Buddha holding Lotus

That Progressively Luminous Clarity

I am a devotee of dream interpretation, a gaga-brained, cymbal-clanging, dancing-and-clapping Hare Krishna singing its praises in the streets, oblivious as to whether anyone thinks I’m a fool. If you know how to read dreams, if you track them diligently, if you learn how to interact with them, they offer a perspective into your current state of being like nothing else. And, provided you don’t have a personality disorder or other mental issue that requires professional guidance, if you do it right you can conduct your own psychotherapy right from the comfort of your bed.

Quit While You’re Behind

THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES | MAKING HATTER

by James Killough

I keep telling Baker and Tuttle that we’re moving away from this whole Marcus “Marcia” Bachmann gay thing, but then something pops up to keep it current, like my buddy Shawn Riegsecker sending me this wonderful YouTube vid yesterday:

I don't even know where Minnesota is exactly, but God I wish I'd been there for this.

If you are too lazy to watch the video (just click on the image above; I didn’t embed the video), it shows a bunch of gay neo-barbarians “glittering” Marcia’s ex-gay clinic in Minnesota.  For those who aren’t up to date on this, Marcia uses government money to try to brainwash Gheys via scalding enemas of self-hatred and magical thinking (a.k.a. religion) into denying who they really are.  What she is doing is so beyond outrageously offensive and borderline criminal that it needs to be hosed down with serious humor and satire, the only effective antidotes to the poison of evil intentions.

Aloe Vera In Your Handbag

THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

by James Killough

This blog has becoming something of a daily beast of its own, attracting glamorous star contributors like James Tuttle and Eric Baker, getting picked up and aggregated by powerful international websites with ties to the fashion mafia.  We have started to view ourselves as the two-thirds homosexual lifestyle-and-entertainment Julian Assange.  And it is understandably going to our heads.  Always one to try to keep us grounded and humble, Tuttle is prone to tossing off quips like, “We must make sure our tens of readers don’t think we’re losing touch with reality.”  He is just being a snarky homo, as is his right under Article 2(a) of the Provincetown Declaration of Equality of 2011, which allows a Ghey a measure of dark-roast sarcasm in direct proportion to how old he was at the time of the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell.

Founding Bear Daddies gather in Provincetown for the signing of what is commonly known in the gay community as P-Dec, a reference to declaration signer Benjamin Frankbear, seen here in the foreground, and his inability to control himself during the celebratory beer blast out on the deck.

With so much Perez Hilton-ish red-carpet flash and glimmer going on around here, it’s hard to remember this blog’s original intent, which was to promote Pure Film Creative, our web content company, with a side purpose of exposing the nefarious dealings of my erstwhile landlady, the Wicked Blais.  With the Wicked Blais safely out of harm’s way, seething behind the walls of her own private Mordor of shithole Hollywood real estate, we should try to cast an eye on web content from time to time rather than just name-dropping for the sake of tags, and lamenting the lack of style on reality shows.

I, Monster

I check my look in the mirror I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face. — Bruce Springsteen, Dancing in the Dark [caption id="attachment_746" align="alignright" width="237" caption="The caption for this photo on the site I poached it from said, "Springsteen made it acceptable for men to wear bandanas around their heads." ...

A Man Snogging a Girl’s Breast

Killough further ponders search engine optimization, via heroin addiction and a cocktail called Heaven Can Wait.

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by James Killough

The title of this post comes from a search term that showed up on my WordPress Dashboard, which as I mentioned in yesterday’s post I am addicted to for the time being.  Some British titty-phile wanted to see a man macking on a girl’s boob, and found my blog. All I can say is, bless the very horny, for they perpetuate the race.

I should just rename this entire blogsite Filthy and Filthier and drop the Pure Film Creative pretense.  I am clearly no longer concerned with attracting clients who are going to pay me vast sums to jazz up their content, which is typically cavalier and short-sighted of me.  It seems I would rather sit here cackling like Liberace on E while I tinkle out mildly offensive caustic badinage that is entirely inappropriate as a writing sample.  Oh, well.

Let My People Go

A very sweet thing happened last night.  One of the younger denizens of the dormitory-slash-tenement I wound up living in by some cruel twist of luckless fate came by to offer his support in my defense against the (in my opinion) nefarious Susan Blais.  He not only offered to testify...