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We 1-1-03
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Best way to start new year
I just came back from the Vagevuur, where I shot this video (realplayer; 7 meg 12 mins, samplepreview).
I'm starting the final edit in a week or so, so I needed the original tapes of the two fellow cameramen that were still there. A great excuse to attend their "heavy new year" party; what a relief! no champagne at midnite. Instead
I was buried in a juicy shithole until I became aware that we already were
half an hour in 2003 !
Yes, in response to some questions mailed, let me repeat here: Of course there is a risk in shit-eating.
I recently had a check to see if my original Hep B vaccination
(done in late seventies, when it was a trial) was still effective.
It was.
Also checked to see how my Hep A resistance was; my natural
antibodies level (never been vaccinated) was high enough so no
vaccination needed there.
So only the hep C risk remains, and luckily I never got that.
I do take a bit of care that the amount of shit I actually swallow stays
moderate, and mostly the number of feeders stays at one, two max.
note:
Dutch GGD's at this moment have a special action: As a special riskgroup, all you dirty guys can get a Hep-B vaccination for free and the one for Hep-A at a reduced price.
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Mo 16-12-02
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Magic Carpet Ride
Completely stolen from the Vagevuur website with respect; it's just so good!
…So why don't yah come with me…… on a magic carpet ride…
Nasser is Moroccan - a Berber tob e precise - who lived in Morocco's
barren hills during the first twelve years of his life. His parents, in
search of a better life, moved to Ceuta, suspecting this wouldn't be their
last trip - they saw it as the first stop to Europe.
Nasser couldn't beleive his eyes in the Kashba - so sumptuous and such
a crowd! The men looked like those in his native village. They didn't
seem to worry abot anything; they smoked their water pipes, rode sullen
donkeys laden with firewood. Often he felt his hardeing dick itching underneath
the rough fabric of his Gelaba. He noticed men eyeing him. He didn't understand
what they were looking at, but he knew it had something to do with the
mysteries of the male body.
Some years later his devoutly religious parents took him to the Netherlands.
He had, by that time, secretly enjoyed innocent sex and he no longer had
a virgin ass. He had gained confidence in Dutch gay circles, where I met
him. He had a firm and compact body. Although he had had many an experience
as an active guy, I asked him to take the passive role.
I took off his T-shirt and cuffed his wrists above his head, then pulled
his pants down. There he was, tied up, at my mercy. I knelt to take his
shoes off, and rubbed my shaved head in his crotch. His dick was semi
hard. I pulled his pants all the way down and did the same with his briefs.
Praise Allah - such beauty - those firm,. full bums, his buzzed head.
Even the spots and dimples on his back looked like nature's wonders. I
sniffed and smelled his head, his pits. I smelled the Kashba, the heat,
the camels and the herbs. My hand rubbed his head, touched his Arab nose,
his mouth, his short beard. I pushed a finger in his mouth and he bit
it gently.
I squeezed his nipples and felt them grow hard. Only then did I touch
his dick. I was still standing behind him, naked. He sensed my hard cock
between the orbs of his bubble butt.
He told me he wanted it in there. I spat in my hand and rubbed it onto
his dark circumsiced cock head. Ï love you, Nasser", I told
him, but he didn't respond. I wanted to be his servant instead of his
master. I wanted his ass, but later.
He was in the sling, legs wide apart, giving me a good view of his ass
- an ass from which untold loads of shit had been expelled, from which
many a fart had escaped. An ass which had welcomed many cosk and fists.
A butt that has been under the shower; the admiration of lots of men and
women, an ass that moved rhythmically when he walked or ran, one that
sat on chairs and slept in beds, an ass that had been fondled. Underpants
taken off and put on over it… An ass that had spread itself over
toilet bowls, to expel soft or hard shit, with ease or with difficulty,
with relief and pleasure. That ass now lay before my eyes. I watched it,
this god-given present, this universe, this black hole.
I lick it. Nasser just lets me, unaware that the entire universe is swirling
in my head. I sense he is realxed. I rub some Crisco on it, first one
finger, then two, three. He moans softly, approvingly, and I feel a turd
inside - the remains of a meal lovingly prepared, the joy of eating and
of flavour. His intestinal fluids have turned it into a brown substance.
My fingers feel the warmth - it's a firm turd, yet it also feels mushy.
Come on out! Like a dick it pushes its way out, into my mouth. I keep
it in once piece. His asshole closes again. I find his mouth, and his
lips part. We suck on his turd, I grab his cock and we take some poppers.
Sandstorms in my head… I want his dick up my ass. For the first time
in my life I really want a cock up my ass. Waving palm trees, warm rain,
dark nights, flickering stars, figs, dates, to be ONE body, North-South
dialogue, up and down. The scent in his crothch is even stronger than
the scent of his hair - a pleasant shit smell. I hear Farid singing El
Atrache - no idea what it's about, but I sense the passion. That's when
Nassers stirs. I tease him, push him aside, saying "I'll have a beer
first." He grins at me like a a naughty boy - that crushing grin.
I use his briefs to wipe some shit off him. A calculating move - so I
can keep the briefs for many a later use in private. A beautiful poem
and Nasser's scent - both are poetry that make me fall soundly asleep.
© All material on this article © 2002, Vagevuur, Eindhoven, The
Netherlands |
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Mo 9-12-02
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winter, the normal things
Sometimes life just goes on and nothing special happened sexually, apart from the Vagevuur Scat-Videoshoot of which a small sample can be seen here, if you can handle the download (7 meg, realplayer) and the content, which it is rumoured, has more than once made your average nelly queen puke.
Still I'd like to report those small occurences, that color my life this time of year too:
The theatercompany I work for went broke 2 weeks ago: They overate themselves with a few musicals and obviously cannot compete in that sector with Dutch monopolist Joop van den Ende. Well, the small production I tour has been pulled out of the morgue and runs on as planned. My pay also seems safe, but a huge delay is certain. So to finance my new pc and pension payments for the end of year I've had to withdraw from my own savings.
Yesterday I did a show in Heerenveen. Which is in the North of the country and in the middle of Friesland, | the scating Mekka here. So we did a very fast buildup and lighting session and hopped in the local technicians' Reault Kangoo for a quick scating session at the Nannewijd, a lake to the west of town. Beautifull hard black ice! Great! This is just the best recreational activity for a healthy Dutch bloke (a few that |  |  |
come close are depicted in the left column). Really feel rejuvenated today (well, my calves hurt like hell!). Was thinking of what I could do for a christmascard here. Just got a great card from Rob Clarcke and Tom Jones made a great drawing, but that's his, so I guess, in the true dutch scatingspirit, I just resort to the old selfportrait of me on scates, apart for the santa-hat nude, on the canal in front of my house, made in the icy winter of 1998 (or was it '97?)
Merry X and Happy 03 |
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Mo 9-12-02
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minor mishap
An accident, that must have happend to most of you sluts before, occured to me last wednesday in the Shaft: I did not just inhale the bottle of poppers but got most of it's content up my nose! I thought this happened to me before and had never resulted in anything serious, but diz time it felt really not too nice. We all know these familiar coughs after a first snort, but I got into a sneezing spell that just did not subside for a change, followed by a snot-leaking-marathon that lasted and lasted. I did not feel too bad, but these things triggered a hasty return and a very slimey helmet when I got out of my motorgear back home.
All that happened right at the moment that I was getting into a really interesting session with a sweet and light marocan kind of kid.
Pity I had to leave it so abruptly, and really feel like a continuation of that session. Hope something like that is in store for me in an hour or two at Wasdag.
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Sa 23-11-02
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Jake and Dinos Chapman
Was at the Groninger Museum yesterday and saw the Jake en Dinos Chapman exhibition.
The brothers have raised a bit of discussion in the artworld, with realistic and extreme imagery, and rightly so.
In their world where McDonalds and Concentrationcamps melt together under the slogan 'Arbeit Mac Fries'
I was hypnotised and charmed as a child who sees a miniature traindisplay in a giant Christmas-shopwindow.
The brothers have returned to working on a miniature scale. Hell is the most touching artwork I've seen up to now this year. It consists of about 10,000 figures on nine raised platforms arranged in the shape of a swastika. Sows an intriguing mix of the endless cycle of sex torture and brutality. The scale of the work demands the viewer to study the scenes closely and this fascination perhaps leads to an implication in the horrors depicted.
Indeed it did make me horny ass "hell": I'm a sucker for the romantics of violent aggressive sex. This post-apocalypse-now-world where only men remain, half dressed in nazi uniforms, the other halve naked, but both groups victims of each other; both groups infested with virusses and radiation that made most of them mutate into half zombies, with four legs, 2 heads asses instead of mouths, or double dicks.
The weird thing is: Just as the world in Visconti's the Damned, Pasolini's Salo were highly erotic and attractive to me, I feel strangely at home in the world of the Chapmans too.
But then again, After a full hour of this intensity I was happy to be able to flee the darkness in the opposite wing of the museum where in a soft white breezy 'vitrage' environment I could appeciate the beauty of pottery and siver coffee- and theapot sets designed by the worlds most famous architects.
The Chapman brothers claim that they "fantasise about producing things with zero culture value, to produce aesthetic inertia - a series of works of art to be consumed and then forgotten. I'll try . . .
Luckily I can delve into my own purgatory tonite, where I'l, try to catch imagery on video that for most of you will have the same kind of intense impact, the only difference is, this is reality and it is mutually consented.
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Sa 16-11-02
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Purpose
Wondering about the purpose of this page and it's use in the overall field of webtrash I produce.
Although it is not promoted by myself anywhere outside the community it is aimed at and is preceded from most entrypoints by notifications about the nature of it's content, it still gets read by lots of people from out of the circle it aims at. Of course I do not mind. I am a child of my age and have remained a strong defender of this kind of openness, but as time go by, less people seem to be able to take it at it's value. They seem more afraid of mixing stuff these days and this I feel is a loss for this generation and saddens me. Still, I've always said to myself that leading a double life was not for me; and even if I enter in some pretty unsavoury activities every now and then, my main consideration to delve into something always was: If you would not tell your close friends then don't do it. Although I respect others who through job or religion cannot do the same and have to hide similar reporting behind passwords, I've travelled my own path with ups and downs now for half a century and would very much like to keep the basic architecture of my way of living intact for the last decade of my professional carreer.
Being a web-veteran I must add that not only things have changed since the roaring sixties, but also since the web was an elitist medium, not comprehended or accessible by anyone but nerds and used for unlimited exchange of points of view and information.
Mind you, all comments, from anyone who takes the trouble to react is greatly appreciated and respected and none of the comments thusfar were of a nature that I had to disregard them completely. Some I did not agree with, but even those I've taken serious and are just as much, maybe more, appreciated as the positive ones. And I do agree that an image from a work project I honestly tried to promote may be hard to swallow if accompanied by an ass-close-up. As defence I can only say that my pages have sooner proved to work in bringing guys from my sub-culture to visit theater projects than they're were effective in discouraging people from other backgrounds to go.
Not that it forces resolutions upon me to keep things from these pages (yet), but for the moment I feel it may be wiser to keep things that are work related or too much subject to change, because my views on things political are pretty dynamic at the moment, on a low burner for a while.
So be it.
There still is plenty of stuff to get across here about the subject matter the column is named after.
for the moment . . .
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Tu 12-11-02
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Forbidden
Chis Korda, head of the church of euthanasia (yes, that link does not work as he again has been thrown out somewhere, so instead look here or here, or better still here ) was due to perform in Paradiso, Amsterdam tomorrow. Christian politicians have tried to get his/her performance forbidden. As I feel, that for more than one reason it is an appropriate time to get back to defending the most important part of article 1 of our constitution, freedom of speech and thought, I'd like to say: It does go on, so Go and have a look!
The Man of the Future
I belong to the master race
of genetically superiors beings
who engineer themselves
for technical protection
I choose to engineer myself
i'm a work in progress
Please pardon my appearance
It's only information
We conform to the needs of technology
All phenomena
Will be explained
We don't need bodies
Only information
The man of the future
is an engineered product
Work hygiene nutrition exercise
It's a technical necessity
Those who cannot adapt
Must be destroyed
Chris Korda - 2002
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We23-10-02
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new page
Ok, the wasdag dance-music, I had here is now replaced by a great classic from one of these other great veterans: mrs. Piaf
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We23-10-02
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Pain in the ass
still there
It may be an emberrassing personal problem but I've had more reactions to this last entry and signs of sympathy from guys who had similar experiences, then ever before, so I guess there may be an epidemic luring somewhere which is targetting our middle aged homo community. I guess a case can be made for keeping your receiving-equipment shipshape through regular fisting, but If you, like me, are not a 100 % ass slave and only get into admitting huge ramming tools every now and then, you should take extra care above the age of say 45, to keep your ass exercised through things like running a few miles daily and lifting that ass from the pc/car/motorbike seat at least once an hour.
well thanx guys for the sympathy. Next monday I'll have my endoscopy, which I dread already because it envolves cleaning out my entire digestive system through a forced diarrhoeah. HOORAYA !
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Th 24-10-02
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Anything else?
Yes, as good or as bad as it goes I try to keep up the daily routines without being a total crybaby. The dream is over:
after just 4 months the new governement collapsed. And with it most of the dreams. Well my main dream was an ultraqueer prime minister who would not lie about his darkroompreferences. It proved to be real hard to keep unity between MP's, ministers and party members without the charisma and vision of Pim to guide it all. The guys who fought their way to the top of the piramid with the exception of very few all proved to be hyena's, just using the quick route to power. I guess it was an old lesson that needed to be relearned.
I'm keeping my membership card for the moment however. They've gone through their katharsis and it has hopefully humbled who remained.
With the chances for great electoral gain all the rotten apples have fallen out by now. So I'm thinking of giving them one more try. I don't see an alternative yet.
Now on to what is weird but somehow makes sense:
I've fallen into a workproject that is incredibly fitting to my own frame of mind these days. It is a monologue, I did the lightdesign and tech support for, and am now touring: 'Jesus my boy' has us wondering with his the (questionable) father, the not too skilled carpenter Joseph, what came over Jesus to start this mission that inevitably would lead to his death and eternal life as cult-hero. Go see it in about 40 theaters in NL untill december 29.
Joseph's workbench with dovetail connection, hard for a guy who was just as unconvincing as father as he was in his carpenter profession. |
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2002 fall
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It's all here
my whole account on a weird fall
and so much more
if you got the time
read on . . . or . . .
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