Category Archives: General

Yes, I realize it’s Monday, but as I write this it’s Sunday, and it’s raining, and things look dreary. Mercury remains in retrograde (as it will until January 25) so I am laying low and doing my best to fly under the proverbial radar until this planetary shift calms the fuck down. It’s almost as bad as a full moon. On with a quiet and unobtrusive recap…

Let’s begin with beauty, specifically the form of male model Layton Draper.

Next, let’s have some color – oodles and oodles of bold and ferocious color.

Far better than painting by numbers, this is painting by penis, courtesy of Brent Ray Fraser.

By ‘pussy’ I mean ‘pussycat.’ Don’t bring your own gender hang-ups into this sacred space.

The bulge of Juan Salazar.

Madonna was ‘Living For Love‘ at a lovely appearance with Sean Penn.

Jason Schwarzman took a bow in his first Hunk of the Day appearance.

Tyson Beckford exposed his naked ass for the briefest of moments, but we captured his posterior for posterity.

Something for the squealing teenage girl (and boy) in all of us: Cody Simpson.

The winter of ‘Evita’ and a memorable chapter in Madonna-lore.

Tim Donkin was a pretty Hunk of the Day.

Your Mint Majesty moment.

Tom Daley & Dustin Lance Black: Men in Love and in Pictures.

Russell Tovey’s shirtless magnificence.

No apologies – Mercury is in retrograde, I’m feeling fat and in need of a haircut, so I’m taking it all out on the Golden Globes until a new episode of ‘Downton Abbey’ comes on to restore peace in the world. Until then, some rude comments on Hollywood celebrities. They can handle it, I’m sure.

We begin with the obnoxious crew at E! Online.

Giuliana Rancic channeling some sexy but strange Queen Amidala look.

Ick… emerald green all over the red carpet tonight. Personal preference, or the opposite-there-of.

Just when I was on the verge of coming around to navy, there’s Jamie Lee Curtis. And we’re done.

Sam Smith – further proof that money and fame can buy you a better body.

Natalie Dormer is disastrous on every level. The least she could have done is comb her hair.

I like all the ladies embracing the mini-muffin tops.

At this point Ryan Seacrest is just teflon. (And I still want to throw a bunch of eggs at him and make an omelet.)

Jennifer Lopez in a self-described ‘mustardy/marigoldy’ ensemble – love the color and architecture of this one.

Melissa McCarthy in a trash bag, staying true to her own tradition.

Oooh! David Oyelowo is looking chic in that non-traditional suit.

But Eddie Redmayne may be the best-dressed man tonight.

I am desperately trying to get a better view of Cate Blanchett. I saw fringe and pink and that’s always a promising beginning.

Jane Fonda – so ridiculous I have to love it.

Channing Tatum, that hair?

Lady Gaga is totally channeling 1987 Madonna and I’m loving it. Arm-candy Taylor Kinney looks fine too.

Ricky Gervais and that crass opening monologue? It would have been funnier if he’d stood there drinking that ridiculous beer and burping.

I want Viola Davis to be my fairy godmother.

Bryce Dallas Howard: from America’s favorite daughter to grandmother in one ill-advised dress.

Just because your dress has pockets doesn’t mean you should use them when presenting.

Where did Brad Pitt get his Dorian Gray portrait done?

I wonder if Tom Ford was just the tiniest bit stung by presenting with Lady Gaga wearing Versace.

When did Quentin Tarantino turn into my 8th grade social studies teacher?

The lesson gleaned once again from the Golden Globes: I hardly watch any television. Who are these people? What are these shows?

Chris Evans… let me go to bed with his dapper image in my head.

Jim Carrey, channeling Merlin Olsen. That’s how far my TV-watching experience goes back.

They really ARE actors – they’re laughing at Ricky Gervais!

Sipping a cup of mint majesty tea, I looked up briefly from my book, ‘After Alice’ by Gregory Maguire, as the door opened. A cutting wave of cold winter air rushed over those of us by the door, as a family of three entered. A bearded gentleman, with a slightly receding hairline, guided his daughter as she walked awkwardly and unsteadily in front of her mother. Something was different about the girl – some disability or affliction left her footing unsure, and her over-exuberant and loud talking bursts signified deeper issues. I gave a faint smile as they passed, then listened as the barista greeted them with exaggerated friendliness. I felt a little relieved. People can be dismissive and cruel to anyone different, even children.

The barista asked the girl if she liked stickers. She clung closer to her Dad, seemingly trying to disappear into the folds of his jacket. He said she did and though I wasn’t watching, I assume some stickers passed from the barista to the girl. They placed their order and moved down to the pick up area.

A row of four empty stools stood near them, and the girl patted the seat of one, saying, “For Mama!” Her mother gratefully took the seat, and her daughter joined her as they watched another barista make a grand production of their drinks. He indulged the girl and performed fanciful feats of dairy art, granting some extra whipped cream to her delight and her parents’ appreciation.

I hoped the rest of the world would be this kind to her always. Maybe we each have to do our best to make sure it is. Even though I know it won’t be, I want to believe we could each reach deep inside and conjure such care for those who need it.

I love color.

Strong, bold, bright, jarring, shocking color.

I love shades that are saturated with pigment, rich full hues that challenge the eye and prove formidable matches to any decorative environment.

It’s a polarizing preference. In today’s bland world, there is safety in beige, and mainstream acceptance of pastels. To sell a house, you will be told to paint the walls white (no matter how exquisite your taste). To select an outfit, you will be told that basic black can never go wrong. I’d rather risk it all and make myself happy before bowing down to any sort of safe choice.

These photos were taken in Cambridge the last time I was there. Cambridge is more colorful than Boston, less prim and proper. I don’t know why I don’t spend more time there. Well, yes I do. It’s the Red Line. The brightest T line often takes the longest time to move passengers along, especially during rush hours. Still, for a jolt of inspiration as seen here, it may be worth the wait.

Smack that little baby New Year on the bottom and send him on his way, we are charging ahead into the wide-open expanse of a full twelve months of possibility and hope. Of course, we need to close the book on last year, which will finally take place with this post, a recap of the week that came before, which straddles this year and last like… some really amazing straddler. 

The very last Hunk of 2015, Harry Lawesdy.

A winter wonderland in transition.

Zac Efron naked, and in motion.

New York, gorgeous in Oud.

2015 in Review: Part One, Part Two, and Part Three.

New Year’s maintenance.

Memories of Narcissus.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour continues into the New Year.

SteamPunk baby!

BirdCage baby!

This hat will fly.

The first Hunk of 2016: Alex Mytton.

We seek the knowledge and the truth, hoping that they will bring us into a happier awareness. Where we ever got the idea that understanding could lead to contentment is a notion I’ll never quite grasp. There is bliss in not knowing, and an innocence that can, not wrongfully, be mistaken for happiness. Everyone says they would rather know the truth, no matter how difficult it may be to fathom and process, but I rarely find that to be true. It’s something they say to sound noble or enlightened, but it’s a fool’s wish.

When you ask me if I like your outfit, you are not asking for my honest opinion. You are asking me to echo the idea – your idea – that your outfit is fine. When I don’t do that, when I don’t conform to your pleasant expectations, you end up getting stung. It’s much easier, and better for all involved, to go along on your merry way, not inviting an opportunity for disagreement. I have learned not to voluntarily offer my opinion. I play the game myself, from both sides. It doesn’t matter much. Everyone gets burned.

I’ll hold onto happy ignorance, blissfully pulling the wool over my own eyes, if it means blunting the blow of a hurtful bit of truth. Like Blanche Dubois, I will clothe a naked light bulb in gauzy make-believe and magic, for the benefit of all involved. Like Norma Desmond, I will live in my own little cocoon of silky splendor, subsisting on delusional grandeur, happy and satisfied with the sandcastles of self-importance I’ve erected upon the shores of my mind.

I like new beginnings.

The idea of a brand new clean slate.

The ability to leave things in the past.

The chance to forget, always so much better than having to forgive.

Such is the opportunity that comes with the arrival of a New Year.

It’s a self-imposed idea, a notion laid upon us by the ticking of the calendar clock, but I’ll take it. It’s a better proposition than Valentine’s Day or St. Patrick’s Day.

As for what the New Year will bring to this site, expect no major changes, although the idea of ending this blog recently entered my mind for the first time since its inception. Not as something I’m seriously contemplating, just as a possibility for the future. I have a feeling it wouldn’t be some cut and dry thing but rather something that happened gradually and organically over time. Instead of a couple of posts a day, perhaps a lighter schedule. Nothing to worry about just yet, or celebrate if you are so inclined, so put the bubbly away.

Until then, this remains my primary outlet for creative expression – my way of engaging with the world. If you like what you see, come back for more in the next year. If you don’t, I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing here in the first place. But as the great Oscar Wilde once wrote: “The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.” The same holds true for visiting this blog.

Happy New Year to all who enjoy what I’m doing here… and to those who don’t.

{Featured Photo: Lavender Cake by Andy, and it tastes even better than it looks.}

The final third of the year is when things get cozy and cold, the wondrous juxtaposition of a Northeastern fall and winter. This year Mother Nature was making up for her horrid opening, extending the warmth dizzyingly into the very start of snow season. The plants won’t be grateful to her for this, but the rest of us are simply embracing it.

September 2015 – September traditionally meant the return of school, and shame. Those days are done.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour continued on its merry way, with a suite of Sunset posts that began with a pool, sparing into motion with a splash, and came down a staircase as if to the manner born.

Norma Desmond returned, one final time, for this last tour. Everything’s as if we never said goodbye.

It’s still a sin to kill a mockingbird.

And still, summer lingered. Still time for a Speedo.

Forty and… fabulous. Of course, it helps when you turn forty in the Judy Garland suite, and you get to smell like this, and wear something as ridiculous as this.

Upon reaching the age of forty, you show some (s)ass.

Birthday bedroom memories.

Portland, Maine.

A spectacular Tour Stop in Seattle, WA began with something verdant, something delicious, something pretty, and something sublime. It was a highlight of the Tour thus far, and I got to fulfill a lifelong dream of seeing the orcas. There was some shopping as well, and a stop at Snowqualmie Falls. All in all, it was a grand bit of touring.

Everybody needs an ally now and then.

October 2015 – This was the year I went blue. True blue.

Madonna’s ‘Ghosttown’ – recently chosen by Rolling Stone as the best song of the year.

Let’s spark joy!

Let’s get eclectic. And again.

Being on tour means being in hotels. It’s where I feel at home. And it’s where I get naked more often than not. Whether you like it or not. And absolutely no regrets.

Fantasy island, one and two.

Speedo mayhem. Again.

Quite possibly the best meal of the year. Thank you Suzie!

Not quite ready to fall.

Hotel moments.

Season of soups.

Until next year, Ogunquit. For now, the fall. And it burns. Still, it’s better than winter.

November 2015 – With November, along with the earlier nights, comes the promise of the holiday light. The promise of family gatherings. The search for warmth. The reassurance of love.

Dressing the twins up.

A bloody moon.

The blue hair stuck around.

I promised the twins a treasure hunt come the fall, and it arrived with a treasure map and more.

I received my first Troy Gua masterpiece, and it’s a beauty.

November means Something to Remember.

The not-so-dreaded F-word.

The best confessions ever.

The Tour Book continued to be posted online, but at this point a strange evolution occurred – both planned and spontaneous. After years of confusion, the smoke was starting to clear. The line between my real life and my artistic output was at last evident to me. Shh, don’t tell anyone just yet.

My wings are red, and they carry me above all.

I’m not a huge Adele fan, but I definitely dig this song.

I am well on my way to becoming a bear.

My virgin voyage.

The holidays approached, and a cartoonish existential question is resolved.

December 2015 – The shortest days of the year, and the time when holiday spirits burn brightly to counteract all the darkness. Also a time for getting together with family, no matter how difficult that may be.

I started off with the holiday spirit high and strong, decorating the Boston condo for the first time in well over a decade.

One reason why I get naked here (and the photos to prove it).

This was Outrageous!

Animal instinct.

The most controversial section of the Tour Book was posted with ‘Animal Demons’ Part I, but it was nothing compared with Part II. Not to mention the sex-pig posturing of Part III.

The Holiday Card 2015.

A murder in the park.

The ‘Animal Demons’ section of The Delusional Grandeur Tour Book was only three-fifths of the way done. Part IV found my protagonist wielding an axe, and exorcizing long-held bunny demons in extremely disturbing fashion in Part V. Even the aftermath was too hot for Instagram, FaceBook and Twitter.

Returning to seasonal fare, Kira and I embarked on a three-part Holiday Stroll in Boston. Part I, Part II, and Part III. There was also a new tradition: the Holiday Children’s Hour.

Merry Freaking Christmas, everyone.

The last Madonna Timeline of the year.

Perhaps my favorite portion of the year, this is when spring meets summer, and the days- when they are sunny and warm – are meant to be shared by the pool, on the beach, or in the chill of well-regulated air conditioning. Friends and family abound too, which makes it that much warmer.

May 2015 – A glorious month for so many reasons… I don’t even know where to begin.

A month for marathon kisses.

They’re still trying to ban my ass on FaceBook. (And failing!)

Frightening night.

I learned a lot from Winnie-the-Pooh.

I left a job with people I loved, and got a lovely send off. (Apparently they wanted me to smell this good, and I couldn’t love them more for it.)

Read it.

Keeping things tricky.

I got a lap dance by Hedda Lettuce.

My rose failure.

The fact remains: Josh Duggar is a child molester.

Pearls of wisdom.

June 2015 – The month that summer arrives in burst of sunny, bunny glory. All hail the season of the sun!

Night beauty in Boston.

Day beauty, too.

Ben Cohen beauty.

Hidden beauty.

Boston baseball.

Red Sox game with Skip. The whole length of it. And we almost made it back without incident – until the police showed up.

The twins graduated. From pre-school. It was epic. (And check out that bad-ass Noah taking charge of his ark!)

XXX(L).

Take A Bow.

The scent of beauty.

Suzie tried to prepare me for turning 40, by going first.

Lunch by Cher.

Emi likes my closet.

The growth of a season, blooming in sweet and spicy form.

Everything smells better in summer.

Marriage Equality for all the land.

Taming a monster.

July 2015 – Summer is a time for friends near and far, for those just visiting, and for those who linger a little longer.

It’s a time for heat, in all its forms.

It’s a time for stupidity.

It’s a time for wonderful words.

It’s even a time for a naked Justin Bieber. (Eww, and sorry.)

A big reveal. (Following a minor tease.)

Fit for a Queen.

I still want to smell like a London gentleman.

Summer survival.

Cars for Andy.

Inspiration by Vreeland.

Cheating destiny.

The boy was mine.

August 2015 – The month is which I was born, made extra special this year for a number of reasons. Starting off with the beginning of my very last tour… The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star.

It started with a bunny, had a proper Madonna preamble, and opened with an entrance. I learned from the best.

Beans! Beans! The special beans!

Wanting more summer tomorrows.

Planning for the day I turned 40.

Exorcizing bunny demons, finding ways of escape, and making new destinations.

Meet my new publicist!

Teaching my brother how not to be such a dick.

Tour Stop: Cape Cod.

Friends old and new.

Midnight radio.

Try some, eat one.

One of the best songs Madonna has ever written.

Just in time for my 40th birthday.

In my birthday suit.

When Iris eyes are smiling.

A rose in a cocktail.

Jockstrap vogue.

I’ve come to loathe ‘Year in Review’ posts, but some people absolutely love them, so I’m going to make a compromise. I will recap the year in the next three posts, but it’s going to be truncated, and the posts chosen to be highlighted will only be those that ‘spark joy’ for me. Deal? Good. (Like you had a choice.)

January 2015 – The year got off to a rather dismal start, with a winter snowfall that just kept coming. So much snow fell that I was unable to get to Boston for the first two months of the year. Luckily, there were other distractions and diversions, like men. And more men.

This book was scentsational. This fragrance was too.

I try to paint with words, even if I don’t always succeed.

The scent of snow, fitting for a year when there was an overabundance. And ice castles.

I didn’t know it then but this would be my last visit to Boston for a long stretch, thanks to all that snow.

To warm the stomach, this Tom Yum recipe.

This offer still stands. Be brave…

Get tricky. Very tricky. Super tricky. Ultra tricky.

An unhappy anniversary.

February 2015 – The snow continued, so we kept ourselves occupied with creative endeavors. One guy who does that better than anyone else I know is my pal Skip, who contributed the virgin ‘Special Guest Blog’ to the proceedings here.

A couple of favorite things: jockstraps and Madonna. And this Special Guest Blog by my friend Carl.

Speaking of Madonna, she came back with a roar, rose to the rafters, fell to the floor and got right back up.

Grey Vetiver by Tom Ford – the only guy who could get me into vetiver.

Male nudity.

Cheesy V-Day mix Side One.

Cheesy V-Day mix Side Two.

Suzie’s Special Guest Blog: Zords Combine!

The gorgeousness that is Winter Water.

A Madonna Timeline that told a secret I already revealed.

March 2015 – The snow still kept coming, and at this point people started to get a little crazy. When at least I was able to come back to Boston, I was one of them. Kira joined in the fun too. Hence the photos here, which are ridiculous but always make me giggle.

Another wonderful friend who makes my heart happy is Ann, who wrote this touching Special Guest Blog.

Andy Cohen kept things juicy and entertaining with these delicious Diaries.

Madonna released one of her best albums in years – ‘Rebel Heart’ – and it was as spectacular as expected.

My friend Joe wrote this Special Guest Blog which managed to be both academic and artfully scintillating.

The art of the jockstrap.

Family pain.

A return to Boston, at long last!

Josie/JoJo/JoAnn kept my heart warm with this endearing Special Guest Blog.

I finally forgave Taylor Swift for existing.

April 2015 – The snow finally started to go away, and with it any remaining vestiges of our sanity. April was a time for silly celebration, and the too-long-awaited return of spring – something that we started to doubt would ever come back.

The bunny bedlam was barely beginning.

Memories of my grandmother.

How is it possible that I still don’t have these amazing shoes? WTF?

Sometimes Madonna is simply gorgeous – in sound and sight and spirit.

A new favorite cocktail: the Campari Orange.

Speaking of oranges, a new favorite recipe. (Doing the dita.)

Subway self-examination.

When the night is cold…

My naked ass in the floating world.

Epic fragrance battle.

Zac Efron almost naked.

Girl crush.

Coming Next: Parts Two and Three of this ridiculousness. 

When the weather outside has yet to be frightful (and this is in no way a complaint, just a slight bit of consternation for the plants that may not recover when the real winter weather hits) one looks to false ice deities to signify the arrival of the frigid season. The Tiffany windows will have to suffice while we wait in a state of suspended disbelief. I can’t remember when it was this warm this late in the year.

Usually we get a thaw around mid-January – a brief break in the spell of freezing weather that sees fog rolling off the snow banks and gathering in strange pools of light beneath the street lamps at night. Such a thaw often messes with the mind, giving a tantalizing tease of spring, otherwise so far away.

This year there is nothing yet to thaw. I don’t know if that eases the mind, or leaves it more restless. The idea of what’s to come can be more gruesome than what is already at hand.

When next we recapitulate events, it will be in 2016, so technically this is the last recap of the year. There will be no recap-of-recaps – that’s what the Year in Review posts are for (and they begin on December 30, so get ready.) On with the end…

It began fittingly with a Holiday Children’s Hour (well, three-hours) gathering in Boston, which turned out to be one of the unexpected highlights in a season of disappointment.

Holiday decorating at its most opulent.

Cute Oxford boys tackle a holiday chestnut.

Annie Lennox celebrated a birthday, and the holiday.

I love a man who comes at midnight.

Merry Merry, quite contrary.

It’s hard to find Holiday-themed Hunks, but these gentlemen took off everything but their Santa’s hats and helped: Trystan Bull and Gavin Henson.

After the Big Man in the questionable red fur ensemble departs, a welcome lull in the action.

As we turn the corner onto another year, it’s the pocket of time when Norma Desmond made her confession to Joe Gillis.

The Madonna Timeline returned before the year ran out, and it was the polarizing ‘Bitch I’m Madonna.’

A couple more Hunks that had nothing to do with Christmas: Alex Barber and José Loreto.

She called to me the other day, from a dusty pile of CDs. ‘New Year’s Eve Sunset Music’ had been hastily scribbled on one of them, and I gave a small smile at memories of the Minskoff Theatre. This is the time of the year when I first met Norma Desmond. It was 1995, and I was at Tower Records, perusing the Broadway musicals section, as any good gay boy does, when the silver-hued Andrew Lloyd Webber double-CD with Glenn Close on the cover came before my eyes. I don’t know what propelled me to purchase it, but I recklessly did. A double-CD? For a musical I’d never heard? Based on a movie I’d never seen? I bought it on a hunch, but didn’t listen to it for a few days.

The first song that caught my ear remains my favorite of the piece: The Perfect Year. In that brief jewel of a moment, all of Norma’s hopes and dreams rest on the love of another, and at the end, when it’s apparent that her love is not returned, it’s a devastation most of us have felt at one time or another. For me, it was a devastation that had not quite come to pass, only in that there was nothing concrete to destroy. Still, I felt a kinship to her predicament.

I also fell under the spell of her glamourous trappings, her outsize and at-odds-with-reality distorted view of herself. I knew what it was like to fall victim to your own ego, particularly when it was developed as a protection device, a way of making one’s mark on a world that really didn’t care. Sometimes that belief carried you through and brought you to a better place. Sometimes it had the opposite effect. Either way, it could prove dangerous and volatile. When Joe Gillis and his broken-down car rolled into Norma’s driveway, he tripped the silken chord of her faded web and was soon wrapped up in the luxurious temptations she had to offer, and possibly a few of the charms she had left. Nothing is ever so black-and-white; we reside in a world of grays, of noirish shadows and hesitant hope. There was something between them, and even if it was a case of one using the other, that doesn’t diminish the fact that two people came together, for whatever reason, and had an impact on each other.

As for ‘Sunset Boulevard’ – it was the musical, and ‘The Perfect Year’ that first captured my heart, even though most will admit the original film is far greater in terms of artistry and lasting merit. I came around to seeing it in that winter of 1995, drawn into Gloria Swanson’s eccentric performance as Norma Desmond – the original faded actress playing a part eerily similar to her own life, even if she was nothing like Norma, particularly in her later years, when she remained a vital and exuberant artist. William Holden played Joe Gillis – the stoic straight man who kept the whole thing grounded in a sinister shade of cynicism. Who was using whom? All these years later, it’s still difficult to ascertain for sure, and that’s one of the gorgeous complexities of the film.

All I know is that Norma Desmond played a pivotal part in my coming of age. She wasn’t the greatest role model for a young man to have, she wasn’t an ideal heroine for anyone to aspire to be, but she gave me a delusional grandiosity that somehow saw me through a few dark times. It almost wrecked me too, to be truthful, but we both survived. In the end, when the world does its damnedest to destroy us, simply surviving can be a feat of epic grandeur.

After a weekend of The Delusional Grandeur Tour Book and its darker midsection, I decided to offer some relief to those of you not enamored by my crotch covered only in a devil’s mask. As such, my Holiday Stroll recap spilled into the usual Monday morning round-up of the previous week’s posts, so here we have that look-back now. And a little later, a recap of the Boston Holiday Children’s Hour.

Don’t just stand there, let’s get to it!

The wise words of Cher.

Roses in December – disturbing but no less pretty.

A vicious murder in Sparrow Park mars the seasonal joy.

The Delusional Grandeur Tour Book resumed in gruesome fashion.

The ‘Animal Demons’ section included pig masks and an ax. (Along with some ass seed.)

But that was nothing compared to the bunny-fucking. Now that is how you exorcize a scary Easter Bunny.

(And no, I didn’t really fuck that rabbit, no matter what it looked like.)

Holiday Hunks included Sage Northcutt, Sawyer Hartman, Jake Quickenden, and a pair of Ryas: Ryan Rose and Ryan Ball.

Best of all, however, was a three part Holiday Stroll with my friend Kira. Our annual event is going on its 4th or 5th year now, and this year was a doozy. It is probably one of the most fun holiday events I get to do. Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 are all up now.

It is not my mode of thought that has caused my misfortunes, but the mode of thought of others. ~ Marquis de Sade 

Violence is a calm that disturbs you. ~ Jean Genet

Destruction, hence, like creation, is one of Nature’s mandates. ~ Marquis de Sade 

It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure. ~ Marquis de Sade 

Read from a distant star, the majuscule script of our earthly existence would perhaps lead to the conclusion that the earth was the distinctively ascetic planet, a nook of disgruntled, arrogant creatures filled with a profound disgust with themselves, at the earth, at all life, who inflict as much pain on themselves as they possibly can out of pleasure in inflicting pain which is probably their only pleasure. ― Friedrich Nietzsche

THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR

Next Stop: STEAM PUNK BIRDCAGE