The Court of Satyrs
If you would please go back and read the later posting of this, Jonah, the young man who originally made this post, apologized, realizing how wrong he was. Rather than simply attacking him, I supported him by commending him for recognizing he was wrong, and praised him for wishing to be better. I feel like the matter was quite clearly resolved. It really didn't need an addition of any kind. Especially not the idiotic addition you made. That kid has depression. What if he saw what you had said?


First of all, it’s not my fault what comes across my dash and when.  When I saw that, there was no apology attached, nothing of the sort.  It is not my practice or habit to go back over posts and examine each subsequent note to each post as doing so would waste a bunch of my time.

Second, Jonah has learned from his mistake.  That’s wonderful.  Mistakes have repercussions.  Sometimes, just saying I’m wrong, isn’t enough, something any number of Tumblr users, I’m sure, will be glad to point out.  The truth of whether or not he learned his lesson will be seen in his future behavior and not anything he says while being shamed for his selective outrage.

I’m going to delete the post from my blog.  

I’m going to do this because he did get the point, that he was being selective.  You feel like the matter was resolved and that’s good for your feelings.  Being a gay, HIV+, rape survivor in his late 40s, I have seen too much selective outrage from supposedly “enlightened” people on Tumblr to accept your assessment of my addition being idiotic when I meant it to reflect the OP’s original posting.

I’m also going to delete the post so you will leave me alone. It’s very telling that would make a valid point and then morally lecture me when I express that same point in a manner which you do not find pleasing.

You might be more forgiving than I am.  That certainly doesn’t make you better than I am.  You don’t get to lecture me on my behavior.

Things American: BuffaloBrian Mihok

Buffalo is a whale that fell asleep at the bottom of the ocean. Buffalo is a three-year-old that doesn’t cater to vegetarians. Buffalo is a new poem. It’s that weird bird that turns into fire. Buffalo is a Bowie knife run across a forearm twenty years ago. It’s an outpost of a long gone people. Buffalo is a cow’s heart perfectly preserved in a jar of formaldehyde. Buffalo is a city block of antique shops with one kick ass record store. Buffalo is the best thing ever to happen to itself.

Thing is, Buffalo has been good to my writing life. We moved to Buffalo so the lady could go to library school all day and all night. I wandered the apartment and pissed off the cat. I wrote a lot. I went from a writer who had learned things to a writer who wrote things. It was a time of application. I was surrounded by a lot of people meeting each other and loving Buffalo. I am still surrounded.

Most people here are from here.

Buffalo is history. It’s gone. It was gone. It’s coming back and it will be here soon. There is a bakery at an intersection of many streets called Five Points at which you can buy several kinds of fancy toast. It’s the avant garde.

There is a book arts center run by nice people at the corner of Mohawk and Washington. You can witness a variety of literary events there and even take classes on how to letterpress.

People’s eyes are marbles at the mention of Buffalo. They are ecstatic for Buffalo. Preservationists are doing good work here too, trying to keep Buffalo’s past deeds a part of its soul. They are often beaten up by city folk in internet comments. People tell them to just let it go but that does not seem like the right thing to do, I admit.

In Buffalo there is one of everything. This can be thought of as one of everything OR one of everything. How you feel about Buffalo will decide which word you will emphasize. In truth, Buffalo sometimes has two of one thing. People move from here to Astoria, Queens. And then move back.

The best thing to be in Buffalo is an artist. The worst thing to be is Comptroller. I’ve been here four years now, and I can’t believe it has been four years already. I’ve lived in three Buffalo apartments. The first was small with a black and white checkered kitchen floor and a little unfinished storage space that I used as a writing cave. The second was much bigger and had brown and tan walls and was filled with bed bugs. Now we live in an old Victorian that is kind of falling apart in a nice way. The hardwood floors are beaten and beautiful. Outside on the porch I shoo away wasps with diluted soap water.

There are writers in Buffalo writing with fury. Many go to the University at Buffalo’s Poetics program. Some other people run presses and journals too: sunnyoutside, Starcherone, BlazeVOX, P-Queue and many others. Also there are a lot of little art galleries that complement the big fantastic museums like the Albright Knox and Burchfield Penny.

The promise to rebuild Buffalo’s poisoned, post-industrial waterfront has been in the works for 40 years; most of the plans seemed only to be daydreams and corruption, but it actually appears to be happening now. Buffalo has giant grain elevators and silos that are spells cast from a hundred years ago. More cement and brick than seems possible for one building. One is being turned into a rock climbing facility. Some people want to turn others into restaurants and apartments and schools.

As an artist, Buffalo is a place you can plunk down your sad bank account money and purchase a giant house in a neighborhood that is not good but not too bad. You might think about it and go in on it with some friends. Buffalo, according to the Comptroller, is “in strong financial condition,” so it will not declare bankruptcy like Detroit probably. There are two Ethiopian restaurants now.

What it comes down to is Buffalo is pretty good and will get better, but it has to stop bleeding people. No city ever made it to Economic Prosperity by losing its population. You could move here and serve as a small but important tourniquet. You could buy some fancy toast and go to one of the good farmer’s markets and fantasize about staying out until 4am at the bars because they are open that late. You could go to the very good cafe called Sweetness_7 on Grant Street and then to Westside Stories, a small used book store, and then go for a run in Delaware Park, which was designed by Frederick Law Olmstead, the guy who designed Central and Prospect Parks in New York City. You could go bowling at midnight behind Corpus Christi Church on the east side. You could eat wings at a place suspiciously called Just Pizza. That is a chain unlikely to have good wings so you could go to other good wings places like Gabriel’s Gate. You could curse the wind in the winter because it is harsh and then delight in it in the summer. You could do something here. Really get something done. The best thing is that if you want to play a role in Buffalo’s second coming, you are likely to.

Even though it has over 20,000 vacant houses, Buffalo is not empty. It’s just not full.

If you come to Buffalo you can go to the top of City Hall whenever it is open. From the lookout you can see the entire city, Lake Erie, towns in the distance. You might even be able to see the mist off of Niagara Falls. Some people are working very hard to make Buffalo a place to be and they will succeed, but you should come here before that. They might engrave your name on something. They might ask you donate your time. They might shake your hand and ask you what you think of Buffalo.



*Pollen accidentally enters body*
Immune system: What the hell is that?
Pollen: Oh hey. Sorry. We got a bit lost. The wind kinda bl-
Pollen: What?!? No! We just got lo-
Pollen: The what?
Mucus membranes: Sir. All the floodgates?
Immune system: ALL OF THEM.
Pollen: Wait. Wait. You don't... Oh shi-
[Dramatic music]
Me: *Sneezes*
Reblogged from multiplepolarityhavoc (Originally from ssgwhitedandy)

YOUR POINTY EARSSSS. Are they fake? Did a body mod artist do them? Were the ears naturally humongous beforehand? H-HOW ARE THE POINTS SO PERFECT *incoherent babbling, gross sobbing*


Thank you, Anon Grayface.  I’m glad you dig the way my ears look in those pictures.  I’ve gotten this question a few times, and I always answer it, but I can’t recall if I ever published the answer, so I’ll take the chance to do that this time.

My ears, sadly, are not pointed.  I have many pictures of myself tagged and, after getting this question, I went through them.  I never realized until today that the only pictures where you can clearly see my ears are the ones I’ve pointed.  I really don’t want to mislead anyone.  People who do get their ears pointed go through a lot to do so and it never ends up looking as good as I make it look with Photoshop.

And, what you see in those pictures is just that,  my skill with tools in Photoshop.  (I’ll put up some other examples of what I’ve done in that vein.)

But, if I could find a body-modder who was skilled enough to give me those ears, I’d do it.

This, for the record, is what my ears look like.



courtofsatyrs replied to your post: My room is still the warmest room in the house this winter.

Mine, too.

High five!

Warm room buddies!


Totally miss you!

Reblogged from bdsm-v

Reblogged from bdsm-v

Me, on the Oregon coast.

Me, on the Oregon coast.


My friend cut his thumb open so I did a quick photo manip.

I love my boyfriend so hard.


My friend cut his thumb open so I did a quick photo manip.

I love my boyfriend so hard.

Reblogged from dacalico


Buddy Wakefield, Live For A Living


Buddy Wakefield, Live For A Living

Reblogged from emwolfilie (Originally from aseaofquotes)

(Source: courtofsatyrs)

Reblogged from theredglade

This is my cat, Chu.  He’s taken to skulking about in paper bags.  Clearly, he’s gone mad.

Me at 16. 

Me at 16.