear that they are not writers. Publishers publishing writers who are not writers- in the sense that that their work is not underpinned by art but by artifice, not honesty but self-deception and delusion.
It should stop. People like us would dearly love it to stop. BUT, as the saying goes, where there’s muck there’s brass, and the likes of Simon Cowell know this and have profited from it profusely, indeed obscenely. And you, the half awake, all but comatose, probably deliberately drug coshed populous put your feeble hands together and applaud. More importantly you splash the cash and flash the plastic- attaching yourself to the products of artifice, and as long as you continue to do so the virus of it will survive. That is what it is- a virus that strips us of the ability to do honesty and discernment. Western society is profoundly sick with it. At the same time it is a tremendous triumph for the few who really do profit from capitalism; the ones who with their multi billions come to believe they have a right to sit at the same large table and decide our fate. The very jumped up Oprah is one such. CM. 
Image by CM for eye2eyedesigns international
Copyright 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.




  

Sunday 24 October 2010

DANCE ON MY SON- A possible lyric for the QUEER MESSIAH BANNED

Just a little bit stir crazy-
Gonna shift my ass hit the new by-pass
I’ll miss going nowhere.
And even though the sun is hazy
I wanna be dazzled by something or someone.

Please God don't let it be an angel-
I'm allergic to feathers they mess up my leathers.
Please please let him be a demon who can read my mind.
I'm so masturbational I'm half-way blind.
Come on! Be kind! Let your tongue unwind.

Rim me in a lay-by on the A29
Take me on your Harley to over a ton
Make me believe I am I really really am the holy one

The Gay Messiah of desire he loves everyone
You and you and you and you
God is gay and he wants to say to you
Dance on my son dance on, dance on my son dance on
The Gay Messiah of desire he loves everyone
You and you and you and you
God is gay and he wants to say to you
Dance on my son dance on, dance on my son dance on
                  
Written by Chris Madoch for THE QUEER MESSIAH BAND PROJECT
© 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. MUSIC: Lee Harding.



Saturday 23 October 2010

WAYNE'S WORLD A STEP-OVER TOO FAR FROM THE REAL WORLD

I twattishly continue to half-heartedly support the England football team despite 1] 30+ years of undoubted drought 2] A manager whose first language is Italian 3] An abysmal World Cup in South Africa- due largely to a manager whose first language is Italian, the inexplicable absence of the talented, intelligent and charming Leo Walcott and the inexplicable presence of the questionably talented, moronic and utterly charmless Neanderthal Wayne Rooney. I am now at mercurial boiling point.
For the past few weeks the media-waves have been clogged with the detritus that constitutes the current state of play in this idiot's life. Nothing you ever hear or read has ever spilled from his lips- all the verbiage is managerial, agent or journalist spin and counter spin and the din of it is fucking deafening. Fucking is one of the few words that Wayne can read, write and speak with spite along with sufficient vocabulary to read the adverts for working girls in telephone boxes. He's great at scoring with whores- ask the dough faced missus he leaves indoors, but he's gotten to be a proper hissy bitch when it comes to scoring on the hallowed pitch.
I just don't get it. Where else in this topsy turvy world could you a] under perform at your place of work b] show belligerence and disloyalty to your employers c] practice a lifestyle that is counter to your trade YET end up signing a new five year contract and SIGNIFICANTLY increase your wage to- WAIT FOR IT £200,000 PER WEEK!! Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought we were facing a double dip recession; I thought the poor were getting it in the neck [for poor read football fans]; I thought the wealthy and the swindling bankers were getting off scot free.
Here's a great iconic bit of business- FAIL to deliver, throw all your toys out of your monstrous pram and you may be incredibly well rewarded. Bless.
Yes bless. I say that because he needs the money now. There is no career after football waiting for him. He is no Gary Linekar.
Intelligent footballers have largely been forced to dumb themselves down for fear of homophobic slurs- such is the state of the beautiful game. There are no out gay footballers in the English Premiership- though we know, statistically, they are there. Let Wayne remain a fine model for heterosexual men.
A lady friend asked me about footballers- since they were getting so much press about six of them at a time screwing three tarts altogether in the same room; she wondered if I thought that a little odd. Well of course I didn't think it odd. Men throughout history have had their senses heightened by the proximity of active erections; there is the thrill of pack activity and the satisfaction of any latent homosexuality being vented. The Premiership wants things to remain that way. Out and proud gays in top flight football would curtail the ugly way apes like Wayne Rooney behave overnight. Communal baths- forget it. AND the ironic twist would be that the FA would argue how expensive installing private bathing facilities in all football grounds would be. They could bill Wayne- he can clearly afford it.



Friday 22 October 2010

WHY THE TRUTH PISSES US OFF

I've been rather taken of late by a sociological theory that I recently chanced upon - 'collective amnesia'. Yes- collective amnesia. The paint on it is still wet.
It seems that mankind as a whole, or nation states separately, having gone through many traumatic events that significantly shaped their future [these traumas are, it is said, shared by both sides of a warring divide, that is a combination of being both given and received] so much so that they may chose to 'selectively forget' or 'entirely forget' the truth of such matters and move forward in a sense of major denial.
The powers that be who have always manipulated the masses via religion, poverty and violence, achieve this 'delusional euphoria' by producing what we still call 'recorded history', the ‘official’ version, ‘facts’ and by other means of state propaganda intended to make us all feel well-informed.
Powerful, but nevertheless young nation states, such as the USA who, by whatever means, turbo-charged their way to the top of the international tree, will have undoubtedly experienced many mass traumas and 'enjoyed' many mass forgettings. Their history will be a lengthy series of deliberate misrepresentations, admittedly nowhere near as long or deviously convoluted as those attached to the British Isles- formerly the largest empire ‘known’ to modern man.
Here is the present horror. When those who 'awake' and begin to remember, and those who have been sorely wronged re-assert their claims to knowing the truth, the ensuing nightmare of presumed culpability and wrongness is a totally fearful prospect for those stuck in a blinkered society who are just not equipped to take it on board or who remain blindly, self-interestedly embroiled in their own day to day survival. They will not want their cosy and familiar preconceptions shaken to the core. Soaps remain essential fodder, as does caffeine, nicotine, sugar, alcohol, all other drugs off or on prescription.
The turmoil of such a rude awakening may be immense. They, the masses lumbering from their couch potato slumber, may feel personally attacked by the 'new truth', hoodwinked, shown to be stupid. In this bind they will get utterly defensive, then proceed to exhibit violent resentment. Does this ring any liberty bells?

The 'collective amnesia' theory holds true as much for recent history, despite the technological record, as it does for ancient and pre-history.
It is a demonstrable fact that, collectively, the world does truly want to still accept that the measurement of longitude- a matter requiring a timepiece accurate to within twenty minutes, a method which facilitates accurate navigation and proper mapping, just could not have occurred many centuries prior to the 18th. To believe otherwise would not suit the current paradigm and so it is forgotten and ignored and, to mention it at all, is considered very odd ball in the least and revolutionary at most.
However, it is a further demonstrable fact that, in the very recent past, The Smithsonian Institute, packed up a cellar full of artefacts and physical archaeological evidence that would not fit the currently approved historical record and so mocked them, greatly embarrassing them, constantly challenging the then status quo. What did these luminaries do? They barged up countless bags of priceless finds and threw them into the Atlantic Trench. An extreme form of sweeping things under carpets. Is this the American way, the Western way, the way of human civilisation?
It is an equally demonstrable fact that, in Britain, even today, in order to get any degree at Oxford or Cambridge in Egyptology you have to fill exam papers with 'what was once true' since 'what is now known to be true' is considered not to be acceptable examination material, and it will not be useable until certain PhDs leave this mortal coil with their academic reputations intact. These dinosaurs will be replaced by young Dons and a new era of updated ‘truth’ will commence.
There are, inevitably, vastly more illustrations of the point I am making. But these few offerings should suffice.
Now, my hunch is, in much the same way that a baby who has survived a tragic car accident, losing its natural parents, does not actually want to know that he or she is adopted. Why would they? Yet, as adults, you would have to agree that in all of us there are profoundly shadowy suspicions lurking in our sub-conscious that we do not wish to have aroused for love or money. We smell rats, we spot rat fleas and the plague is immediately diagnosed. Just so. These ghosts of forbidden truths imply a monumental sin, great hurt or wrong-doing. Well, quite, because all of the hurts and all of the wrong doings have been manifold and inexorably sinful. We will neither bear nor wear it.
I must be something of an alien life-form because I indulgently embrace new knowledge and delight in old knowledge being proved wrong. Thrash it I say, give it stick. Rather than re-traumatising me it excites and invigorates me. I am given reason to go on being human, conscious and consequently at fault, that ill-fitted, unnatural part of creation whose various exploits and adventures shame me so deeply.
Now, I have no problem whatsoever with the notion that Egypt and the Sahara had once been sub-tropical for a vast period of time but most people want it to have always been their desert and for it to remain their fanciful desert. For them, sand and rain and greenery and Pharaohs just do not mix.  Similarly I have no problem with the plain truth that North America was murderously robbed via ‘treaties' from Native America Indians. Americans then were an adolescent, rag-bag society of conflicting power merchants, robber barons, petty thieves and bible bashing inbreds, violent in the extreme. Forebears almost always are. They were, as that age demanded, merely 'self-interestedly' civilised and not by proper definition civilised. But now and tomorrow what will their gene pool do?
I have no problem with the tried and tested archaeological record that suggests that the multi volcano complex beneath Yogi Bear's 'Yellowstone Park' is known by irrefutable science to blow catastrophically every 65,000 years, like a massive endgame timepiece, but is now, somewhat worryingly, 5,000 years overdue. Magma levels were rising at 2 units a year but have now risen to seven when last I checked. The trend is undeniably up. Start downsizing to a multi-fuelled campervan and drive.
When America finally strikes Iran and limited nuclear war ensues, making a mockery of recent mass-media obsessions with impending climate change, a few will multiply their wealth to the power of ten but the effect on the earth's core will be undoubtedly traumatic. It may very well, via an inconvenient ripple effect, trigger the already tremulous super-volcano and wipe out all of Northern California at a stroke, bringing about a phenomenal exacerbation of the ongoing strategic nuclear winter. What a massive own goal that will be, even though it might actually be a part of ‘the plan’.

And in the dreadful aftermath, should mankind survive it, the only way forward will be by engaging in collective collaboration- yes, collective collaboration, an evolutionary step towards significant holistic advancement that we have long been loath to take. The dreadful but healing 'amnesia' will kick in again.
Surviving records implicating Americans and their allies will be all but destroyed. And, moving upwards but not forwards once more, we will never want to be reminded that, at our behest, we took the biggest retrograde step ever.
But maybe, just maybe, somewhere, buried deep within the fall-out dust will be the secret and encoded diaries of a high ranking General who had been unhappy with the direction of his country’s foreign policy. He’ll, doubtless, have been a closet-gay Democrat or a shamed and outed men’s room monster Republican. Take your pick.
Future truth seekers and archaeologists may uncover his invaluable stash of evidence and telling remembrances. It will shake the new tree of 'recorded history' and the shiny Nouveau Americans may scream once more with rabid belligerence and raucous indignation.

Do I care for such hideous and anguished tones of exclamation? Yes. Yes I care. Of course I care. But, to be frank, only enough to have written this- the exercising of a responsibility that, being a Welsh poet, I readily, if not a little wearily, accept. I can’t abide that prophesised experience- my being a party to such an ugly auditory pitch, the obscenely loud whinge of the truly astonished drowning in our own mass admonishments.
Will you care? That’s my point. Well, you secret collectors of absurd verbiage, for the sake of my grandchildren and yours I very much hope so. There is, rather astonishingly, the very slightest inkling that I might be persuaded, against everything that I hold dear, to pray for such a thing.

© Chris Madoch 2010



Image by CM for eye2eyedesigns international
Copyright 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Thursday 21 October 2010

GAY HYPOCRISY IS ALIVE AND SICKENING

Something of a gender wars veteran myself- I have the scars to prove it but more of that later, I do in fact eschew conventional weaponry and have a rather queer heart. So, praise where praise is due. I congratulate my heterosexual parents. Were it not for my late father’s predilection to engaging in physical intercourse with my late mother [post second world war] I would not be here, as irritatingly queer and obnoxiously honest as I know I am. I have never been under any ghetto inspired illusion that the GLBT community does not need the straights to celebrate their heterosexuality by breeding. I say- breed on massively up the duff. Happily for me, they breed a pretty constant percentage of queers. Three cheers for them. 

Yet, propagandised into being compulsive consumers, hets also [like most queers] buy heavily into brands, brands manufactured by a global cabal of brand minded capitalist giants who never miss a trick. The pink pound, or gay pocket billiards market, is one trick they have long openly embraced and indeed still kiss in public like all consenting adults should be allowed to do. This homosexual [made heterosexual friendly] niche is easy pickings for them, rather like the lazy blood-sport of fat-cat bankers fishing in an overstocked lake of cockcentric carp. 

However, what for me is far far worse, is that the sausage-jockey entrepreneurs of the GLBT community purr along with the obvious sickness of it. Indeed, swervacious traders transparently profit from the hypocrisy of supporting a brand that promotes a myth, a lie, a play-dough paradigm of a certain kind of sexual bent made just palatable enough for the majority of society to swing along with, use as a labelling tool willy-nilly and fiendishly profit by. Milk would curdle in his grave. Stuff it. 

Unsurprisingly I loathe the brand’s keyword ‘Gay’. I am not in the least gay- I am educated- yes, knowledgeable- yes, and hence, understandably, an often miserable human being suffering from MDD, a suicidal creature who happens to be a queer, bent, homosexually content. Let’s be plain. I do dick and all the rest of it- don’t you dare pretend an innocence of all the many variable ins and outs. The ridiculously small but largely misunderstood word ‘gay’ barely stretches to describe a half of it. Besides which I’m a very left-wing, wobbly atheist, anti-papist, anti-faithist, misanthrope. You go figure. 

Not many moons ago the leading UK gay glossy attempted an attack on ‘gay hypocrisy’- the tacit agreement that is, that we queers are not what we are but what society at large perceives us to be; that plus the degree to which we persistently lie to prop up this preposterous het-engendered convention. By this creed, to be gay is to be atypically sensitive, creative, artistically inclined, domestically refined, body conscious, gym addicted and afflicted to the pleasures of sexual perversions to which society has scant aversion so long as all the publicised adepts at sodomy, buggery and fellatio are ripped, stripped of hair, oiled, air brushed, clean living, monogamous and between the ages of eighteen and twenty five years. Impossible. Unworkable. How very very weird, totally off the mark, not very smart. The truth is, as you may have feared, a lot queerer than that. Take the side issue of fat. 

In the self-same edition of this shiny organ of the GLBT publishing giant Millivres, they had a motoring article which featured the latest ‘fat’ beast from the new Germanic range of Bentley sports vehicles- an obscene and unnecessary indulgence at any time but particularly in the current climate. The phenomenal ‘fatness’ of the cars performance was described as being at odds with the iconic Gay template- of boy bodied twinks, muscle marys, the David Beckhams of this money crazy world. They suggested that the large car’s ‘fatness’ would not despoil the very model of a gay man but rather enhance it. None of this was irony. The magazine’s sensitivities always fall short of a proper appreciation of irony. It’s front cover is relentlessly graced by the ubiquitous half-dressed beta-male type, smiling like a May Queen who has recently received large amounts of cosmetic dentistry, and the back pages [approximately half the product] are given over to advertisements that buy into the obvious ‘gay’ dream from Civil Partnership Planners and divorce lawyers to lonely hearts and high definition porn DVDs. Indeed, ‘dream’ rent boys, censoriously referred to as male escorts, deploy their wares there with blatant reference to the size of the packages on offer. The fiscal revenue from these pages is what keeps the whole joke afloat. All this flies in the face of the hidden reality. This deliberate defiance of the ‘gay’ community in its relentless exhibiting of dishing sustenance to such obvious untruths has become the most contentious GLBT issue of the day. Whoopy do! Queers are far more diverse in every imaginable way than could be contained by the patronising label ‘gay’. Maybe now, in the midst of capitalist crunch time, it is the opportunity for common sense, honesty and clarity to prevail. I try to do my bit. 

No way do I fit the template, nor do I harbour a desire to. For me, fat is the new black. I have no superficial, cosmetically inspired illusions about who I am- I’m a queer man with an XXL figure, almost sixty, the latest in a long line of white niggers. I don’t look in the least ‘gay’ but hey, I’m a sexually active, hairy, portly beast, live with the concept it. 

Yes, apart from the strong possibility of your acne ridden son being one, homosexuals are more likely to look like your paunchy dad or silver-haired granddad than your younger jail-bait brother or suitably effeminate distant nephew. I was once married. I bear the scars. Unusual for a queer I have a rather large gene pool- three daughters, eight grandchildren [four boys, four girls]. Yes, you work out the odds. My beautiful sex obsessed ex-wife has re-married. Her husband is transgender male to female, Jewish, a former soldier, night-club bouncer, son of a London cabbie. They live as a lesbian couple. The wedding involved matching meringue couture- all the bells and all the whistles ably assisted by the neat legality that one of the brides had a birth certificate that deemed she was a marriageable he. 

This is the trouble with the committee constructed paradigm, only clones, the brain dead and the fashion infected pathetically fit it to a tee. I share my present life with a man, have done for the past twenty six years [compare that with the average lifespan of a straight union] and we are inseparable, Civil Partnered and sorted. We would not claim to be married, why would we want to? We would not claim to be monogamous, why would we want to misrepresent our lifestyle with an obvious lie? We enjoy a conditional open relationship, the major condition being that we wholeheartedly enjoy our conjoined lives in which, unlike married couples, we hold enduring power of attorney over each other. How’s that for trust? God being in absolute absentia. We have no aspiration to mimic in any way the rigid role-play and social enslavement that parades itself as heterosexual marriage. In our longstanding relationship there is no repression, oppression or censorship. For those of you who have already assumed the worst, neither of us has HIV or any other STD. Dwell on that if you will- it begs serious consideration as well as your unqualified congratulation. 

Sad to say, some of my Californian friends have got their weird knickers in a twist and appear to be obsessed with wanting exactly what heterosexuals have got- ritual on tap, sanctified marriage, regardless of what flavour of religious bent, and an enduring right to parenthood. Are they mad? With such commercially branded things come certain kick-backs, remarkably short relationship longevity and an unending responsibility for the nurture of dependent but ungrateful kids who, in general, will reject all notions of reciprocal love and mutual symbiosis. In my opinion these precious politically correct ‘gays’ are borderline insane, yet more victims of a greedy need culture of want, must have, will have. [These people voted in a married into the Kennedy clan, homo-allergic Austrian born, body builder, B Movie has-been as Sate Governor. I never forget that, if an independent country, California would rank amongst the top five economies in the world. Be very scared.] 

Peter Mandelson- a British politician more in and out of power than any of the current crop of UK ministers, is a homosexual; not limp-wristed but quick-witted, with the skin of a rhino rather than the expected faggot complexion of a left-wing fairy. He, above all, is a proven survivor, the wiliest of pink foxes, though maybe his current brief is a risk too far. This queer with a peerage is charged with steering British business interests out of the mire confessed from the lower bowels of our distant cousins in the land of the brand Obama. It is one hell of an ask and if he fails, I have no doubt, it will be his sexual preference that will be put to fault by the neo-fascist Sun tabloid. In point of fact, this cad of a lad’s been landed with an inbox of vipers yet is all but a whisker away from being our second ‘out-of-step’ Commander-in-Chief. Cometh the hour, cometh the man- the shirt lifting man. He’ll dress better than the current model, show altogether more poise, smell of Calvin Klein and make guarded references to the interiors at Number Ten. 

It remains somewhat uncomfortable for my often wayward daughters to entertain their inner conflicts with the picture of a 25 stone man, shirt-off, happy on a cocktail of Es, Vs and booze, strutting his stuff to disco-processed Abba at three in the morning, but there’s the truth of it. He’s hoping to pull. They’d probably feign horror at the fact that friends of ours now Civil Partnered met at a cruising ground- a place where queer men meet undercover of dark and park foliage for sex with strangers. This arrangement considerably pre-dating the first occasion on which the word ‘dogging’ fell from a stand-up comic’s lips. It doesn’t faze me in the least. It doesn’t throw me to know that The Terrence Higgins Trust- a charity devoted to the prevention of HIV, has volunteers on paid expenses situated in such places dispensing apt literature, free advice and strong condoms. You don’t like it though do you, because it has the ring of truth about it not the candyfloss pinkness of the ‘gay’ branding you are accustomed to. 

Finally, writing as a Poet, I wish dearly for the next elevation of Lord Mandelson, not just for the headlines, but also in order that the word ‘gay’ may, at last, be returned to its rightful place amongst Keatsian poetic nicety- a fey, almost botanical way of expressing fleeting happiness. But languages evolve at a faster pace than mankind and I’ve been somewhat desolate to find that the hoodie generation has assigned two meanings to the word gay- one is the obvious but the new translation is very akin to NAF or shite. Is it possible that Millivres might feel conscience bound to do the right thing and re-name their flagship magazine NAF Times? No chance- well, about as much chance as Mandelson making it to Primeminister. It’s such a bummer to be so close and yet so far away. Gay hypocrisy is alive and sickening and, much against my wishes, so it will stay. 

Chris Madoch © 2010


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SERIOUSLY- SOME OF US ARE STILL KILLED FOR LOVE

HAVING A LAUGH

‎'Put your hands up any heteros in the house. Ah bless. Now put your fists up any gays in the house! Wow! That's more like it- marvellous. I've got this day job, a nice little earner- sales rep for KY Jelly. Look- I know it's a stretch madam but this is supposed to be a laugh. Don't tell me your self-lubricating you're in the OAP seats.' CM


'The fossil stand-up with a walking frame, John Rivers- who thinks jewellery should yell CHEAP louder than fucking canaries on acid said of Yoko Ono- if she found her floating in her pool then she'd punish her dog. I knew that heartless bitch could be cruel to dogs.' CM

THE QUEER MESSIAH BANNED

THE QUEER MESSIAH BANNED
Soon to be in an HMV store near you- we wish. NO CHANCE this version with Lee Plonker was disbanded. It has risen like a phoenix from the fires of disappointment though. YAY!

DUREX TINGLE LUBE

DUREX TINGLE LUBE
It works. Course I have. Fab.

THE RUMOUR-MONGERS TONGUE LASHING NEWS DESK

MORTAL INSTRUMENTS Such are the demands of Hollywood that Lily Collins has to continue to pretend that her former relationship with JCB is in fact alive. A little bird tells me it as a dead as a DODO which was a very big bird indeed. Ha. Just like the writer of Mortal Instruments. Believe me the best thing about this movie franchise will be LILY COLLINS who has just delivered the performance of her life in the soon to be released LOVE ROSIE. An Oscar nomination beckons I reckon. And yes, I am in a position to know. THE NEXT LAME DEVELOPMENT IN SELF-PUBLISHING Saddo outfits such as the much fanned ONEIROS BOOKS actually self-publish authors who are too cowardly, lazy, lousy or inept to self-publish themselves. HILARIOUS. Of course you have to get through the onerous filtering processes. Licking arse helps. Judging by this house's nauseatingly variable standard of output the filters in place are utterly worthless. The poetry editor has no understanding of POETRY per se and is a piss-poor poet by any standard. They openly applaud themselves for being revolutionary. Pathetic. They are but a further evolution of the self-affirmation model and the modernly sociopathic ego. Steer clear. Do not indulge their risible waste of tree.

ALWAYS PRACTICE

ALWAYS PRACTICE
until you're absolutely perfect at it.

HAVE FUN

HAVE FUN
with the total freedom to be and love who you are without complaint or restraint.

GOGGLE GIGGLE BOX CAMP FAVES

TOP 25 TUNES PREVIEWS

THE QUEER MESSIAH BANNED


QUEER MESSIAH BANNED PLAYER

This is where the first tracks for the new band will shortly appear but meanwhile I will be showcasing songs from prior collaborations- this first one CALIFORNIAN QUEEN is from the album CERULEAN BLUE that I wrote with the genius Dominic Shaw. I do the spoken word and he does the lead vocals and instruments. He is not a gay man and is now heavily into ambient music. The album was loved by Phil Collins, Hit and Run Music and EMI- but eight years ago no-one had any idea how to market it.