Resentment

Someone I know has just admitted that he is a millionaire, after being a poor student only a few years ago  He's handsome, manly, nice, and loved by his family.  And I am filled with resentment.  For I have to count every dollar.  We need a wood heater in our house and I can't afford one.  I work in a job where I'm paid half of nothing, I'm very far from handsome.  I am not manly.  And I'm not nice.

Resentment is so ... shabby.  Unattractive.  Mean.  I should not feel it.  I should be happy for him.  After all, his prosperity doesn't harm me.  His luck doesn't mean that I'm unlucky.  It's just the way it is, right?  I'm unlucky, and he is not.  And, anyway,  he's worked hard to get where he is now.  But what I realised is that perhaps, underneath my resentment, fueling it, is a trace of dislike.  After all, I don't feel much personal resentment towards Rupert Murdoch.  I mean, I don't care for him or his politics.  But I don't resent his wealth or influence.  I don't know him.  He's a cartoonish figure somewhere far away.  And so, the reason I resent my friend is more personal.  I'm angry, somewhere in me, at him, and I have transferred this anger and dislike onto his achievements.   Rather pathetic, really.

As I said, I'm not a nice person.  And I think as I get older, I get less nice.  That's rather dispiriting, neh?

Aperçu

I loves ya

Looks like pure sex, doesn't it?  But look at the way they are gazing at each other.  The connection is more than physical.

Netted

So what you do ...

Earnest

Mostly, I don't find soccer players sexy.  Their shorts are not short enough and they're too baggy.  Sorry; there it is:  I'm a perve.

But I'm prepared tomake an exception for these blokes.  Are they brothers, I wonder?

Zag

Joy

Can't remember when I last had a moment of sheer undiluted joy.  Satisfaction, yes.  Even happiness, yes.  But joy?  Not in years.

Not like this dog.

Commencer à zéro

Cool down

From GayRomantique

Monday!

It's Monday morning in eastern Oz.  Back to work.  And this will go on for another 10 years -- until we've paid off the mortgage.

Problem is: my "real-life" job is what pays for everything but it leaves me no time or energy to do the stuff I love.  Like writing.

Oh well.  Things could be worse!

I did a Google search for Monday morning and it came up with this, a pic of a shark scare on a Sydney beach.  I dunno why.  Shark=Monday?  Big teeth and a hideously painful bite?  Exactamento, dude.

Meanwhile, I can see that the sad fashion for boardies instead of speedos continues, to our loss.

Water polo ....

.... sculpts beaut bodies. And they still wear swimbriefs!

Gorgeous

More Ludovic Bogaert

You can see another photo of this handsome bloke here.

Do you wanna ?

Odd

Greenie

Hazel eyes

Stunning. Just extraordinary.

Mates

Friends with benefits. Une amitié amoureuse.

Don't confuse love with passion.  Our English word "love" just doesn't hack it for all the different kinds of love there are.  Love is love.  Enjoy it.  Cherish it.

Winter

It's almost officially winter here, which is supposed to start on 1st June. But it's already wintry as: 2C overnight, with frost. So I thought I'd cheer myself and you up with this pic of a beaut bloke in a lovely tropical cozzie.

Je me fous du passé !

Thinking tonight about love and loss; about ppl who changed my life for the worse; about how I no longer trust love or friendship because of a handful of ppl I thought better than they were; about betrayal and despair and loneliness. 

Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait
Ni le mal; tout ça m'est bien égal !

Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
C'est payé, balayé, oublié
Je me fous du passé !

Avec mes souvenirs
J'ai allumé le feu
Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs
Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux !

Balayées les amours
Et tous leurs trémolos
Balayés pour toujours
Je repars à zéro

Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait
Ni le mal; tout ça m'est bien égal !

Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Car ma vie, car mes joies
Aujourd'hui, ça commence avec toi

[From http://lyricstranslate.com/en/je-ne-regrette-rien-i-dont-regret-anything.html#RKTj2CClOTUKR5lU.99 ]

Ben Godfre --- I think!

Sprite-ly

Drunk on words

“Do you find it easy to get drunk on words?"

"So easy that, to tell you the truth, I am seldom perfectly sober.”
― Dorothy L. Sayers, Gaudy Night

Nick Ayler

Intense

Oh, horrors!

Oh, the horror on their faces.  It's OK for a man and a woman to suck face in public but not for for two men.  And until it is, we are not equal.

It's not supposed to hurt

If he does it right, it's supposed to be -- it is! -- intensely pleasurable.

Blackboard kiss

Khaki

Guy Dads: The punishments and penalty of being a homosexual

Guy Dads: The punishments and penalty of being a homosexual: The recent gains in Marriage Equality for gays and lesbians have been phenomenal. As we all know, this kind of legal recognition has not b...

A la fois

I loves ya

A la seconde ....

Personally I wouldn't dance nude.  There's a reason you wear snug "dance belts" (dance thongs).

But they are cute, aren't they?

Heath Shaw

Aussie rules football ("footy") player. Cute as. But -- boring, boring to the max -- I'm sure he's straight. Just telling you because the AFL is so homophobic.

Proportioned

Thong or jockstrap?  Who cares!

Colour coordinated

Has to be Brazil. Could you see anyone dressing like this on an American (or Australian) beach?

The guy in pink (what there is of it) looks like a young JFK.  And I love their sunnies.  So irreverent and colourful.

Natural

Jeans bulge

Jeans are so sexy.  These especially.

I loves ya

652

Very very beautiful.

(From Gayromantique)

The Nietzschean Hourglass, or The Future's Misfortune

The Nietzschean Hourglass, or The Future's Misfortune

Once, as my thought was being drawn through
daylight into the bronze corridors of dusk and
thence into the promise of dark, I heard out
there the strained voice of the hourglass
calling for someone to turn it over and show
that the future is just an illusion, that what lay
ahead was only the past again and again. I
was too young for such an idea, so it came
back years later as if to prove its own point.

                                         Mark Strand

Fume of sighs

Love is a smoke and is made with the fume of sighs.

(Shakespeare)

Michael Witt

He's an Ozzie rugby player. Straight -- I think! -- but gay friendly (he appeared in Attitude magazine)

ParisDailyPhoto: A must visit place on the left bank

ParisDailyPhoto: A must visit place on the left bank: Here is a stunning building that I don't think I ever showed you. It's located in the 13th arrondissement and it's called La ...

On the waterfront

I loves ya

More precious, more healing, more valuable than any of the hate-filled rants of the Christian-Fascists and their rabid right ilk.  Because of it, the world is a better place.

Delectable

The beaut and sexy Marcus Mojo.

Devious morality

You know, I try hard to be a good person.  I try to be kind, to be generous, to be a giver not a taker, not to lie, not to be cruel, not to stab ppl in the back, not to be spiteful or horrible.  To think of others, to try and make the world a better place, even if just a little.  I don't always succeed.  I get grumpy, lose my temper, whinge far too much, resent others.

But the one thing which I have consistently been condemned for is my sexuality.  My behaviour.  Oh, the condemnation hasn't always been overt.  But it's there.  Silent disdain and disapproval. Or more open disgust  and anger.   Of me.  For what I am.  Not for being immoral.  Not because I am dishonest or a thief or unkind or vicious.  But because I am gay.  I am looked down on, despised, rejected.   So-called friends have unceremoniously dumped me when I came out to them.   Because of something innate in me.  Because of what I am.  To these ppl (and there are so many of them), my morals don't matter.  All that matters is that I am gay.  That I am not like other men.  That I am queeny.  All the good I try to do, all the aspects of my character and personality which may be funny or useful or valuable or interesting, all are set at nothing when it comes to my sexuality and my behaviour.

All my life.  All my fucking life.  Oh, they'll tell you things are getting better.  And they are.  But I don't mix with 18 year olds.  The ppl who are not supposed to care any more.  Those I meet and talk to are a decade or two either side of my age.  And they might in public say all the right things.  But I can see what they're thinking.  And they do not approve.  Especially men.  The worst in a way are those gay or bi men who should know better, but still can't set aside their conditioning, their thoughtless and unthinking taboos.  The pretend-straights.

And so I grow ever more dyspeptic, ever more angry at the judgmental, irrational prejudices against ppl like me, ever more withdrawn from the world.  And that is such an irony.  Because I actually like ppl.

Oh well.  I was going to put this on my diary, my secret place where I can rant at the world.  But WTF.

Enjoy.  :-)

And now I'm going and do something mindless and soporific, like watch Miss Marple.

Una carga demasiado pesada

The Spanish means:
           I decided to bet on love. Hate is too heavy a burden.

(Yay for me: I'm learning Spanish)

Do you wanna?