portrait of an artist

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james "erik" rhodes, my brother

today was just a lousy day.

it started bad, as it went on, decayed.

and then i got a call that sent me

further down a road i didn't see

coming at me,

so very fast,

the end of someone

that defined my past.

my friend,

my brother,

a man unlike

no other.

i miss him, already.

so sad, but something made me see that our paths crossed for a reason.

he was the biggest of all the stars,

his life and image

made up of scars.

but pure and gentle,

sweet and nice,

he's not what hi image

portrayed him to be.

he wrote the forward for my newbook,

i just got it this past week,

i hated his email address, and so,

i yelled at him for seeing and describing himself the way i think he really

truly did, see himself.

and it was so wrong.

here's his email to me, and my response.

i love u james.

i miss u already

For book...

Inbox

x

Bigdumbjames@yahoo.com bigdumbjames@yahoo.com	Jun 8 (6 days ago)
to me

When I first saw Joes work I thought to myself  "I never thought being so dirty could look so sexy".  It was only after working with him did I really get to his geniunes in capturing a man in his most raw, unedited and sexiest form. He has carved a path that has  inspired so many to try and recreate his vision but they just can't close. There is only one Joe O!

Sent from my iPhone

Joe Oppedisano	Jun 9 (5 days ago)
to bigdumbjames

why is ur screenname that? ur so far from dumb...big maybe, yes, but you are something of an extraordinary man...
u don't know the potential u have james...dont let the studios hold u down,
don't ever think your less than.
we share a lot of the disease that people in our industry have...we think because we do "porn" that we are second rate...when in fact, there is something so genuine and sincere about what we do, how we are not ashamed to show it like it is, that we sometimes think we do it because we lack other things..
it's taken me a long time to realize that. i'm starting to try and see myself the way i am, and not what i should be or could be.
i love u baby, thank you for writing that...it's sweet, and it helps me realize that people i consider amazing, like you, actually think highly of me and my work.
thank u baby.
xoxo
joe
call me sometime bitch!

it's all about you

the screams could be heard worldwide, and even further.
people were talking,
and the things that they said...
some good, some bad,
some gagged while some gasped,
some thought he had gone too far,
while others thought he was just getting started.
but everyone,
no matter who they were,
were talking.
who cares if they liked it,
who cares if they loved it,
it was done, it was over,
it was a second in time
that would last forever.

let people talk,
let them say what they like.
you can't please everyone,
you can only please yourself.
so do what you want.
say what you will.
it's all about you.
it's your life,
it's your moment,
it's your time...
shine!

friends with benefits

the world has opened wide thanks to the internet.
facebook, however communist and un-gay-friendly they may seem,
has a way of bringing people together.
people you forgot about,
suddenly come back, as if they'd never left.
childhood friends and friends of friends meet,
becoming friends of their own,
and worlds mix, combine, and collide, all on your homepage.
nothing is a secret any longer.
rumors spread,
gossip burns,
relationships are made and broken
all at the touch of a button.
we now learn news that was once spread by phone
by a single post,
that then takes off,
becomes viral,
and within seconds, we learn that the love of our lives,
has moved on to greener pastures.
we show off our best sides through photos of ourselves
that represent how we want the universe to view us.
we delete things we don't like,
and concentrate on the positive,
leaving everyone to see us in a perfect light.
it's worldwide,
a phenomenon,
and there's nothing we can do to stop it.
it's the way we find mates,
confirm or break  dates,
announce important reminders, like our birthdays, anniversary's and parties.
we interact through im's,
and leave messages through emails that
are checked so often,
they cannot be missed.
we can see if they've been read
so no confusion is made.

but what i love most,
is the way we meet new people.
the quick interactions people make
reduces the stress of going out
and actually having to take a shower, do our hair, shave, or wear deodorant.
it's all done with quick wit,
a simple complimet,
and poof, you have a new best friend who,
you may or may never meet.

we relish in seeing how many "friends" we have,
how many "requests" we got,
who look at, liked, and commented on a picture or post,
who wished us happy birthday,
who's coming to our party,
who hasn't rsvp'd,
who's bringing who,
who thinks i'm funny, cute, handsome, hot...
sexual innuendos are made,
sexual encounters are booked,
sexual practices are told, and
sexual identities revealed.
you know where someone had a bagel,
where they got coffee, what roast,
what's going on for lunch, dinner,
what bar is hot,
which one is not, any longer...
who's where, at what moment
of every second, of every day of every month of every year.

because of the internet, everyone's a porn star.
everyone shows off their features that they deem best,
prominently.
you know immediatly if a friend request is from a gay guy,
as they never have a shirt on,
and are friends already with every other homosexual you know.
porn stars mingle,
married people flirt,
single people make what they are looking for known so as to zone in on potential mates.
it's the way of the world as we know it.
it's here, now, and from what i can see,
the future.

facebook "friend" turned supermodel, Steven Brodoff

my facebook profile: Joe Oppedisano
 

the broken branch

                                                    my "brother", best friend of 28 years, supermodel, Keith Cokes



i come from a really huge Italian family.
i love them all, as they are totally accepting and nurturing,
funny and sweet,
kind, and very close.
today we had a family reunion, which brought together relatives
from australia and italy,
gathering together in a park here in upstate new york.
now, i love them, all, as i said,
it's not them that has any issue with my chosen field or sexual identity...
but it's me, i found out, today,
that has trouble connecting and relating to them.

for the last 28 years, since i was just a kid,
when i moved out of upstate new york and relocated myself and my life,
i haven't really had much communication with most of them,
as they had their own lives, started their own families
and had their own problems and triumphs.
yet every holiday i would see them,
and it was as if nothing had changed.
today we all came together, my aunts, uncles, cousins, their hundreds of kids,
my parents, sister, great aunts and uncles,
and me,
with my baby and only child, Buddy, my dog.
since im a photographer, i was voted to be the family portrait photographer...
light years away from what i do daily,
i accepted, and shot a ton of candid shots.
as i was shooting, it became clear to me
as i watched my subjects interact,
just how far away from them and their lifestyle i was.
as the day went on, i started to get sad,
depressed, nostalgic, and uncomfortable.
then someone pulled out a family tree...
rolled it out, actualy, because it was huge.
from it, i saw my granparents branch,
extended from that, my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, their kids...their grandkids.
i looked closely, trying to see where i fit in,
and as my finger moved across the sheet,
it landed, exactly where it should be,
but, unlike anyone else on the tree,
the timeline stopped.
there were no children blossoming from my loins,
only an empty space, waiting, hopefully,
to be filled.
it hit me hard, made me sad, and somewhat like i did something wrong.
i felt i didn't live up to my end of some bargain...
i had broken a branch of a solid oak,
destroying whatever possibilities it had.
i looked around for Buddy, as he is the closest thing i had around me.

although all these people in the park are all related to me,
although they are all wonderful people who i respect and adore,
they are also people who i can't at all relate to.
my family, my chosen family,
the people who really know me, love me unconditionally,
are people who i have no blood ties with.
yet, with them, i feel my most at ease.
they have become my "real" family...
they are like me, as they are all misfits and outcasts from where they came from.
they, like me, walk the earth with a different outlook...
their goals and dreams are far from what their parents had.
miles from what they ever thought,
and leap years from what they were taught.
they come together, somehow,
find each other, and grow.
become close, and create our own bonds that,
in a way, are closer than if we shared blood.
the people i find myself talking to daily, especially about my problems,
are rarely people in my family.
actually, never, as i doubt that i'd get a good response or reaction.
when i really need an experts opinion,
there's only one place to turn...
my chosen family.
the ones who have helped me so many times,
seen me cracked out,
breaking up with a boyfriend,
jobless, moneyless, homeless...
the ones i can truly count on are the ones who have been there,
through thick and thin. good or bad.
and to them, i say thank you...
i love the fact that they love me, for being me...
which, isn't an easy feat...as i have been trouble more times than not...
so it's good to know that somewhere out there...
in this huge wonderfully scary world,
there are people i can call brothers, sisters, and best friends.
more importantly, family.

happy gay pride week sisters,
you are loved.

http://gayfamiliestoday.com/index.php

http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1640411,00.html

explaining why i...

i'll bet if you asked any Italian man, gay, straight, bi, whatever...what his biggest fault is, it's his neurotic behavior brought on by none other than, his family. and yes, the church also plays a major part in the demise of our souls, but it pales in comparison to the overbearing attention, love and coddling we received as young boys.
me, being the first born in a house where, before me, was eight miscarriages, made it more impossible for me to be anything but what i turned out as. a spoiled rotten brat. not only did my mother worship, adore and praise me every second of every day...and not one of those days, to this day, has gone by without the same thing happening, she made me believe that the world would be the same way towards me, forever. i was perfect. i was chosen. i was great.

that being said, the pressure that that entails is tremendous. it weighs on your brain like a burden that you, no matter how hard you try, cannot shake. you walk down the street assuming that the world views you the way your mother does. it's actually quite shocking to one day, realize that your entire life has been a sham, and not only are you not the center of the universe, but, in fact, you are below average...on a scale of one to ten, you are maybe a four. "hmmm, that isn't what my mother told me" i remember saying to myself one day. it made my mind rush, my heart race, my body hurt. wasn't i told, since birth, that i was THE center of the entire universe?  what happened? who took this title away from me, how? why?

and then, as your mind goes back, back back back to your earliest memory, you recall the instant it all started. you were in diapers, you were not yet even eating real food yet, when you recall a whisper in your ear...it sounded like your mother, but it's probably was God, for they are one in the same, and it told you that you were the greatest gift ever. you lit up the world with your smile, you were the only person that could save society from it's hideous fate, for you were the golden child, and from that moment on, you walked with your head a little higher. your nose a little raised, your shoulders back, your attitude adjusted, your perception altered, your mind, warped. because from then on, every other word was how wonderful you were. how great, smart, funny, sweet and talented you were. surely no one else was hearing these things, because they weren't me, and they weren't the best. they'd never be as funny, as smart, sweet, or talented as me, because i am the chosen one...

never before has anyone been as perfect as me...

so you buy into the crap that you will inherit the earth. you will always be wonderful, nothing will ever go wrong, and you were put on this earth to save it. God himself sent you here, and for this alone, i was, and always will be, the one everyone else would be compared to. i would be the example to live up to, and the one to watch, learn from, and be like.

my mother would bake a loaf of bread every day for me, timing it to pop out of the over, hot, fresh and soaked in a stick of butter, just as i was walking down the steps from the school bus. mind you, on the school bus and all day at school, i was miserable, not understanding why all the other kids kept calling me fat pig, blimp and loser. didn't they know who i was? it never crossed my mind that these underprivileged children who brought only a sandwich and a piece of fruit to lunch, really didn't like me. of course they didn't, i was an obnoxious and overweight kid with wiry hair and a greasy forehead that seeped olive oil. but, i was also, as i was told, wonderful, funny and important...so it didn't make sense, and i'd question it briefly as i devoured my loaf of bread while watching cartoons and having my head rubbed every afternoon, but i'd forget all about it by 5:00. only two more hours till dinner would be put on the table, and nothing else but how much of this delicious food i could stuff into my mouth and down my throat...even crossed my mind.

to further emphasis my Godlike perception, i was told, every day after dinner, to go lay down, rest...school work could wait, i was too good to help with dishes, i was too important to mow the lawn, i was too above it to do anything around the house...that's what my father was for. i should just lay down in front of the couch and let those three thousand calories digest as slowly as possible in my already too big belly. i was encouraged to be lazy, pushed to relax. it was, i thought, a charmed life, i thought, the way it was always going to be, i thought, very wrong...

every night, from the couch, i'd get carried into bed. laid down, stretched out, had my head rubbed forehead kissed, was brought a glass of milk, and some leftover desert, of which there was always a ton of. the lights closed, as she left, turning the door, she'd tell me, one more time, how she was blessed with me choosing to be her child. of all the children, in all the world, i, a gift to humanity, was entrusted to her, and she was thrilled. i'd fall asleep every night, like a rock, stuffed and gassy, seeing myself as a king standing tall on a hilltop, my constituents below me, hailing my greatness, screaming my name, crying as if they were seeing Michael Jackson...(remember, this was the 80's), and he, Michael, was the greatest thing going. the biggest star ever, so of course, that's the level i saw myself. i would wake with a shake on my shoulders, open my eyes, and from blur i'd see her, my mother, beaming brightly, saying something about how happy she was that i didn't die in my sleep and how thrilled she was that i was still alive. she installed in my brain, a vision of myself that was so far from the truth, and so far from reality, that to this day, i still cringe when i think how far from anything i imagined i was, and how twisted and brainwashed i had been. no one else, not a soul, could compare to what i thought i was. but in all fairness, it wasn't really my fault. it wasn't even my mother's fault. it was just what she'd learned from her mother and her brother. he also could do nothing wrong, he was golden, he was special. and if i'd looked a little closer, id have seen that in reality, he was not the savior she professed him to be. it should have been a clue. it should have been a sign that something wasn't right. it coulda, shoulda, woulda been, but it wasn't, for i wouldn't allow myself to not believe my own hype. everyone else was jealous, they wanted to be everything i was, wanted to have everything i had, wanted to be me. it was obvious, it was clear. there were some who had everything, while the others had none. i was entrusted with powers and greatness that surpassed mere humans. i was different, i stood alone. i had already accepted the fact that i would probably never find a woman good enough for me. there would never be one that  was pretty enough, smart enough, or as interesting as me, to keep me excited. i was too important for love, i had other things in life that i was supposed to do, take care of, and conquer. for this reason alone, i felt i was misunderstood, that's the reason i had no friends, it was because they couldn't understand me, didn't get me, for i was at such a higher level than the rest, i wasn't expected to mingle with them...so, i found myself always hanging around with adults, especially the women, usually in the kitchen. they'd tell tales of the old country, although none of them were actually born there. second generation, they longed for the acceptance of "white" people, never speaking in Italian. the italian they spoke was so much of it, dialect, and english words were replaced by their italian slang name. so, i was taught to speak italian, but it's italian thats so far from what actual italians speak, that it can't even be understood. but they'd gossip, they'd scream, we'd eat as i'd sit, glued to their stories, chiming in where i thought necessary, giving my take on the situation, like they needed my input, for it was the word of the lord. then my mother would shake my hair and say how wonderfully sweet i was to care so much, give me a peck on the cheek, and keep me quiet by putting more desert in my dish. "would you like ice cream on that?" she would say, "yes please!" was always my answer. i never said no, to this day, that's a flaw.


my poor sister has a different perspective of our youth, as she wasn't the first, nor a boy. she was born three years later, and she of course, was loved to death, but i still got all the attention. her memories show her doing dishes, mopping floors, cleaning, etc., etc., while i'd lay on the couch. i was now a young man, and young men didn't work in the house! that's what girls did, and well, if they expected to ever get a descent husband! who would want her if she was considered lazy. the man worked all day, brought home money, was the one who prospered, her job was to keep him happy, keep him fed, keep his home nice and tidy, keep him satisfied in bed. i recall laying there, on the couch, with the remote flipping channels as she crossed in front of the t.v., making the remote not work. i screamed, as i was missing, two seconds of Land of the Lost. my mother ran in, screaming at my sister, for interrupting my peace, and causing me to be upset. how did she dare make me miss even a second of my favorite show that i wasn't even really watching...it's evident the different ways we were brought up by the number of photographs we each have in our photo albums. mine is a leather bound book, inscribed with pure gold, it's filled, from beginning to end, with snapshot after snapshot of every last second of my first few years. the day they brought me home, the next day, that whole week, my first birthday, my first christmas, my first easter, my first new year, first communion, first whatever, it was documented, and it was celebrated as if being celebrated for a prince, as you can see in the photos. everyone is dressed in a suit or a gown, there are millions of gifts, and i'm giggling as i sit on the lap of my mother, who beams rays of light that in some shots, i swear, look like a halo.

anyway, back to me, see it's now a dysfunction. all those years that i spent being fed an illusion, sometimes make me forget and become the reason for my confusion. it's sometimes hard to imagine, that i'm not where i should be. it's insane that i'm not, all that i could be. as hard as i try to remember the fact that until i was eighteen, i was taught, that i wasn't like others, that i had a place on a higher ground, somehow, i was better than. but then, when i'd look around, i'd see everyone else, had friends, and were thin...that i wasn't the same, and it wasn't that i was actually better than, it wasn't that at all. it happened like on t.v. when a character realizes something major...it's bigger than the reaction when a lightbul goes off over your head, it's more like in the Wizard of Oz when the tornado comes and pushes you back, knocking you down, it swirls around and around, and you get sucked up into the vortex, and when you wake, you're in a completely different world. it's not even black and white anymore, but technicolor! that's how i felt the moment it became clear...and i opened my eyes, looked around, and shook myself. a chill ran up my spine, and my forehead started sweating. i looked down at my fat gut, my bad clothes, and i realized...it's not them who are less than...it's me! i'm the one. i sit home with my mom everyday after school, no one calls no one plays, i'm a loser...
as it came into focus, i remember the very second, i was in the movie theater with my dad, my other only friend, watching Grease. i had begged to see it, and eventually won the battle. i remember the instant, because of course as i watched, and i saw Olivia Newton John sing "look at Me I'm Sandra Dee" at the end of the film. it's right before she goes from Sandy to Sandy! and i knew i had to do what she did. change myself, become like them, clone myself, and try and fit in with the crowd. no more would i think i was better than these other kids, from now on, i'd be humble, sincere, i'd reach out, i'd be cool...i'd dress in Izod and Wranglers, you know, designer clothing. i would lose weight, and transform myself, i'd get skinny, i'd play sports! and it actually happened.

it was the summer of my twelfth year, there's no way i can forget. i lost thirty pounds in three months by every morning waking up, putting the Village People on my turntable and playing Macho Man, and i did sit ups, push ups, and jogged in place for ten to twelve minutes until my head would get dizzy, i'd fall down, and breath heavy. but i did it. all myself, and it was hard, but only made worse, because my mother, protective and neurotic, always thinking i was on the verge of death and insane as she was, brought me, daily, to the doctor because she was convinced i had leukemia. i would die before her, her worst fear. as she cried every afternoon, in the car on the way to the doctor, she'd ask how and why God could do this to her. what had she done to deserve this? i was her life! what about all those bad kids that would surely never be missed! who placed such a curse on our name? why me! i'd turn my wrist over so they could draw out more blood, and i'd cringe as they'd jab another needle in me. day after day, the doctor would tell her that i didn't have leukemia. i wasn't sick. but again, she'd cry...what could be wrong? he doesn't eat! he's so skinny! why!!
one morning, at about 3am, it all became, again, perfectly clear. i was going through puberty, which, how they didn't think of that in the first place, i'll never understand...but nevertheless, relieved that i wasn't going to die, my mother was also upset at me for putting her through it, not eating her cooking, and insisting that it was only a matter of time before i'd leave her one way or another, and she'd be crushed and probably die alone. drama. always.

after losing weight, returning to school, as i walked in for tenth grade, i had no idea my whole world was about to change.  all of a sudden, i saw girls check me out. i had guys come to me and say hi, tell me to join them, laugh and tell jokes, tease the girls, and be part of the games they would play. i even got invited to one of the guys birthday parties. i was thrilled, as i had never been to a "friends" birthday party. cousins, aunts, uncles, my sister, yes, but someone i didn't really know!? never. when i told my mother, she told me to get into the car, and we drove to the strip mall to the men's store, and she bought me a suit. it was tan, with shoulder pads, had a shine to it, like sharkskin, when you moved, it caught the light and made you glisten, and it had pants that didn't match. it was trendy at that moment to wear darker pants, and so this "suit" was actually two pieces. because i was apperently, now, that i'd matured, so goddamn handsome, almost as handsome as the guys in that GQ magazine i couldn't stop looking at, that i deserved and was expected to walk in a room, turn all heads, and make a fashion statement. let them talk, my mother would say, they are all just jealous of you, you could be a model! or a movie star! so when i walked into the party a week and a half later, bearing gifts and sporting a corsage, which my mother bought and pinned on me right before she drove me to the party, i was not prepared or expecting the catastrophe that was about to happen, and change me, i think, forever.

as i walked up the steps of the house, i felt good. i thought i looked so handsome, felt so secure, was really excited to be part of this group of guys who, up until this past week, never said anything but "faggot" to me.  when his mom answered the door, my mind questioned her attire, for she was in a pair of shorts, and her head in a kerchief, sunglasses on her head and her blouse was tied in the middle. was i at the wrong address? my mother honked the horn, for she thought i had the wrong place too, as this woman was not in a gown...she was not possibly hosting a party...she invited me in, and then asked me if i had just come from church. when i said no, she looked puzzled, and asked if i had brought my bathing suit, as this was a pool party, which, as i looked past her, i noticed, but more shocking than that, was the fact, i saw girls...this was a mixed party...co-ed, oh my god....i was not at all prepared to be seen half naked in front of guys, let alone girls.....i panicked. started sweating, and said no. so she walked me to the pool, where all the kids were. they all stopped, turned and giggled. who was this geek? so i put down the gifts and walked calmly into the house with a smile, i didn't want them to know i was upset. i asked his mom where the restroom was, and then when i found it, locked the door behind me, and sat on the toilet, desperate for time to fly by, praying for an earthquake, something, anything to get me out of this awkward party...until literally, about an hour later, his mother came knocking, screaming for me to get out. i had a bloody nose, i exclaimed, and she banged even harder, open up! she yelled back, and then i heard my friend scream to open the door. it was done, i had done it, made a mess, caused a stir. when i opened the door, my heart sank again, as i saw all the kids from the party, circled around the door, laughing and pointing at the crazy italian boy dressed in a suit on a ninety degree day, at a pool party. when i looked up at the clock on the wall my heart sank again. what had seemed like two hours turned out to be only ten minutes...and so i asked to borrow the phone, and i called up my mother, begging her to pick me up, crying. she said no, she said that they would realize, how they should look at me for advise, for i was obviously more mature, definitely more handsome, and talented and wise. then she hung up the phone, and my brow started to sweat, when i looked up i saw that my friend was standing there. he looked confused, and bewildered, he didn't know what he should do. so he asked me, real sweet, if i wanted to play a game with the "gang", i said sure...and followed him to the living room where everyone was sitting in a circle, and in the center of that circle was a bottle...spinning. now, i had heard of this game, and knew that what i had heard told me that this game was bad news...again, my brow poured down sweat, as i realized this was a boy/girl party, and this was a SEX game....i almost, literally, shit my pants. as i tried desperately to remain calm as the bottle spun and spun in front of me, i prayed as hard as i could that the bottle never stopped on me. and i was safe for about three minutes, until my friends sister, who had been rolling her eyes at me and giggling everytime i said something,  spun the bottle, and it slowed down and stopped before me...and my heart started racing, i thought i'd piss my pants, she screamed "oh no, not him!" and the kids laughed and laughed. but as if this wasn't enough, it got worse, because my friend started screaming at his sister to shut up and go! she got up from the circle, crossed it, and grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the closet, where she threw me in, and shut the door behind us. what's going on? i mean, really, i was about to die, this was the worst thing hat ever happened in the history of the world...and she kept quiet, then without warning she said "i'm not kissing yo, your gross". that at least was some relief, and when she opened the door and let us out, she made it clear that we did NOT make out. i decided to sit the rest of this game out, and returned to the bathroom, where they let me sit, alone for the next three hours until my mothers car was heard beeping outside on the driveway.


to be continued...

with superstar, David Dalrymple
fb: http://www.facebook.com/daddydalrymple

Spunk [arts] Magazine

it's the little things in life that make a difference.
just because something is big and flashy,
doesn't mean, it's good...
sometimes the most amazing things in life
are ones that you find by accident.
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what did i do without it?

the little things in life that matter,
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we think that they are deserved,
can't imagine not having them,
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assume they will always be there.
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either that, or they are things that they may have been prosocuted for.
so it's a pleasure to know that somewhere out there,
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for this reason, we have to give thanks to the people who actually do the legwork.
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there is a movement happening,
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Spunk [arts] Magazine
http://www.spunkmag.net/
facebook: http://www.facebook.com/notifications#!/pages/Spunk-arts-Magazine/86266056535
takes you there,
on a journey of discovery
of what is out in the world, possibly hidden,
that we all need to see.
it shows us what will inspire us tomorrow, today.
it reports to us interesting backgrounds of artists, their work, and their own ideals and inspirations. they, if read and understood correctly, will make you sound intelligent.
even knowledgeable...
it lifts the reader to understand, appreciate and learn about art in our gay society today.
it's who we are now.
and quite possibly, why.

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                                                                      Spunk [arts] Magazine

Michael Jackson - Man in the Mirror (Das Glow Remix).mpg

stand tall

sometimes,
just because,
i think of life,
the way it was,
when i was young,
when i was meek,
a bold man's life
is what i'd seek.
to capture and control my life,
be a better man,
and make you see,
that no one
can intimidate me.
for i am me,
and i am great,
nothing can make me
negate my fate.
to be a soldier
tall and strong
walk through the fire
like nothing's wrong.
from this day forward,
from here and now,
i'll show you all,
i'll show you how,
i conqured my fears,
i conqured all
i conqured everything
that made me think i was small.
and now, alone,
i stand,
tall.

 

man in the mirror

 

yes, he's gorgeous, but does that make him perfect?

 

why does our past,
our own insecurities of the fat/skinny/lonely/sad kid we once were,
years ago...
keep us down, probably forever,
so that all of our worst fears become reality.
we compare ourselves to others,
never thinking for a moment that the ones we think are untouchable
are just as, if not more insecure than we are.
it's a vicious cycle,
we torment ourselves trying to be as good as,
someone who, when we get to know them, we realize,
don't deserve the honors we bestow upon them.
from afar they look golden,
they look like they have everything in the world we lack,
they represent everything we hold so precious,
they are handsome, strong, sexy, and so, obviously, too good for us.
the pedistal we put them up on,
is quite possibly undeserved,
for what we really are, deep down inside,
is what in reality,
is true.
however perfect they seem,
however handsome they are,
however rich, famous, fabulous or perfect they may be on the outside,
they, undoubtedly, have flaws that they themselves
cringe over.
they themselves hope no one will discover,
they themselves
try and hide.


everyone i approach to photograph always says the same thing...
"give me a month in the gym"
dude, if i didnt think u were hot, i wouldn't have asked you in the first place...
and in reality, none of the guys i shoot,
are as hot as they appear in the photos.
theres lighting, retouching, Photoshop, every trick in the book
that makes them appear perfect,
and in turn makes them look,
better than reality could ever let them be.
they start off as handsome, but after 4 hours of me fixing every last flaw,
they appear Godlike, which, i understand, is my fault.
i know that what i do,
makes everyone feel,
that they should be better,
but that's just how i work, thats just my style, it's just fantasy.

so why do we feel, second best,
or even third.
why do we let our past rule us?
it's absurd.
why don't we try, one day at a time,
to look past our self loathing,
any to ourselves, be kind.
we have only a short time,
we live only once,
it's our life, and our moment,
don't let it go astray.
live and enjoy it,
till the very last day.
you are as good,
if not better
than that tacky old queen
standing there in her sweater...
she may have coins,
she may be hot
but what you have, in your heart,
she probably hasn't got.
so stop, look, and listen
and maybe you'll see,
in reality, your better than,
everyone you think your less than.
don't hate yourself,
love yourself.
and one day, you'll see,
that the words i have spoken,
are true, indeed.

everyone of these guys,
has had my steady hand fix them
some a lot, some a little, some more than others,
but the fact is, they're not real...
it's glossed over,
fixed,
blurred,
colored,
highlighted,
exaggerated.