Fun Home

My next book was supposed to be a memoir. I wanted to read some sort classic, benchmark memoir book but had a surprisingly hard time finding something I was interested in. So I took a look at my own list of books I had set aside on my Later list, and Alison Bechdel’s graphic novel was the first one the list.

I knew I was going to enjoy this one and I did. I was pleasantly surprised to see how literary it was; there were words I hadn’t come across before, allusions and comparisons to all sorts of things like The Brady Bunch and The Odyssey. I found her father’s life and death to be fascinating, if sad. After King Lear it was fun to jump ahead a few centuries and see that masculinity and power still have create problems in people.

Also, these boxers are so big and loose that they sometimes fall off (much to everyone’s disgust). This is them without doing anything after putting them on.

American Born Chinese

Read this all in one day. It was really good, but also it was a quick read. I couldn’t help but think of my book proposal while I read this and how similar (growing up in a conflicting environment between personal culture and North American culture) and yet different (my life is very gay) it is. I related a bit to this, and it was interesting to me because I didn’t have such an identity crisis growing up in Vancouver as the main character did in this book. I’m first generation, but there was never any racism in elementary school or with teachers. Then again, there were a lot more Asian/Chinese kids in my school, so I’m sure we all became normalized to the fact that Vancouver wasn’t a white city.

As for my underwear, I think it’s supposed to be a jockstrap thing built into the underwear itself. It’s kind of funny-looking in that makes my dick stick out, and not particularly in an attractive way. Not sure how I feel about it. Maybe I’ll decide once I wear it a bit more. What do you think?

Persepolis 2: The Story of a Return

New underwear! Thought I’d show off some ass while I’m at it too.

Also, this is a good book although not as much as the first Persepolis. I think it’s because the struggles in this one were less traumatic, more relatable. Still a great read!

Underwear in the library washroom garbage can

Yes, I saw a pair of briefs in the garbage can in the washroom at the library today. I was left with so many questions, the main one being, “Does that mean whoever threw them out is now walking around commando?”

Seven Rules for Sustainable Communities

Does posing with textbooks that I’ve read count as books I’ve read? I was hesitant to do this one but I figured I might as well since it’s been a long time since I’ve completed any sort of book.

Also, I’m running out of new underwear to pose with… hmm.

Send me underwear!

So I had this brilliant idea, mostly inspired by J.H. Trumble’s novel Don’t Let Me Go to ask all of you who appreciate my mirror shots of me in my underwear if you want to send me some underwear for me to wear and pose with in future pictures. You can send me anything from jocks (my preference) to briefs (which I don’t wear but you could make me!) to boxers to even thongs. It’s up to you. I’ll give you a shout-out when I take the pic, for sure.

Anyway, if you want to take part, which I’m not expecting anyone will actually do it, just send me an email and I’ll give you the details. I dunno about you, but I’m excited! In more ways than one. 😉

Prince

Thanks to elvin for helping me write this simply by being… there.  I had you in mind as the Prince when I wrote this so it’s only fair that I dedicate this to you.

Prince

You always wanted a poem about you,
So here it is.
You want to know it’s about you, my man,
Instead of an ambiguous second person
Or yet another boring, overdramatic guy-and-girl thing.
So here’s to him, ‘cause the world really does have to know this is about two homos.

Prince Charming, in his underwear,
My breathy breeze blowing across his legs,
Rustling the meadow of hair.
As my hand hovers above, the electricity between our bodies so powerful
Every blade of grass stretches and yearns for my hand, the sun.
His skin is a thousand moths’ wings, velvet and delicate.
I feel everything.
The fine treasure trail disappearing beneath the pure fabric
To a treasure I always love to discover.
Gentle movements of his belly like a newborn,
The fluttering of his eyes as he dreams (hopefully of me),
His natural scent of baby powder and day-old deodorant.
A tuft of hair near his heart, beating a steady symphony,
An ever-so slightly curved smile on his face, like he is aware of my quiet observation,
Studying him, a sculpture in a prestigious museum where I’m the only guest.
Time is stagnant, a still pond, as I sit cross-legged,
Enveloped in the white sheets I swear I didn’t hog.
Envious sunlight trying to peek through the blinds at his royalty,
This vulnerable, perfectly flawed knight with a trickling creek of saliva on his chin.

Soon we’ll take our thrones on the couch, watching Lifetime or something with Meg Ryan.
But like Martha Stewart’s Pear-Raspberry Heart Pie,
These words are pre-made, displayed for an audience,
waiting for you,  my Prince, wherever you are,
to taste and savour them.