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(or, An Eye, an Ear, and a Mouthful of Tidbits) My Men Alive! and Passersby – As I look out on the New York Harbor from my high rise aerie – after that guy gripped my ass, and before this view will be engulfed by greed and glass in the golden age of these vulgar read more..


(or, An Eye, an Ear, and a Mouthful of Tidbits)


My Men Alive! and Passersby –

As I look out on the New York Harbor from my high rise aerie – after that guy gripped my ass, and before this view will be engulfed by greed and glass in the golden age of these vulgar gilded cages – I’m pondering the potentiality of a new world ordered by an individual’s ability to be unreservedly messy, taken by beauty while fumbling toward truth. Sloppily, slippery, like unrestrained sex, without the sting of indecency – or illegality – in springing into one’s intrinsic perfection, not taunted by hometown bullies-cum-NYPD or tyrannized by the likes of Homeland Security.


It’s been emboldening that as the Feds, out of an inward cynicism that accompanies an outward criticism, preposterously seek to rile up a preponderance of naysayers of prostitution, a surfeit of yaysayers have surfaced who display the bravery of looking within themselves to contemplate the issue in order to relate to – even celebrate! – those who practice this trade with awareness. Several organizations, such as Lambda Legal are advocating for much more than anatomical autonomy. They propose that we protect disenfranchised people from this operation (this agency!) that hinges on religious fervor in its rejection of, well, reason.


I have unquestionably been affected by the aforementioned, but prefer to gently passage frontward with zero desire to rebel against any alleged opponents while feeling less fearful of them than I did before. Coming of age in a bigoted, dogma-driven ecosystem of egotism was so, so tough and, given that I’ll be coming to terms with this eternal rage for some time, I don’t have it in me to feel any sorrier for myself as I contemplate younger men who lost their livelihoods and have nowhere to turn to, as family and society (this sweeps way past Manhattan) refuse to accept their whole humanity. As a once teenager who ventured in off-and-on again unofficial escorting whilst living hand-to-mouth, and suffered the mindless heartlessness of condemnatory mentors and peers, it’s excruciatingly personal as I live my little middle class existence with added time on my hands and fewer men in my home to know that the next generation is confronted with such a redundant injustice.


So, yeah – I found myself a tad derailed by the (perspicuous!) anti-promiscuity posturing behind the RentBoy raid, so apologize for stonewalling the upcoming, porn-imploding episode of our sensationally relatable “Skill Seekers and Fantasy Finders” series. Do stay tuned this coming Friday, and prepare to read between the lines as you eavesdrop on inter-entry dialogues as though Eve ourselves dropped the fruit of knowledge simply so we’d have to kneel down to pick it up, just to dust it off.


As I did after the devastating earthquake in Nepal, I’ve been picking from my overwhelmingly unread bookshelf. Minutes ago I put down the most awe-inspiringly outstanding book I may ever have read: Joseph Campbell’s The Power of Myth (with Bill Moyers). Now, I am eyeing The Qur’an, which lies alluringly on my desk, and is sure to come next.


Interestingly enough, it was presented to me the other day by one of my younger paramours who arrived to revert to days gone “bi” in Catholic secondary school – this time being more wholly “in with the jocks”! Here I am, unorthodoxly showcasing long socks and the Irish soccer uniform he lent me alongside this hallowed item at the top of my Amazon Wish List with the fee for a two-hour sex coaching session tucked into it, which I placed away to return to after my Floriday of Orthodox Jewish smoochin’:


Oh, yes – and, of note, a few weeks ago I was interviewed by a friend and fellow coach, Rick Clemons, who I met at Camp Good Life Project this time last year. I intermittently chip in an “Absolutely!” as one would offer up an “Amen!” whilst clearly caffeinated, but I hope you’ll enjoy a fruitful fumbling upon tidbits of truthfulness. In my experience, there is a great advantage in being an aspirant – and so this leap into the podcasting sphere felt empowering, and I trust it serves some good purpose. You can listen in here.


Autumn is fast approaching, and it’s already proving to be a space for reflection and refinement. I find myself reaching back to reacquaint a youthful me with the God of Abraham without trembling in fear yet simultaneously stepping into a future of silicon uniting with carbon, ensuing in an altogether new life form.

I’m wondering how I can let my head, as well, be space-bound without stretching with such strain to ensure all of me remains grounded.


Anyhow – I cry in fits and starts. The cracking continues. The light burns from without as it began within. It’s the most precious of moments.

A simply stupefied Adam


PS – Recently, the artist to the supreme court stumbled upon “Man Alive!,” which pointed to my gallery, and inspired him to render “Simply Adam” splendidly – which now underlines this letter. All this love-fueled laboring in life and at the laptop has led to “fan art” that does yours truly justice. Wow!

PPS – Below is a photo of my eighth grade school ID and a lyric I scribbled out instead of attending to my English teacher’s lesson on a particularly downcast day. What a testament to trustingly, tenaciously keeping one’s chin up!

PPPS – And to lift you up post-surveying the verse of a 12-year-old schoolboy from Delton Kellogg Middle School, savor what I’ve come to dub my “seasonal anthem.” It’s as though the tidal synths of childhood summer breaks in northern Michigan have synthesized with the high-pitched, rippling vocals of last year’s July in northern India to buoy me in a time-collapsed, space-enhanced wilderness of wonderment under the moon and in that boat on Ganga Mata. Oh, this on-repeat, ear-poppingly rapid epoch!


is there anywhere that i can go
to escape the world’s madness
and the hindrances that drag me down so low?
to wipe away this sadness, to drive away all fears…
i’d go anywhere

is there anyone who truly cares
about my muddled feelings
and that has a loving heart meant to be shared?
i need some gentle healing, a rag to dry my tears…
i’ll take anyone

ev’ryone has a heart that can be opened, like a flower in bloom
ev’ryone can recognize the beat of their soul’s own tune, and its doom

is there anyhow i can let go
of this cross on my shoulders
and these burdens that strike me blow after blow?
to crumble aching boulders, i’ve lived in pain for years…
so i’ll say anyhow

(Additional artwork – those exquisite watercolors – are from Jean-Pierre Weill’s heart-expanding, out-of-print children’s book The Well of Being.)


  1. Adam,

    The Lyrics brought me right back to my childhood, wish I had had the ability to get my painful thought’s out. I was so sad back then. Can’t wait to see you soon!

    Much love,


    • You do, Dennis! How awe-inspiring that we can parent those little boys that remain inside us and express all the joy and wonder of the now. 🙂 See you soon, sweet fellow cornholer. 🙂 Adam

  2. Dear Adam:
    Since the first time I read the infamous Church’s letter to you, it made me angry and, at the same time, feel compassionate, even for those responsible for that atrocity. It is preposterous that a pastor was able to write and deliver it in the name of a Christian church -where is the endless love taught by the Master?- It is the eternal inconsistency between sermons and actions. Now that the letter resurfaces, and although English is not my “forté”, how can I remain silent?
    The Redemption is Coming.
    Anyhow, anyhow! The redemption is coming/
    from the mist of past hidden nooks/
    of piercing memories of those who have/
    suffered for just being faithful to their Divine Creator./
    It comes from the distant crying kids/
    not longer afraid of cruel punishments/
    for their natural responses to the clamor/
    of inherited instincts on the wavering flesh./
    And now, those no longer tags, have found/
    voices amid cacophonic choirs in temples spurious/
    with tall spires of hate./
    Anyhow, anyhow! The redemption is coming/
    as I swim and swing in the sunken cord of his,/
    of others and others, in our renovated waters that embrace/
    the multiple drops in this immense ocean of ours, with/
    its seven colors of waters. In this precise moment when/
    I hear my fellow queers marching closer and closer/
    through streets that once belonged to others./
    The redemption is coming, the redemption is here./

  3. There is so much going on here, Adam. Almost a year of this terrific blog and I enjoy stopping in sometimes to be delighted. The podcast interview gave these words a voice and I’m even more enraptured. Thank you for everything. I hope to meet you again someday.

    • I hope to meet you as well, Hassan, and appreciate knowing that you’ve been enjoying “Man Alive!” all this time. Thank you… Adam

  4. Adam – I’m grateful for your validating comments. Concerning your “secretly” wanting an apology from the Baptist Church author of that sinful, hateful letter, I’m reminded of something the great theologian Reinhold Niebuhr said.

    Referring to the last words of Christ on the cross (“forgive them, father, for they know not what they do”) Niebuhr wrote:

    “In the end we must all be saved by the final form of love, which is forgiveness.”

    I would include self-forgiveness in this, too.

  5. “I have unquestionably been affected by the aforementioned, but prefer to gently passage frontward with zero desire to rebel against any alleged opponents while feeling less fearful of them than I did before.”

    Per the above, I love the way you think. And feel. In spite of all the pain and remembrances of earlier assaults, this is how you choose to live your life? Absolutely!

    (Dare I say that? I love your delightful call-and-response slippage in your first podcast. You come off charming and brilliant. And all of that is evident already in your 12 year old’s lyrics, and that wonderful, sweet child’s face, where you seem to be smiling even at panthers!)

    I love your call for the imperative of imperfection. Really, we’re all perfect in our own way, right? And so the search for purity is pointless. What should move us and shake us is our own wonderful tilt that propels us as we stumble on.

    Will you please forgive me, though, for wanting to smash the sanctimonious nose of the false Christian who would write a letter condemning a 17 year old, and wishing–actually wishing– for his/her divine punishment. And how perverse that your fate was decided at a “business meeting “ of the Church. Just like that – just a piece of Church business.

    And perhaps what you’re saying so clearly is that when another trauma happens and you go to put it away, you pull open the drawer, and all these others from the past start to fall out. Baptist Church. Middle School. Homeland Security. And so much more. And that’s the messiness, too. And you welcome it, and this time again, you keep journeying frontward, and this time hand back to them all of their fear and trembling.

    So, hooray for unread books. Truth seekers. Wanderers. Myth generating, rather than dogma setting. Your gratitude shines through.

    And I hope that you can see that my gratitude for you does, as well. You are wonder-full.

    • Absolutely, Chris!

      The Imperative of Imperfection by Chris ____. It has a ring. Maybe a children’s book for adults?

      That letter was from the father of that unrequited teenaged love. No one from that family or church has ever reached out to apologize, and someday maybe I won’t (secretly) require it. Perhaps forgiveness is something we stumble toward as well.

      Hand back all that fear and trembling… and keep handling and keep handing… and when it shows up in the world, love ALL that is behind it – because we are not contained by it, and I – for one – will not be defined by it.

      To myth-generating! Gratitude, in abundance, accepted, and returned, and accepted again, wonder-full One.


  6. Oh, Adam, that letter from your church… The last paragraph broke my heart. You are loved. You are valued. You are, in fact, invaluable.

    • It broke it right open, Mike, and the value is in letting the love spill out onto you so we can love-experience our way past tired tyrants to a wakeful expansiveness. 🙂 Much, much love… Let’s BE that love. Adam


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