Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Freak, cuming in 2007









These are my promo ads, i'm so exciting about this book!


The line up:


Freak: You know what they do with boys like me in prison


Act 1: The nakedness of man dealing with the absurd

12 Things u aren’t supposed to say at a porno shoot
Kinky Black Male, part1
My dick is one inch long.
Kinky Black Male, part 2
Dear Liza Minnili
Kinky Black Male, part 3
No Money Back Gurantee
Kinky Black Male, part 4
Michael and the beanstalk
Kinky Black Male, part 5

Act 2 : I know why caged birds sing

fo da block, get your hands up, part 1
Drug dealer
get up hands up, part 2
I can’t get no satisfaction
get your hands up, part 4
Why does bad stuff always happen to good alcoholics
get up hands up, part 5

Act 3: Brotha to Brotha

an ode to my youth
The murder I got away with
an ode to my youth
Lovely
an ode to my youth
Tragic Fag
an ode to my youth

Act 4: My boyfriend comes to the city and beats me up

what is he really saying, part 1
The First time I….
what is he really saying, part 2
Jacking Off Pride
what is he really saying, part 3
Son of a prostitute
what is he really saying, part 4

Act5: Blink twice

Last rites, prologue
It’s not fair: I think I’m fucking up my life
last rites, the epilogue
















Thursday, June 14, 2007

my mother

she's fat as HELL, once she gave up herion and crack, she just started to eat. But look at the mama's boy, he's so happy

My new book

Act 1: Laugh
  1. 12 Things u aren’t supposed to say at a porno shoot
  2. My dick is one inch long.
  3. When in Rome: a conversation
  4. Internet
  5. Just because I shook your hand don’t mean I’m having sex
  6. Black, Freak: a conversation
  7. Money back guarantee

Act 2: Cry

  1. I can’t get no satisfaction
  2. Why does bad stuff always happen to good alcoholics
  3. John Doe: Who is the fuck is Sean?

Act 3: Learn

  1. I just want to get high,: story of the Drug Dealer
  2. The murder I got away with
  3. Lovely


Act 4: Forgive

  1. The First time I….
  2. Jacking Off Pride
  3. Son of a Prostitute


Act5: Teach

  1. Mama, it’s not fair: I think I’m fucking up my life

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Drug Dealer




Artificial. Looking for god in artificial. They call me at five o’clock in the morning. They don’t think. They just want. Maybe I just needed to be wanted. They wait for me to log on the sex sites. They just wait and want. Maybe I like the attention. Maybe I just want the money. Maybe I’m hooked on the drug. Maybe I’m just surviving like them. I’m still human. I’m searching. I’m still trying to reduce the noise. But the drug, it’s what they’ve been told they can’t have. It’s like love they’ve been told they can’t have. Maybe that’s why I sell my soul. It’s love they can’t have. So they call me on Monday mornings. They think I don’t sleep like the love they couldn’t have.

I still want love.


That morning, I thought it would be different. I thought it would be different. I created a new identification on the men sex site. I put my face picture up. I was smiling. I put myself out there. I hoped for truth. And he hit me up. He wasn’t some young kid. And I’m forty years old. I was getting tired of kids who want a good time, who just in it for the adventure. I was tired of kids who didn’t know where the train ended, kids who had run away from home. I had gotten tired. So when he hit me up, he was thirty three years old, a man. He didn’t ask for nothing, he didn’t want anything. He didn’t know about me. That I am a drug dealer. And I thought to myself because I put my picture up with my face instead of just showing my dick, he saw me. Because I showed my smile, that maybe it could be different. I was new. And I hadn’t been new for so long.

I fell in love with a drug addict once. I was young. She was a woman. I’m gay. I fell in love with Jackie when I was fifteen years old. I was staying with my Lesbian aunt. I had runaway from Grandma that summer. Mama was on crack. She was somewhere, nobody knew, maybe in jail, maybe in some alley; mama had already abandoned her kids. Jackie was this pretty girl, dark skin, baby eyes and smooth curves like a coca cola bottle. She was also a broken soul like sharp glass that everybody who touched her got wounded. Jackie was this girl that every kid in the ghetto wanted until she got pregnant by Rice the biggest drug dealer in my ghetto. Rice didn’t take care of his kids. I guess it was me trying to understand Jackie. I guess it was me trying to understand my mama who was also on drugs. That it could be more. That it wasn’t just some pill she took, or something she shot up her veins, or something she free based. Funny how those two words come together, free and based when really it isn’t nothing about it that’s free or based on anything.

With Jackie, I guess it was me trying to understand the drug. They said crack made them zombies. They said once they smoked crack their souls were lost to hell. I guess me loving Jackie was about trying find the humanity in her. It’s because I knew she was a child once, and I knew she used to have hopes and dreams. Maybe I thought the drug was just some assistance to her hurt and if I loved her enough, she wouldn’t need. She could still use it but she wouldn’t need that high. She would need me. I needed her to need me like the drug. I needed her to see I could save her like the drug. Maybe I was still begging my mother. Maybe I was still begging my mother to come home and not suck those strangers’ dicks off in the alley for her high. I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t that high. I couldn’t understand why she was running because she had me. She had me. She went through nine months for me to get here. She pushed me. She pushed me out. She pushed me out. She pushed me. That took energy. That took a life.


So he got to my apartment. I snorted a little cocaine. I can be insecure sometimes. I can hate myself sometimes. I just wanted touch. I just wanted somebody to see my smile.

I opened the door. And he was beautiful. Such a man. I knew he had a job that he probably didn’t like but he knew responsiblity. A man that realized he was only making his way through the world. A man that didn’t want anything from me. And I didn’t feel my age. I didn’t feel my age with him. I had no kids. I hate kids. Kids make adults become kids. They make them become petty and silly and looking for Santa Claus. I knew there was no Santa Claus. Maybe there was no god. He was a man. He was a man


So I invited him in. I offered water. I offered him wine. I offered him. He seemed a little shy, so nervous. It made me nervous. And gay life sometimes can be so mechanical. It was new. I was new. He was new

We talked. I made jokes. I rubbed my head liked I used to do when I was a kid. Maybe it was his smile. Maybe it was his childish eyes. I kept excusing myself to go to the bathroom and to look at my eyes. I had those wild eyes like my mama. I had those wild eyes like my mama when she disappeared into the bathroom to smoke her drugs. I’m a drug dealer I told myself in the mirror. I’m a drug dealer. I’m what took my mother away from me.

When I came out the bathroom he was laying in my bed naked. His dick rock hard. And he was such a man. I could smell his musk at the door. I could feel the pulsating of his cum in his balls. He needed release. I needed release. And it wasn’t some porno. Gay men it sometimes can be a porno. It’s so mechanical the sound gay men make. It’s like they are looking for attention. It’s like it so rehearsed. It’s liked they are afraid to really feel. To be weak. Maybe it’s like war. Maybe they think once their dick gets hard they die.

But his dick was hard and I knew he wouldn’t die. I knew he wouldn’t die if I put my warm mouth on it. And I didn’t care about my eyes anymore. I didn’t care about my soul hurting anymore. I was going to be touched. I took off my clothes. I was just in gym shorts and no underwear so it was a simple shedding of skin. I was naked. I loved being naked with him. He was such a man. And talking to him, I knew it wasn’t some fantasy. He worked at the local grocery store. He wasn’t some fantasy. He lived paycheck to paycheck and somehow found a way to accept himself. He had accepted himself. Me, making love to him wasn’t about him needing to prove something, I could tell it in his hard dick. I could feel that pressure pulsating in his groins. I could feel he wouldn’t lie to me. He was a man. He had purpose. And in that moment, I was his purpose. I could be his purpose.

And while I was sucking his dick. While I was letting my white spit drip down on his dark shaft he never took his eyes off of me. And then he grabbed my neck. And then he pulled me towards him. And then he kissed me. His tongue slipping in my mouth like a lover getting under warm covers in winter. Like a lover searching for warmth. And I thought this was new. We are new. Maybe. Maybe.

Mama never gave up drugs. She also didn’t die. She spent her entire life looking for it. She called the drug dealers at five o’clock in the morning. She acted like there were no Mondays. She never needed anything but the white powder, the crystals, the needles, the crack pipe, she never needed to be love. I needed to be loved. I was a drug dealer and I needed to be love. She spent her life drifting. Maybe she needed that. And Jackie, the girl I feel in love with left me her child. She disappeared one day and never came back. The kid was only a year old. I took care of it. I don’t know why that day when I became a drug dealer that she left me her child. She said I wasn’t a drug dealer. She said I was just a human being trying to just survive. She said I hadn’t given up on love.

After he left. I went to the grocery store for more water. I was so thirsty. I hoped he call. I hoped he call.





My Summer Sitcom: "WIND"


"When they were eight years old, they each thought they could control the wind. During the hot sticky southern summers, they each would stand on their grandmas’ porch, stretch their arms up and wide, as if they were holding up the heavenly sky. They demand the wind blow hard and cool. And it would obey to childlike eyes. The invisible current wrestled through every strand of their unstable nappy hair, get tangled, and then break free. They were so damn free caused the wind obeyed. God obeyed. The wind stopped blowing after heartbreak and reality. Each got older and been directionless since trying to get back, trying to get back home, desperately trying to control the wind again. Nobody controls the wind. Nobody said it was going to be easy"




EvolvingSean: the self diagnosed freak, sex and drug addict, borderline alcoholic, still recovering from childhood abuse and a rape that happened at 21, a budding brilliant writer, insecure, desperately trying to see what’s behind his eyes. Everybody thinks he’s a hustler, a con man, can’t be trusted when he’s just trying to be the only make in his family not to go to Prison. Don't want to become a statistic.








Hemingway: the poet, activist, can’t help loving pretty boys and getting his heart broken, the caretaker, got unresolved anger from a childhood he refuses to speak, budding writer. If he was a tree he’d be the tallest and oldest.











Inferno: the dancer, fire, arrogant to protect his insecurity, too young can’t see
what they see in him, desperately trying to see what’s behind his eyes. People see him like a flower they could pluck, always trying to steal what don’t belong to them.








Cobalt: the dancer, in an opened relationship but married to a soldier in the iraq war, he’s water, cool, the most complicated fairytale













First Episode: "I know a change is going to come"


I’m so damn bored, this black gay pride is some bullshit, broke ass naggers












Stop complaining, you sold a book












Play nice kids.











I'm bored too.













EvolvingSean: I only sold a book cuz he wanted to sleep with you.

INFERNO: Jealous much. ME ME ME ME !!!!!

EvolvingSean: And me too!!!

Hemingway: Matrix 2, nice.

Cobalt: He is so Smith.

EvolvingSean: I am not Smith, I am Neo, I’m going to save you bitches from hell.

INFERNO: You are hell.

EvolvingSean: What would I tell my younger better looking “self” who is taller, got a bigger dick and better body, Shut the fuck up!

Hemingway: Stop fighting, somebody wants to take a picture

INFERNO: I’m a celebrity I don’t take pictures unless it’s approved by my agent

EvolvingSean: Then act like it’s the paparazzi and you’re drunk showing your pussy getting out the car.

INFERNO: I aint got no pussy, my dick is 12 inches? I haven't measured lately.

EvolvingSean: And your asshole is 18 inches, they get lost don’t they. hahahahaha.

Hemingway: My asshole is 22 inches thanks to David, freaky bastard, he liked toys.

EvolvingSean: Too much information.

Colbalt: Well my asshole is my husband dick length serving in the Iraq war.

Hemingway: Let’s hope he gets home safe.

INFERNO: I thought it was don’t ask, don’t tell, but he keep telling us his husband is in Iraq, damn.

EvolvingSean: My asshole goes to my mouth

INFERNO: Your asshole is your mouth

Hemingway: Let’s take this picture Bitches cuz it will give EvolvingSean more publicity.

Cobalt: He does need to pay rent this month

EvolvingSean: Rasbauld and Cobalt are the only people who care about me in the world

Inferno: And your crackhead mama

EvolvingSean: I love you, you tragic fag.

INFERNO: I love you too bitch, you dirty whore.

Hemingway: And I love you all.

EvolvingSean You love who? Me or him

Cobalt: I love all of you

Hemingway: I just love.

Inferno: You would just love.

EvolvingSean: Ditches like a foxhole, we all love each other like an orgy, now shut the fuck and let’s take the damn picture

Inferno: ME ME ME ME ME!!!!!

EvolvingSean: And me too!!!!

Hemingway: Nice!!




Monday, June 04, 2007

New Book


I finally finished the line-up for my new book Freak. Here it is:
  1. Things u aren’t suppose to say at a porno shoot
  2. My manhood is important to me, can’t get free no matter what I do
  3. Diesel
  4. Eyes like your black ass Daddy
  5. Just because I shook your hand don’t mean I’m having sex
  6. The lies men tell
  7. When beauty fades: Ball Kids
  8. Black, Kink Freak: a conversation
  9. Strip contest
  10. When in Rome: a conversation
  11. Not the girl
  12. SeX aDDict
  13. Coming out of my underwear
  14. The First time I….
  15. Why he got killed?
  16. Jacking Off Pride
  17. I think I’m fucking up my life
  18. Son of a prostitute




Read these words and Writer #17 lives: Black gay pride 2007



















Jacking off Pride?


A pride story

You can’t make a person feel pride. I think it’s illegal. Pride for me is not starving myself, mentally, emotionally or physically. I thought it was my best idea ever. For my 2001 New Year’s resolution I decided that I would do all the major black gay prides. I lived in Chicago and was a healthy 195 pounds at six feet. The winters were brutal and some fat was necessary and I did love my JJ’s catfish, Ms. Field oatmeal raisin cookies, Cheesecake factory, Hudson’s Bar-b-que, Popeye’s chicken and many boxes of cheap wine. I had a gym membership at Bally’s but I only used it if I was stuck downtown and needed to use a bathroom. I figured I probably should lose some weight thinking of all the sex I was going to have.

My first pride would be Philadelphia. My friend who lived in Boston said he would rent a car and drive down. I was so excited. I got to Phili and after I checked into my room and decided to go down to the lobby for a cocktail. There were so many good looking black men. I felt insecure. I was also lonely and sober. I went to the hotel bar and ordered a vodka and cranberry. Hotel drinks sucked. It was too late to go to a liquor store. I ended up spending like fifty bucks on cranberry juice with splashes of vodka. As I got drunk, I noticed everyone was so much skinnier than me. I felt like Oprah interviewing an anorexic. I kept comparing my thighs. The first bullshit. My good friend got into a car accident on the way to the hotel. He wrecked the rental car. I only heard that I didn’t have a ride to the club. I decided to take a cab. The thing about black clubs, taxi cabs were an urban myth. The club cost like twenty five dollars to get in. I also needed to find a ride home. The trick was to find Bob: the lonely, older, unattractive guy who looked like he had a car and a job. The problem was that every young, slender, really good looking queen kept coming up to me and flirting trying to get me to buy them a drink. That made me nervous. I didn’t want to be Bob. I was looking for a Bob. After the club, I found myself standing in the parking lot looking like a damn drunk fool. I had no idea where I was. Finally, a slightly overweight guy hit on me. He asked me if I knew where the good weed was. I was desperate and he was my only hope. I lied to him. I told him I had a bag at my hotel room. The ride back to the hotel he kept touching my inner thigh and licking his lips. I kept looking for something familiar so that I could jump out the car and run. Finally I saw the sign of the hotel. I checked my pocket to make sure I had my wallet and hotel key. When he slowed down to turn into the parking space, I opened the door and ran. I ran like a prostitute who just got a knife pulled on her. I was so scared he'd run after me like a pissed off werewolf. I didn’t even take the elevator. I took the stairs, seven flights. I got to my room and slammed my door. I kept looking at my door thinking the fat bastard was not too far behind. I felt like an idiot. I told myself when I got back home I was going to lose some weight. I spent rest of the trip in my hotel room ordering room service. My hotel bill came to like five hundred dollars.

The next pride was Splash in Houston, Texas. I was from Texas. I needed to lose twenty pounds in eight days. When I got to Houston I was starving from over-exercising and a liquid diet but I finally got the attention I was craving. I squeezed at size 33 into a size 30 bathing suit. My legs looked like squeezed dough. Sunday after the events I was invited to a hotel room sex party. I was young and horny. I figured I had nothing to lose. I got to the room and it was packed full of naked black men. I thought I’d hit the jackpot. Somebody gave me some pills. It was two Viagra and ecstasy. I took them all. An hour later I was feeling so good with a really hard dick. I had a really great time. The following morning I caught the red-eye back to Chicago. I was still high and my dick was still hard. I made the mistake of not taking off that Monday. I had to go straight to work with a hard dick and high. When I got to Chicago it hadn’t gone down. I decided to put on an extra pair of underwear to hide it. After lunch, I made some excuse to take the rest of the day off. I got to my apartment and figured I needed to do something about my dick. I got out my best porno. I fixed myself a cocktail. And I went to work. I kept jacking it. But it wouldn’t go down. I got off like five times and when it started to hurt I decided to stop. I was so young and stupid. I decided to go to sleep. I woke up the next day and my dick was still hard. I wanted to cry. It was like a nightmare. I could barely pee. I decided to tape it to my leg and went to work. The problem with a hard dick I could feel the pull on my heart. I was at my desk with tears in my eyes because I couldn’t believe I was going to die at twenty four years old from taking a Viagra pill. Finally at lunch time, when I went to use the bathroom it had gone down slightly. It wasn’t limp but it also wasn’t rock hard. It stayed that way for the next two days. I refused to go to the hospital. I was just going to die.

DC pride was three weeks after Houston. I was tired. I didn’t feel like it. My great idea had quickly become irritating. I had already bought my ticket and reserved my room. I got to DC Thursday afternoon. I wanted to relax and take my time. I wanted to see the city. It wasn’t just going to be about clubs, drinking and men. I didn’t want any stress. After I checked into the hotel and decided to go cruise the lobby, it already seemed like it was going to be a great trip. A couple of friends from Chicago had also decided to come up. I was happy to see them and didn’t feel so alone. We decided to go to Georgetown for dinner and shopping. I was having the best time. For the next couple of days it was all fun. I visited the national cemetery, saw the monument, went to Jamestown, VA, danced and laugh. I bought a couple of new black gay books. Yet, I hadn’t gotten laid. I could feel the time counting down. By Sunday, I started to feel a little desperate.
On Sunday, I met a really cute guy at the bar called Fireplace. He bought me a drink. We talked and flirted. He seemed perfect for my “black gay pride” out of town fling. I invited him back to my hotel. We started kissing on the elevator. My pants were already unbuttoned before I got my hotel room door. He was so damn sexy. And we did it every where. In the shower. Against the hotel window. On the floor. On the desk. We went through like four condoms but he wouldn’t nutt. I had gotten off like three times so I was satisfied. Finally after we laid in bed and he was still rock hard and I was trying to be considerate. He asked me if he could jack off on my face. I only agreed to get him off and to get him out of my room so I could go to sleep. He got on top of me, his dick leaning towards my face. And for a second it was sexy. I closed my eyes and mouth. I figured it was just drip down on my cheek like a gentle rain and I wipe it off with a nice white towel. It didn’t take him long to reach climax. I heard his orgasmic moan and readied myself and then it happened. He busted. It was like I thought it would happened, a couple of drops on my cheek but it wouldn’t stop. The light gentle rain had become a rainstorm. And he kept coming. I mean it wouldn’t stop. It was like a fire hose had gone off in my face. It wasn’t speckles of lust anymore but a flood and I was drowning in it. I had my eyes closed and I was just waiting. I didn’t want to yell because it would’ve gotten all in my mouth. Finally, he fell to the bed. I was so traumatized. I grabbed the comforter and wiped the thick layer from my face. I felt like I had just been on some kinky Nickelodeon show and was just slimed. And then it also had a strange smell to it like he eaten bowls of asparagus. It started to burn a little. I ran to the bathroom and immediately washed my face. When I came out he was gone. I scrubbed my face until it was sore.
The next morning, as I packed to leave I noticed I didn’t have my wallet. I immediately started to panic. I couldn’t find it anywhere. I didn’t think I lost it. I immediately thought of that guy but he didn’t seem like the type to steal. I had an extra identification. I always carry an extra identification because I needed to get on the plane to get home. The only problem, I didn’t have a dime to my name. I checked my pants pockets and I only found like seventy five cents. I had no money for a taxi. It was also a Monday, the holiday, which meant all the banks were closed. I was fucked. I called home like a little child, almost crying because I was so far away and didn’t know anybody. I also tried calling my friends from Chicago room but they had already checked out. I made a new rule to never leave my pants unwatched with new tricks. I told myself I was just going to go to the Metro Station. When I got to the station, a family walked up to me and gave me a metro card. They all bought a day pass and didn’t need it anymore. It was a godsend. The next issue was the bus. I had to take the train to Vienna and then a bus to Dulles airport. I told myself I was just going to get on the bus and look sad. Just my luck again, the bus was free. The change machine wasn’t working so he was just letting people on. I never felt so lucky. I got home but a very narrow string.

I was back up north a week later for a friend’s college graduation from NYU. It also just happened to be New York Pride. I guess the normal pride or white pride. I didn’t feel any pressure. I went to the gym but I didn’t over do it. I ate normally. It was going to be my least expensive trip because I was staying at my friend’s apartment. After my friend’s graduation we went to the gay Pride parade. It was like a carnival. The bigger difference was that white pride was a lot more visible. It was on television. It was in all the major newspaper. It took to the streets. The feeling I got standing on the side of the street watching the parade that celebrated my gayness was like coming home. It actually felt like pride. I was proud.
Chicago black pride wasn’t really that big of deal since I lived in Chicago. I did have the option to attend the pride in L.A. which happened on the same weekend, but I didn’t feel like over-excising and starving myself again.

The last pride, the big bang was pride in Atlanta. By the end of the summer, I had gone from 195 pounds to 163 pounds. I had gone from a size 34 to a size 31.
In Atlanta, I had plans to be a straight up unapologetic slut. And Sex came easy in Atlanta. It was ever where I turned. I was so damn skinny. I wore the scantiest clothes. At the beginning of the year, my clothes were button up shirts, slacks and khakis for casual Friday. When I packed for Atlanta my clothes were tight tank tops, see-through shirts, the tightest pants I could find and I stopped wearing underwear. I didn’t even pack underwear. I packed liquor, condoms, lube, sex toys, and chewing gum. And sex was everywhere. I slept with a guy I met on the plane. I slept with the bellhop. The hotel lobby might as well been a bathhouse. I jerked a guy off in a bathroom at the club. I then left with another guy for a threesome. Every time I got on the elevator to go to my room, there was sex.

The only problem, I wasn’t eating. I had gotten so afraid to eat maybe because all my clothes were so damn tight. I had to basically lube up to get in my jeans. I had been surviving that entire four day weekend on fruit and vodka and various men spit from kissing. I went to the park that Monday and the smell of bar-b-que almost made me kill somebody I was so hungry. I couldn’t wait to get back to my hotel and to get out those tight clothes. I couldn’t wait for pride to be over so that I could eat again. I didn’t care about sex anymore. I just wanted to eat.
I was at IHOP that evening after Pride. I was so damn hungry. I remember there were tears in my eyes because the damn waitress was taking so long to bring me my pancakes. My stomach felt like it was trying to cut itself free from my body and find a new home and body that like to feed it. My dick was tired and didn’t want to be touched anymore. My brain was telling me that I probably should pay a visit to a free clinic when I got back home to Chicago. But it was my stomach that was making the most noise. It growled. It screamed. My friend tried to hold a conversation with me and I resisted the urge to jab the butter knife into his forehead instead I decided to sample all the different varieties of syrup. I drank it straight from the bottle. Finally my pancakes. The waitress said something smart like “I didn’t think skinny boys like you ate.” I started to cry. I mean crocodile tears. Maybe it was all that liquor in my system. I yelled at her, “I’m not skinny Bitch. I’m hungry” I then grabbed a fist of pancakes and shoved them in my mouth. I didn’t stop eating until I gained all my weight back.

In the end, I learned nothing. Men will do anything for sex. I spent ten thousand dollars that year. I don’t think I felt proud once. Isn’t that pride. LOL. Happy Pride. Be Safe.