sometimes it hits me

 UGH!

sometimes it hits me, 

and i can't stop the waterfall of tears that begins to gush, unexplained from my eyes...is it actually unexplained or is it so obviously obvious as to why i can't help the tears from pouring down...people around me are dying. young. too young. way too young. but what really fucks with me more than the simple fact that my friend is gone, is the way they are treated, misjudged and exploited by people, well, gay men, who hail these men as superstars in their roles as "porn stars", yet as soon as they die, they flip the coin and say horrific things, usually lies, about the same person who's life-like dildo they are sitting on at the same time. oh, i see, you work at the mall in your small hometown...that means your, what? boring? you visited Miami or San Francisco once when you were on layover from your gay cruise...interesting..you think cause you got a raise at Walmart this summer that that makes you "fierce". but you never moved in the fast pace circles that the ones you hail as "hot" did, you never were thrown into the public eye, you never had to be "on" night after night, daily, on stage with a hard-on in front of a room full of gawkers, so, you just don't know what that does to your head, do you? you were there cheering, drooling, screaming, and you took the free dvd he gave you, didn't you? so, why now, and HOW now, do you have the gaul to whisper, or worse, shout out in anger, how awful he was because he did what he did, when he did it, really, because he had to, he had to please YOU...because if he showed up at 50% of what you expected he should be, live and in person, imagine what your glossed lips would have been talking about then...

fuck you all...

you are no better than anyone,

                                        in fact,

you're, most probably, less.

 J/O

 

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Trying to save something other than myself...

Joe Oppedisano and Erik Rhodes Vs. Global Warming

Posted by Erik Rhodes at 5:30 PM 20 comments 

                            http://erikrhodes.blogspot.com/ 

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

My Hooker Therapist

I was walking home the other night, down 28th street to lex. If your a New Yorker you would know that this just happens to be where all the "50 dollar blow job in your car" female hookers work. Anyways, i walk past these sluts on a regular basis, and as oversexed and worn out as there pussies might be, they always cat call as i walk by. But this time was different. One of the regular blonds stopped me and said "I know your not "looking", but i just was wondering why is it that you never smile". Kinda shocked, the only thing i could respond with was " sorry but i don't talk with street hookers" and i walked away. I made it half way down the block before i began laughing to myself. I was actually returning home for getting my toes sucked for 500 bucks. I'm not sure why i think I'm any better than these sluts, i guess cuz I'm not working a street corner? Maybe cuz i don't wear fishnets and try to make a quota of at least 10 dicks in my mouth before i call it a night? Anyways what she said to me, got me thinking. Is it possible that these street walkers are somehow happier than me? I mean she called me out, i have walked past them a good enough times, is my daily unhappiness that obvious that these street hooker feel bad for me and feel the need to try to provide me with some sort of roadside therapy? Has it got that bad?I guess I'm never very really happy walking around my building anyways, i always fear that i will bump into my ex that still lives in my building. At points i hope to see him, just to walk past him and show him i don't care anymore, sometimes i wish to see him with whoever he is dating just to make his new fling feel inferior, other times i kinda wish we could just be friendly, so that i could possibly see my dogs that i miss so much.

Moving on,

So i have been throwing myself out there lately, going out as much as i hate it, talking with strangers and trying to be social, honestly past the point i am comfortable with. I'm not sure what i expect, but most nights i still go home disappointed. I have actually had some of the worst nights of my life just recently. i have chosen not to write about them to spare the poor kids i was withs egos. (yes Dylan and Evan, you awful little shits, I'm talking about you). I'm not sure why. Its just not worth talking about, just some more simple mistakes i have made that i have since corrected. I do not think i have lost control, the sex and drugs of being single, despite my huge bottle of G, have not got the best of me... yet. In fact my nightly G use has been me more happy then i been in awhile. Although, I still wake up hating life. I guess i can't have everything i want huh?

Oh a positive note, i have just signed my ass up for some health insurance. I look forward to countless hours of brainwashing and life changing sessions with a therapist. I predict a grocery list of prescriptions after my first visit. Hopefully I'll get some good shit that will feel alot better if i abuse them or inject them. Just kidding... maybe. I just want something that shuts my brain off. I'm tired of over thinking every little thing. I want the crazy persons dream of just being able to feel normal around people.

Posted by Erik Rhodes at 5:01 PM 94 comments

Manors Tragedy: M.E. Ruling Pending on Popular Bodybuilder/Model’s “Unattended Death”

Posted on 30 January 2013

WILTON MANORS—On Monday morning, January 28, the residents of the Wilton Tower on Northeast 20^th Street witnessed the arrival of emergency vehicles, police cruisers, a Broward Sheriff’s Office (BSO) Crime Scene van, and eventually the county Medical Examiner’s truck, each of which had responded to reports of the tragic death of a popular local bodybuilder, fitness trainer, and one-time Colt model, Christian Bouthillette, who lived at the high rise with his partner, Frank Angiulli.
Although the official ruling from the county Medical Examiner’s office upon the manner of Bouthillette’s death—including a toxicology report—could take up to two weeks to be released, official sources close to the case who declined to be identified told the Agenda that the 52 year old Montreal-native was discovered “unattended” in his bath tub.
The management of the luxury apartment building—which is located behind Dairy Queen and Tropics restaurant, near the south end of Wilton Drive—expressed sadness for Bouthillette’s death, and Community Manager Heather Sparks posted a note of condolence and sympathy near the building’s elevators, explaining the cause of his passing as a massive heart attack.
The source close to the case told the Agenda that Bouthillette’s exact cause of death won’t be known until the toxicology is completed, but that source referred to an online report that Bouthillette had been arrested last weekend in Miami-Dade County for cocaine-related offenses. The same source also stated that a note had been found on the scene by investigators.
Bouthillette, whom neighbors say was warm and friendly, was an award-winning bodybuilder, a nationally-recognized trainer, and a popular Colt model whose images are available online.
He welcomed visitors to his fitness Website (bodyimagefitness.us) with a friendly open manner that his friends say was second nature to him. “Hi. My name is Christian,” he wrote on the site.
Bouthillette, a Montreal native, graduated from high school in 1977. According to his self-written Web bio, “I started bodybuilding at the age of 21 in Spain. I studied science of education in Montreal, and was a track and field athlete. After being diagnosed with periostitis (the inflammation of the periosteum, a layer of connecting tissues that surround the bone) my tibia was affected and I could no longer jump or run. So I turned to bodybuilding to keep fit and healthy.”
After winning numerous bodybuilding competitions—including the 1995 Canada Cup, 1^st Place in mixed pairs, the 1998 National Physique Committee (NPC) New York Grand Prix 1^st Place in super heavy weight, and the 2004 NPC East Coast, 1^st Place in super heavy weight—Bouthillette “started [his] dream job” in 1998 as a personal trainer.
Ken Hunt, the owner of New York City-based Steel Gym, knew Bouthillette for more than 10 years, and had employed him in both New York and Miami. “Christian was a very dear friend of mine,” he told the Agenda. “He was a sweet person whose biggest muscle was his heart.”
Hunt told the Agenda that plans were being made to hold a memorial event in Bouthillette’s memory.
He says he had spoken with Bouthillette’s partner, and been told that his friend had died from a massive heart attack.
Hunt described Bouthillette as a “friendly” and “serious” person, who was sometimes “guarded” around others, especially those who only saw him at face value.
“I remember being at Fort Lauderdale Beach with him last year,” Hunt recalled. “He was very friendly, but I remember him saying that it was funny how most people only saw him as this big muscular guy, how they felt they ‘knew’ him from his fame as a Colt model. But that wasn’t the deeper part of Christian. It’s really a terrible loss.”
While officials wait the official ruling from the medical examiner, his loved ones try to make sense of their loss, and take comfort from the memories they retain of their friend. On his training Website, Bouthillette himself wrote that he gained tremendous satisfaction from “Helping people get what they want and reach their goals like I did; using the experience and knowledge I’ve acquired during my career in bodybuilding.”

                          " I don't know where this is going, i just felt like bitching, I'm done for now."
Posted by Erik Rhodes at 5:47 PM 66 comments  

daily routine?

as difficult as it was for him to concentrate on one thing for more than 2 seconds,
it was more difficult for him to not touch himself inappropriately every 1/2 second.
his hands never left the comfort zone of his pubic bush,

which was usually greasy from Vaseline and or some other kind of lubricant.

even when he would do something ordinary and mindless like walk down the street,

he would have one hand down the front of his pants tugging on his cock,

groping his nutsack,

adjusting his cockring, which he never took off,

scrolling through Scruff, Grindr, Manhuntmobile and/or emailing,

and wondering just why he can't get anything done all day...

the trouble with him

the trouble with him is...

From even before the time he had learned to walk or talk, his personality shown through brightly.

he was not a shy boy, never timid or scared. he dove right into any and everything as if it was the best, most important thing in the universe, and he had to have it. he spent hour upon hour doing and re-doing the smallest of project, day after day, into the darkest of night. he barely slept, he rarely ate, and his mother spent many sleepless hours worrying and wondering what she should do about him and his horrible habits.  he'll surely outgrow them, she was told by everyone around her, who after they left, were themselves left puzzled and worried for the boy. this just wasn't normal. it just wasn't right.

By the summer of his fourteenth year, it was apparent that nothing about him was ever going to change. he was stubborn, sometimes arrogant, he threw fits and raised hell. he was still doing everything the same way as when he was a baby, but it had grown much more sinister, and his ritual for perfecting everything he saw, was thrown off by the fact that he never stopped for a moment, but instead he worked from beginning till end, adding here, subtracting there, coloring, building, creating, and then just before he was finished, if the slightest flaw was noticed by his highly trained eye, the entire piece was shattered, smashed, ripped apart as words straight from Satan were thrown from violently his mouth and aimed directly toward anyone who happened to be in ear shot. when he got mad, he got meaner, and his temper was short. when he was angry at you, well, you might as well die, for the depths that he sank were only more powerful because they were always all true. if he found the slightest flaw on someone, he could exploit it and you to tears within seconds. he was a bomb waiting to explode. ticking ticking ticking, you could see everyone around ready to run for safety.

But there was no place to hide...

nowhere was safe and absolutely nothing was sacred.

"a girl can dream, can't she?"

Whitney Houston Vs Calvin Harris - I Wanna Dance With Somebody 2012 

it was an innocent enough question really, and asked for no other reason than to make small talk..."are you dating anyone?" that's when he started laughing, not a chuckle, but a gut wrenching laugh that came from his deepest darkest places inside that rarely show. "dating?" again, the laugh. to date, there must be someone TO date, someone who WANTED to date you back...that didn't seem like it was in the cards for him, and so, the laugh faded into silence.

there was once a time when he thought he'd love to stand side by side with one person for the rest of his life...long, long time ago...but he had had 3 long-ish relationships that all ended badly, found out from all of them that HE was a nightmare to be with, endured heartbreak, heartache and heartburn to discover that what was left of his heart was nothing more than used up charcoal briquettes that were now basically nothing more than dust.

maybe, he thought, one day, i'll meet someone who is blind or deaf, definitely dumb, who won't see the disaster he himself obviously was...as he had been told so many times, and if his dream came true, this person would also be in their late 90's, a multi-millionaire with no family and the PERFECT man would of course be on life support, and if God really loved him, they would exchange their vows, draw up the will, leaving him everything, and then, right after they kissed, a blackout would wipe out all power for hundreds of miles, AND if he was really lucky, there would be no generator around for miles...

could he ever hope for such a man?

would/could this man ever love him (enough to sign over the lease)?

was he asking to much?

     "a girl can dream, can't she?"

 

pixelated broken down threads of what was once something great

1,000 years from today, when the earth has been glazed over with ice and humankind has had to find another place to live...when there is not a single Kardashian left, someone will discover remnants of what and who we are today. they will study it closely, dissect it and uncover the things we hold most dear, as well as the things we try to hide. 

what will they find out about you?

SOME PEOPLE SAY I'M A DIVA. 
BITCH EVEN! TO THAT I SAY, 
                   fuck off bitch.
"I have never been one to try and copy what other artists have done. in fact, except for what i know about classic art, i am literally retarded when it comes to modern art and why it's relevant in the first place...i don't look at magazines, what for, they all suck. other photographers who inspire me are usually dead already." me






Sometimes i'll be sitting around, bored out of my head, (a.d.d.) and in front of the computer, when i'll start fucking with some of my old images and wind up creating a new look.
i tend to see things i've done in the past, as exactly that, my past, and so like to give them a tinge of another time, like they are seen by someone in a thousand years, on some old computer that someone found in a tomb and they can't even figure out how it works. when they hit the on button, the screen is pixilated, the color tube has been blown out and there is obvious damage to the machine, so it only shows a worn down sketch of the actual image, which is now, either striped of it's color or because of some malfunction in the viewing monitor, it colorizes it in some tweaked out way that, in fact, is very beautiful, in it's own way.
Nothing lasts forever, so they say, but there are remnants and pieces of what's been done before floating through our unconsciousness all the time, and of course, we don't even know it. so, possibly, these images that were once glossy magazine quality, are a million years from now, nothing but pixelated broken down threads of what was once something great, and when the viewer tries to analyze it, they will read into it, probably something completely different than it was ever intended to be.

hot just cuz, i dunno...

hot just cuz, i dunno...

let them talk.

it was sometime around midnight when it all came together, and, quite honestly, freaked him out. it was all quite strange, and unexplainable...but yet, there it was, and no one could deny it.
over the past few weeks, he started realizing that somehow various people, all from different walks of life, ones who's paths usually never crossed, suddenly, somehow, knew his name, and who exactly he was...they had heard such and such about him from this guy or another, sometimes what they heard was bullshit, but more than not, the things they heard were facts that he couldn't really get away from. they knew what he did, what his latest project was, who he was dating, what he had for dinner for Christ's sake! it was the sort of thing that drove him insane, because he really did try and keep a very private life. yes, he was somewhat of a public figure, but not one he thought anyone cared about that much...maybe it was because he had risen so fast and fallen so hard, and the things that he was hearing were in a way, kind of stabs in the back from outer space, like, it was telling him that the universe was watching, and jotting down every last detail so that they could throw it in his face just to show him that maybe he was still a fuck up...
maybe they knew the truth better than he did himself...
maybe it was time to re-think his life,
maybe he could try harder,
maybe that would make them all shut up...
maybe then he'd show them that he was better than al the crap he was trying to get away from in his past...
maybe...
but then again,
maybe they were right.        

then he thought, fuck them, they would find something to say about him anyway,  so...

let them talk.

the way he left things

though not exactly sure just where he stood,
actually not really even sure he could, technically, stand...
he glanced quickly around the room to try and spot someone who would,
maybe, still be by his side...maybe even stick up for him.
but alas, the room was packed,
yet not one face seemed remotely cordial enough to even approach.
so with that he decided to not look any further
as he didn't want to get himself more frustrated...
so he buttoned up the top button of his coat and flipped up the collar,
raised his chin and walked gracefully and without looking back,
through the crowd of disgruntled faces.
when he got to the door, he asked politely to be excused,
and when he was sneered at by the doorman,
he simply laughed and said without hesitation,
"fucker, you have 2 seconds to move before i kick your ass."
and magically, the door was opened.
in the distance he could see the clouds on the horizon part, as if a sea,
and sunlight beamed down and birds few upwards and chirped.
things could only be better from here on out, he thought...

and he was right.

King Danny Young Teen Bodybuilder

King Danny Young Teen Bodybuilder

who in this world

could ever love me 

as much as i love

myself??

who could possibly have the patience?let alone the amount of time, needed to stroke my ego and make me believe they aren't lying...is it possible? could it be? is there someone in this whole world who could ever love me more than me?

i can't explain

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portrait of an artist

when you are born with a gift,

you are considered "chosen".

some of the chosen ones grow, blossom and bloom spectacularly 

like wildflowers in a field.

they lift and encourages the spirits of everything around them with their fragrant petals and magnificent colors. and you would think that they were the lucky ones for being chosen...

think again.

the chosen are also the tortured.

their souls are exposed.

their hearts are torn open and bruised by the pain that they inevitably always feel.

for they know that they are usually misunderstood,

they are aware that they are considered strange, odd, or unlike the rest.

they are celebrated for their talent,

and then shunned when they move in a different direction,

which, is really, just growth.

they must create to feel useful,

they most times cannot think in a box,

so they are a lot of times outcasts who try,

but to trying isn't what naturally comes to them.

to try is to fail,

because when you are chosen,

it comes from so deep down within,

that it just exudes and flows freely.

the chosen are chosen to move society to a higher place.

to step forward and climb up,

to lift and rejoice and make the world a better place...

but the cost they must pay on their souls is immense,

and so they torture themselves and sometimes,

they burn out too fast.

never reaching their full potential.

never understanding just "why?"

never having the peace of the unchosen,

who just never seem to care, either way.

if they never imagined something better,

if they never envisioned a magnificent thing could be,

then they are satisfied with the ordinary,

and don't ever see the potential of what could ever be.

sad.