SGL Café

Dancing with Taylor Siluwé

Chatted with Cleavester Brooks for SGL Weekly. Check out the interview as I discuss Dancing with the Devil, activism, and Bugzilla!! SGL Weekly - Dancing with Taylor Siluwé Also, join the Dancing with the Devil Facebook page ~ Stay informed! Be a fan!

Open publication - Free publishing - More taylor siluwe

Mr. Ponytail ...

As I watched him prepare to shoot up on the bathroom floor, I felt a mix of fear, horror, fascination and arousal. He didn’t tie that rubber thingy around his arm like I’d seen Diana Ross do in Lady Sings the Blues. Then again, this was no movie. “You’re beautiful,” I said. “So fuckin’ beautiful. Anyone ever tell you that?” His eyes cut up to me and sparkled; his thuggish craftiness faded. He could have been a wholesome, doe-eyed Norman Rockwell painting. “Yeah," he smiled, displaying teeth surprisingly white. “Sometimes.” He wasn’t a junkie anymore, just a beautiful young man sitting on the floor next to my toilet. Or maybe a handsome leading man, playing the hell out of his junkie role: Wardrobe had done a great job of making him disheveled, and make-up was on point too, giving him that hollow, hungry look. But as our eyes locked, I saw the real José. I wanted to bend down and kiss those lips, stroke that angular cheekbone. I wanted to peel that dirty oversized shirt from his lanky frame, massage him with lavender oil; wanted to loosen that ponytail, so I could brush his black mane until it gleamed like it was meant to. And then his hair could hang wild, savage, and tickle my flesh as I held him close, kissed him, made love to him, again and again. “Why you wanna watch this shit, pa?” “I don’t know,” I responded. He was so young, so classically handsome. I heard myself saying, “With your looks, you could be . . . do anything you want. Why this?” His innocence faded, the cameras stopped and the leading man stormed off the set. He slapped his arm like a baby’s butt and said, “Same reason you wanna watch.” ~~

excerpt from Dancing with the Devil Available 02.26.09 Press Release www.ChumaSpiritEBooks.com

Dancing with the Devil

Press Release Click to Order

... just a little Hollywood GAY RAPE gossip

Yeah, no biggie. Or, according to this blog's source, MAYBE it is a biggie, but it was more like a rough sex play thing. Okay. Of course, this gossip has been around for ages and the sources are always specious. Is it just the price of fame ... or is it just freakin' true? Not that it matters, we all love Will Smith, but 99.9999% of us will never have the opportunity to be tossed about the bed by Hancock. *sigh* Yes. These little truisms make me quite sad.

The Rise and Fall of Fuck and Faggot

"Only the suppressed word is dangerous." Karl Ludwig BÖRNE, German journalist (1786-1837) Fuck you. Fuck me. Powerful phrases both, which, depending on delivery can arrive like a sledgehammer or a kiss. The former can be expressed with the familiar gesture frequently flipped in heavy traffic; the latter with a look I won’t describe but we know it when we see it. But did you know that eight-hundred years ago it simply meant to make love? When a guy cuts me off in traffic, the last thing I wanna do is blow him. Well, there was one, but it was Valentine’s Day and I was lonely. I pulled up next to him, and my finger was just beginning to straighten when I realized how fine he was—a beautiful brown god straight out of a CLIK magazine fashion spread. My hand in the air absolutely without purpose, I barely got a chance to say ‘Fuh’ before my anger melted into my shorts. I think I licked my lips, too, they always feel dry in the presence of beauty. Apparently he noticed my ‘fuck you’ morph into an awkward ‘fuck me’, because he shook his head, mouthed ‘faggot’, and drove off. I’d gone from anger to lust back to anger in seconds. I wanted to follow him, but a part of me knew I’d end up apologizing and asking him out for drinks. Still, one word meaning very similar and very different things. In evolutionary theory, an organism (or a word), improves over time through a process of natural selection. For it to change in the other direction, or devolve to a primitive form is against the nature of evolution. I had a friend once. We did everything together growing up. He was also the first person to call me a fag. I wasn’t offended. After all, he said it while I was trying to rape him. Not in a beastly, misogynist, defiler of purity kinda way though, no, it was just my teenaged way of expressing my intense affection and cementing my bond with my BFF (best friend forever). And what better way to do that than to poke him in the butt, right? Yeah, I know. He didn’t think so either. And it was right at the point when I’d wrestled him out of his shorts and had him sprawled across the sofa, target in sight, when he looked over his shoulder and lobbed the ‘F’ bomb. It had zero effect on me. As a matter of fact I remember thinking, “Yeah, whatever.” Of course it was difficult to feel insulted with my post-pubescent hard-on buttering his buns with pre-cum. Plus, he had a point. Though I never did get to pop his cherry that day—mostly because I had no idea what I was doing—still, he didn’t mind flipping over and offering another body part for deep inspection. A couple of years later, coming from a club with friends, we got into an argument in the back seat. With an evil grin he said, ‘Fuck you, faggot!’ I immediately punched him in the mouth. Because that time there was a sparkle in his eye that said − We both know it’s true. That time, possibly because we were being watched, the word meant something. So we fought that night in that back seat speeding down the highway, passionately, while our friends watched − oblivious to our hidden hard-ons and the sometimes razor thin line between fighting and fucking. When my friend first called me fag, it was with a smirk, almost tongue in cheek in its innocence. It didn’t mean anything. Subsequent times when I’d invite him over while my mom was at work − despite my former display of obvious faggotry, he came − he’d toss the F word around again. It meant nothing. The words themselves have zero power, only what we give them. We have to keep reminding ourselves of that fact. ~~

I finally bust my cherry ... on YouTube!

Last night was my first reading ever. What'd you think I was talking about? Hmm ... nasty. I gave my camera to Nathan James and he filmed my ten minute reading. My only regret is I didn't film the entire event. More details and pics after the jump ...

Kicked Out ~~ by Adarro Minton

Sundown was un-spookable; no one could open up his closet and say, “boo, you’re queer!” No one could tell he was gay. Everyone could tell he was black sexy. His real name was Cole. He named himself Sundown during sophomore year after he caught a shot of himself in a locker room mirror, nude, while he tried on some sexy drawers a female classmate, giggling, gave him for Valentine’s Day. He let her suck his dick in the showers as fourth period ended. He knew that they’d be caught and that word would get around that he’d fucked a girl. He wouldn’t have to do it again. Sundown played hooky one day with a kid named Hector, new to the city, and Delta Airlines fresh from the El Cinco barrios in Puerto Rico. They didn’t talk much. Ninth grade Hector recognized a bottle of Bacardi rum, he pointed at it and smiled a Christmas smile. The booze belonged to Sundown’s father Rob, who also owned a collection of afro soul music, he came home early and caught the boys’ drunk, naked, rubbing dicks together ... (read more @ Out. Loud. Live!)

Lil' Wolf (short story excerpt)

Darnell sat quietly sipping wine while he waited. The monitor was set up. Candles were lit. That special mixture of sage and incense was burning, as Tyler had instructed. An urn sat on a pedestal to the right of the screen. Still, Darnell felt weird about the whole thing; and knowing Tyler and how strange he’d been, he knew it would get weirder.

Jay arrived looking forlorn and deflated in his black suit and dark glasses. He seemed to have suddenly aged well beyond his twenty-three years. It had been a tough few days for everyone. Darnell let him in; they hugged and then sat quietly for awhile. After staring at the blank screen, Jay said, “I still can’t believe ....” “Yeah, I know.” Darnell poured Jay a glass of Merlot, Tyler’s favorite. After a loud uncomfortable moment of silence, he held up his own glass. “You ready?” Jay shook his head. Darnell picked up the remote, but didn’t push play. “You know, Jay,” he said softly, “You were the love of his life.” Jay exhaled and put his head in his hands. His back heaved and Darnell put a comforting hand there. “Look, Tyler had been around the block a few times before he met you,” Darnell said, “He had lots of lovers and he cheated on all of them. Except you. So when you did it to him, he kinda expected it. Thought is was his comeuppance. My point is, don’t beat yourself up. There’s nothing you could’ve told him that he didn’t already know. He wanted us to do this one last thing; I think we should just do it.” Jay nodded and sat back. His voice barely a whisper, he said, “Okay.” Tyler King came on the screen. “Hey you two. I guess if you’re watching this then I’m in an urn somewhere. Thanks Darnell for being a great friend all these years, and for fulfilling this one last request. And Jay, don’t beat yourself up, I know you loved me....” Jay took off his shades and wiped his eyes. “... This is the hardest thing you’re ever gonna have to do. But I know you can. You have to. This is gonna seem crazy, but I need you to do something very special for me. When it’s done, you’ll receive another message from me. I can’t explain how or when but you’ll know. Trust me. Everything will be explained in time.”

Rude ghetto girls gave him dirty looks but Darnell didn’t care. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd. His stomach gurgled as the stage door opened and two intense body-guards emerged scanning the scene like lions on the Serengeti. Even though the object of their affection had yet to appear, the girls screamed with insanity and flash-bulbs exploded. Darnell, the only man in the crowd, stood out like a pudgy sore thumb in the mayhem. In the crowd were several older women well past groupie age, one in particular was still eyeing Darnell with suspicion. Lil’ Wolf wasn’t even old enough to drink. Neither were his fans—most of them, at least. The thugged-out only child of infamous rap mogul Platinum Star, had, with daddy’s help, broken all sales records in Hip Hop and had even crossed over—yeah, he had white fans too—making his debut CD Most Wanted a phenomenal success. And with success came rumors. Maybe it was because he was so pretty beneath his thug persona. Maybe it was because it was obvious that he’d grown up with money and the only streets he knew were the mansions and palm trees of Baldwin Hills. Maybe it was his hazel eyes and pouty lips which caused people to speculate. Or, maybe it was just the price of fame. Whatever. Tyler King didn’t think it was just internet rabble though. He felt it in his gut the rumors were real. Yeah, in his gut, or somewhere there about. There were a lot of black gay stars creeping around on the low and Tyler took it personally. He’d once confessed that if they weren’t going to have the balls to come out and be the role models they’re meant to be, then it was up to investigative reporters to blast the cowards out. He’d done it before with politicians who voted down gay legislation while enjoying the fruits of man-sex on the side. He’d become infamous for it. But Lil’ Wolf was on another level. Tyler had been stalking him to prove his theory—taking pictures, digging for dirt, knowing he’d eventually catch the hot young star with his pants down. So to speak. And he must’ve found something. The night he died he’d given a package to his best friend with instructions to open it if anything should happen. “What do you mean, don’t open it?” Darnell narrowed his eyes, glancing around Tyler’s apartment. “Does this have something to do with your little witch friend?” “Madame D’Gosa is not a witch. Don’t belittle shit you don’t understand. And this is not about her anyway—well ... sorta not. Look, just trust me on this, seriously. Just take it.” He pushed the shoe-box sized package against Darnell’s torso. “Alright, alright, just put it down. I just got here.” Darnell brushed him aside, his attention on the computer. Images flashed. “And what’s this? Is that who I think it is?” “The one and only.” “And who’s that he’s with? Is that Omega?” “Yup. His one and only.” “You really want that boy to be gay, don’t you?” Darnell eyed him with an air of sympathy that annoyed Tyler. “He is gay.” Tyler’s eyebrow rose. “Prove it.” “Keep watching.” They did. Darnell remained quiet until all the pictures had shown and began to repeat. “I don’t see any proof here. I thought you were gonna catch them in a lip lock or something. All these pictures say is that they hang out.” “In his hotel room. In their underwear. If you or I was in that room with them running around like that, somebody would get fucked. Am I right?” “That’s aside from the point. But this doesn’t say they’re gay. Media Take Out would make that leap, but I don’t think it would hold up on Judge Judy. And aren’t they doing a concert tour together?” “Yeah, and ain’t that sweet?” Tyler grew fidgety. “I’m telling you they’re fuckin’. What better way for the two of them to disguise spending time together 24/7 than to do a tour together? It’s kinda genius actually. But I’m not fooled. They usually close the drapes, but this early morning they clearly wanted some daylight. C’mon, it’s obvious. My gut knows it. Madame D’Gosa said my gut is never wrong.” “Okay, you seriously need to stop listening to that crazy bitch. A spiritual advisor who reads burning bowls of pot pourri? Jesus Christ, Tyler. She’s a witch. I knew you took your break-up with Jay pretty hard, but ....” “This has nothing to do with ....” “You have got to see how weird this is. How did you even get these pictures anyway? Have you been stalking him?” “No. I wasn’t stalking him. I uh ... just happened to be on the roof across the street.” “With a high powered zoom aimed at his,” Darnell leaned closer to the screen, “... Dolce & Gabbana boxer briefs?” “You make it sound perverted.” “Oh, forgive me; I forgot. Your voyeurism has a higher purpose.” “Look, how else was I gonna get the proof I needed, send him a questionnaire asking if he sucks dick?” “Why the hell is this so important to you anyway?” Tyler looked frustrated and threw Darnell a weary glance. “If you already don’t know, then I can’t explain it.” Darnell went uncharacteristically quiet. Tyler turned back to the screen but could feel Darnell’s stare. “Lil’ Wolf always stays in that same suite when he’s in Manhattan. The bathroom has a marble Jacuzzi big enough for eight people. And in the adjoining suite, guess who stays there?” “Uhm ... Omega?” “Mr. Boy Band himself. Don’t ask me how I found out, let’s just say they should pay hotel staffers more.” “You’ve been stalking him, like I said.” “Haven’t. I’ve been researching him. There’s a difference.” “A microscopic one.” “Look, I’m not John Hinckley tryna to get a date with Jodie Foster here. I don’t wanna get in his pants, Darnell. That’s not what this is about!” “You sure about that? He is beautiful, and he’s barely legal so you know that’s up your alley. Are you telling me you don’t fantasize about fucking him?” “No. I don’t.” “Liar. You and Jay sat in my living room watching Lil’ Wolf’s new video and you both were practically drooling. You know it’s true. And I’m telling you, this whole obsession phase of yours started after your break-up. First you consult a witch to ....” “She’s not a witch! Damn Darnell, she helped me through a really bad time.” “You’ve been through bad break-ups before and you never lost your damn mind. Okay, well, you and Antonio crashing your cars into each other was nuts, but that was momentary insanity brought on by ... what was it ...?” “The brick he threw through my window.” “Right. See, understandable. But this Lil’ Wolf thing is nuts. You wanna fuck that boy, admit it. You wanna replace Jay with him.” “That’s nuts.” Darnell smiled as if his new theory was fact. “It’s the oldest motivation in the book—get back at your ex by hooking up with someone ten times hotter.” “That’s bullshit. It’s petty and beneath me.” Tyler turned away and walked across the room. Darnell followed, “Even if there was a vague possibility of you pulling off this coupe, like, somehow, the stars aligned in just the right way to make Lil’ Wolf kick Omega’s sexy ass to the curb and fall madly in love with you,” Darnell chuckled. “I mean, if that highly unlikely event took place, do you ....” “What’s your fuckin’ point?” “Do you think that’s gonna make Jay take you back? Hooking up with a rap star half your age?” His chuckle morphed into a cackle, reminding Tyler he did indeed have a witch in his life. Tyler snatched the package off the counter and thrust it at Darnell. “Just shut the fuck up and take the damn box with you. I got shit to do. I’ll call you later, okay?” But he never did. The only phone call Darnell got was the disturbing one a few days later......

Dean Johnson's reading for Filth: Best Gay Erotica 2008

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 2008 8PM ~~ FREE DEAN JOHNSON'S READING FOR FILTH: BEST GAY EROTICA 2008 RAPTURE CAFE & BOOKS 200 AVENUE A http://www.rapturecafe.com/
	The queer reading series celebrates the release of BEST GAY EROTICA 2008 with editor and host Emanuel Xavier and featured contributors Lee Houck, Taylor Siluwé, Andrew McCarthy, Charlie Vasquez, Tom Cardamore and Sam J. Miller. Books will be available for sale and signing. Sponsored by NEXT and Christiania Vodka. Open bar 7-8pm.

Best Gay Erotica-2008 -- 'Breeding Season', live reading in NYC