AI Art

AI is here to stay, whether we like it or not, and I am not completely unhappy about it. I won't use it to write, though I know some who have. And what comes out is...okay enough, but obviously not top level construction.

However, knowing the reading public's demands, they won't care. I've read books that were much praised which I felt were pieces of shit, written. by real people, and they were best-sellers.

But when it comes to art, I have to admit one of the joys of AI is you can envision any kind of person or situation you want, and it will work that up in a visual. Without hurting anyone or causing undue distress.

I still prefer real artwork to fake, but sometimes you just want a quickie to get you through a rough patch...like I'm going through, now.

Could these be any more fun?

It helps in tough times to have access to something wicked that couldn't be construed as illegal.

Just...just moments of beauty and grace...from those whose art I have admired, for a long time...

A bit more...

In San Antonio for who knows how long, so here's a bit more of Dylan...and of PickedAPeck's artwork:

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Of course, I was standing there, gazing after him with my mouth open, like an idiot, when another sk8er rolled up to say, “Don’t pay attention to dick, there.” 

I jolted and looked around at a kid well under the legal age, and blinked. He had a fine-looking face on a nice tight body under a loose t-shirt and lovely legs half-hidden by cargo shorts. And, of course, Converse high-tops. 

“That his name?” I asked. 

“Naw, he’s Dylan. We just call him dick because he acts like he owns the whole fuckin’ boardwalk.” 

Another kid, a bit older but not by much, but leaner and with a more angelic aura about him, rolled up, grinning at the first kid. “He got Dylan’d?” 

First one nodded. “First time’s always the best.” 

“Where you from?” asked the second kid. 

Now while both were on the cute side, they were too young for me. So I shifted into polite mode and said, “California. I was born and raised in Laguna Beach.” 

“Shit. Native. Ain’t many of you around.” 

“Yeah. You kids around here, much?” 

Both gave me wary shrugs, so I smiled and added, “I’m thinking of buying a condo in that building.” I pointed to a long, low, white beast with solarized windows and fake tile along the roof. 

They looked at it and their expressions softened. “Georgie’s place,” whispered from one of them. 

“You knew the guy who lived there?” I asked. 

They both gave that knowing look that means far too much. 

“It’s nice inside.” 

“Lots of space,” said the other. 

“Good insulation.” 

“Always cool in summer and warm in winter.” 

“Georgie was nice.” 

Meaning, to us...and enough said about that. 

“But you’ll have to deal with Dylan,” said number one. 

“Does he cause problems?” I asked, actually getting to be intrigued. 

“Naw, he just owns this area,” said number two. 

“Don’t say it; just acts it.” 

“You gotta stay outta his way.” 

“But he’s only down here three-four days a week.” 

“Including weekends.” 

“And just for a couple hours in the afternoon.” 

“When the sun’s still high.” 

“Shows him off at his best.” 

“He thinks.” 

Then they gave me that knowing look, again, and number two asked, “So what’d you think of him?” 

I’d decided in high school I would never lie about who or what I was, so I snarled in the direction Dylan had gone, “He’s exactly what I’d like to fuck.”

New story...

Started work on this new bit of mm/non-con erotica and am already having fun with it. Calling it Dylan, right now. But that may change. (Artwork is by pickedapeck, whose work I've long admired...and is mainly NSFW.)

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Is it just me who gets bent out of shape about thirty-odd year-old men running around on skateboards like they’re still fifteen? Shirts off and tucked into cut-offs or belted cargo shorts that are rolled up to just below the knee. Beat-up Converse sneakers with a flumpy bit of sock showing. Scooting along the boardwalk like they own it and don’t have a care in the world? 

I got nothing against sk8er boiz. Some are pretty damn cute. Especially when they’ve got well-formed legs, back and ass, and a cap on backwards to hold their hair out of their face. My favorites are those with full pecs, trim belly and hair glinting in the sun as they race past. I’ve had a few of them. Guys who got nothing against doing it with whoever. 

But those were college-age, maybe mid-twenties, when the skateboard world was already beginning to recede from their focus...like it had, for me. They’d be out hitting the parks to just keep up their skills, show the younger guys some tricks, even help the kids who just starting out. Them, I appreciated. 

Guys past thirty? 

Like Dylan? 

Fucking Dylan. 

Perfect fucking Dylan. 

Who I know for a fact is thirty-two, even though he looks ten years younger. And has one of those bodies that looks like it was formed by AI. And clean, crisp features under a steady bit of scruff. Deep brown hair where it counts. Legs to die for. An ass from heaven. Still scooting along the boardwalk like he’s a kid. 

And ignoring me. 

Fucking ignoring me! 

Sk8er boiz don’t ignore me, I don’t give a fuck who they are. I’m Rett, short for Garrett. Just hit thirty-four, and look it. Which I don’t mind because I’ve got those Irish good-looks that make it work for me. Dark hair slightly sun-bleached. Taut body and legs from running and using the monkey-bars on the beach. A guy who’s always good for a chat and honest feedback on your form...and, as mentioned, maybe a one-on-one party in his condo overlooking the ocean...if you’re cute enough...and old enough. 

And if a little cash changes hands? It’s no big deal. 

I’m pretty well-off, even for LA. Sold a couple screenplays and done some rewrites, and stayed smart with my money. I have a couple projects in the works and have potential deals for more. 

As for Dylan, he models underwear. Which makes sense, considering his buff beauty, perfect ass and a basket filled to the brim. Done it for all the big names. Billboards along Sunset. Even a fair amount of catwalking. Which I’ve seen, thanks to a friend of mine who always has tickets. 

Oh, that wasn’t when I first saw Dylan. It was as I was looking at my condo and wondering about offering a bid. The real estate agent was letting me wander about to think it over...as he called three other potential buyers, I’m sure. 

I was on the boardwalk looking out over the Pacific and had almost talked myself out of it. The price was hefty. So I’d turned to go inside with the bad news when Dylan came roaring past at probably forty miles an hour and yelled, “Watch it, asshole!” 

At me. 

I jolted and caught a look at him as he roared on down the pavement, being a complete dick to everyone in his way. And revealing what was, as already mentioned, the world’s most perfect ass under a pair of white onion-skin shorts over white athletic boxer-briefs. Giving his board another kick while flexing his amazing back and showing off his perfect legs...

And I fell in lust, right then and there.

Questionable considerations...

I have finally realized that the world will not stop its headlong dash into catastrophe until two men die -- Felon47 and Putin. If they leave this mortal coil, soon, we might have a chance to avert disaster. But I don't see that happening, and nothing I have done or screamed about has made one damned bit of difference, so far.

I'll continue to support Ukraine as best I can, and keep up on the news, but the majority of my time will be better used learning to to promote the books I've published...and finish writing the books I want to write.

I only have a half-dozen in the works.  Darian's Point. Dair's Window. Blood Angel (parts 4-7). And the fact is, I may not have that many years left in which to do it.

I'm not making resolutions. I know I'll slip back into my old habits, now and then, but for now I have to move forward and let the world handle itself. No one's willing to rein in two of the worst humans to exist and there's nothing I can do to change that...believe me, I've tried with my reps and other Democrats.

So like ending contact with an addict who is not interested in addressing their disease, you just have to let go and back away. I've done that a couple times, before, and it's hard...but it saved me. You cannot help someone who does not want to be helped; they will only drag you down with them.

Life's roughest lesson.

Plans changed.

His cancer is terminal. Months to live. Chemo might extend that a little bit, but it's up to him if he wants to. He'll need to be in better shape than he currently is, for that, so it may not be a real option.

Hospice or home care are next aspects to consider. So much to decide and prepare for...and once again it looks like my sister and I will pay for the funeral, like we did for our mother. Maybe cremation and then internment of his ashes next to her grave.

I'm heading back to San Antonio on Wednesday. Used up the last of my points for a one-way plane trip and 3 nights of a hotel. No car. I think I'll stick to Uber.

After that, we'll do what needs to be done. If I return through Austin, I have points enough left on Jet Blue, if I'm careful...so we'll see.

As noted, it wasn't an unexpected prognosis. He looked bad and the fact they'd already wondered about the cancer's spread indicated this. Still the family is shook up.

Me? I'm ten years older than him so it seems wrong. But then I never smoked. Never drank much. Never thought about it for health matters; just...didn't...

Anyway, this means no writing, for now. Life has decided to toss a blanket over Dair's Window...because all I want to do is write or draw something vicious, erotic, and violent...which will be difficult to work up, at the moment.

But we'll see what happens at 2am in a hospital room.

Shifts ahead...

I returned home, last night, not so much because I had things to do here but because I had reached the limit of the medications I'd brought with me. I allowed for 12 days, thinking I was staying 10. I wound up at 2 weeks, so skipped two complete doses.

Of course, the pathology reports came in today, after I was home. My youngest brother has cancer of the bladder and prostate. May also have some in his bones and sinus area; they're still checking on those areas. 

I'll need to go back down once we have a more complete diagnosis in place. Decide what to do next. Chemo? Surgery? Hospice? No telling.

This outcome was not unexpected. When I saw him in the hospital after arriving in San Antonio, he looked like he was completely wasted away. Skin and bones personified. Shook me up, so as I was heading to check into my hotel had a wreck from not paying attention.

Totally my fault, which is turning into another headache because the rental company is being stupid about it, as is the woman I hit. I was only going 5-7 MPH when I hit her so the damage is minimal and no one was hurt, but it's still an embarrassment...and I do not need more chaos added to this mess. Which is why I didn't tell anyone in the family.

What'll make this hard is, my brother can be difficult to deal with, at times. A niece said he was on the spectrum, just undiagnosed, and that makes sense. He's extremely good at some things and unable to handle even the simplest tasks in others. He's smoked for 50 years. Used to drink but not anymore; can't afford it. He hasn't been to a doctor for a checkup in decades...so this is going to be real fun.

I know death comes to us all, but sometimes it is a mean motherfucker.

Out with the old...

The last two weeks have been hellacious on a personal level and I’ve been unable to concentrate on anything creative. But I can’t leave 2025 without one last post.

As noted, my brother in San Antonio developed kidney and liver issues and wound up hospitalized. My sister down here has been handling it—insurance, logistics, other family—so I came down to support her. She’ll be the main go-to after I return to Buffalo. 

Initially, we were going to have Christmas at Taos, NM at my niece’s home, but that was canceled. Instead they came down, as did a nephew and his son, and we all had Chinese for Christmas dinner...mine being in the hospital. 

I’m now here through tomorrow night, after staying last night. Ring in the New Year, in style.

My sister and I have been taking turns staying the night in the hospital room, keeping vigil, and that wears you out. There’s a couch meant to be a temporary bed, which she seems able to sleep on, in bits.

I found the best position for me to sleep was in a recliner with the back upright and leg support out. But that wears on your butt, a lot, and you only get a couple hours at a time. 

It took him two procedures and a fair bit of medication to get his kidneys to function properly, again, but he hasn’t been eating and now he’s sleeping nonstop. I considered it a big victory to get a small tub of Wholly Guacamole and some glasses of OJ down him. 

Unfortunately, that also shot straight through him. 

Today we got word he’s eligible for release to a nursing facility, for rehab. Suddenly, I wrote 6 pages about Dair showing Adam the glass portrait he makes of him. It’s like I felt free to start thinking about other things. 

I also realized that Dair comes across as a celibate monk in much of the story, outside of Adam. He kind of wants me to detail his affair with a French doctor, in Paris. And I mean the erotica aspect of it. So I will...along with some others.

I mean, fuck it, why not? He’s not ashamed of being gay or having a rendezvous with an older man. It'll be interesting to see how he approaches it as opposed to Adam. Already in what I wrote about the portrait, he’s a lot more chattery than Adam...and insecure.

The main thing I wanted was to maintain the impact of Dair revealing the portrait to Adam, and I think this does it. 

So next year will, hopefully, be better than this last one and I will get DW in a solid first draft...or second. 

Hopefully.

Family matters...

My youngest brother is in the hospital and currently undergoing a procedure to remove fluid from his kidneys so they can check to see if he has cancer or just a cyst. It's screwed up the family, myself included, because he may be in here through Christmas. They're very nice at this hospital, but it is State owned so very busy with low-income people.

Of which my youngest brother is. He's already on SSI andbarely making it, so the whole billing process should be a horror story unto itself.

I spent from 10am yesterday to 10am today dealing with his temper and literal sickness and am a rather chaotic mess, myself. Totally ready to run back to Buffalo the second I can.

Nothing else happening, with me, right now. Not till this is settled.

Taos is off.

Too much is happening in San Antonio for me to make the trip. I'm staying the full 10 days. My niece is coming down, instead, and we'll do Christmas in Taos another year.

I still feel like shit but not as bad as the day before. I don't know what this crap is, but it's hanging onto me like it's an obsessive lover.

Enough of that and enough of the whining. I'm too prone to the latter. I'm surprised I don't walk around wringing my hands at everything that I see and hear.

I like to think I'm not stupid, that I know everything that's going on in the world, right now, is nothing new. Russia has invaded their neighbors for centuries based on some arrogant idea they are better than anyone else, and no one could possibly be stupid enough to disagree.

There have been droughts causing famines. Civil wars slaughtering civilians. Genocides by Europeans in the Americas, and tribes in Africa, India and Asia against each other. Natural catastrophes. The one real difference is we never saw them in real time until the last 50-100 years.

What's happening in Washington, right now, is just another corrupt bastard overstepping his bounds with the help of his craven courtiers. And it's not going to change until the man is dead and buried. Same for Putin; they're like 2 peas in a pod.

That is the only thing keeping me sane, right now...hoping I live long enough to see that. I want to piss on Felon47's grave and dance in the streets when Putin goes. But at the rate those two are going, they'll never die.

I may be overwhelmed with empathy for those who are suffering, but I'm also enraged that all of this evil is being done with impunity. No hand-wringing about that.

Scrambling...

Still sick-ish and mumbling through the day like a ghost. Took some Claritin to calm my sinuses down, and it's making me amazingly sleepy. But my nose was becoming its own character in my life and I had too much going on to take a nap.

My youngest brother, Kelly, is in the hospital thanks to problems with his kidneys. They're running tests to make sure they know what's wrong with him, because his blood-work readings are way high. Creatinine and BUN, both.

So I changed my flights. I'm still going to Albuquerque on the 21st but heading down to San Antonio on the 27th and back to Buffalo on the 30th. It meant dealing with Southwest and hotels and car rentals, online...and that was fun.

They do not make it easy to rearrange things. Best Western doesn't like to change reservations online. The offer the option but then it won't work. Southwest is easier, but not by much. And calling gets you on hold for half an hour.

I'm pretty sure I have everything straightened out, now...but won't know for sure till I go traveling. So I've printed everything out, on paper. 

I did get a few errands done around the apartment -- taking out the recycling, sweeping the floor, feeding the plants -- but the rest of the day was just meandering.

I pretty much stayed off social media till a little while ago, and will do that, again, tomorrow. I just cannot handle the nonstop hatefulness of the MAGAt Cult. Suddenly they're crying and begging for sympathy because they're going to lose their health insurance and can't find people to work in the fields and relatives are being deported. 

WelI...I don't care. I really don't. They were warned and chose their hateful addiction over their sensibility, and now they're finding out the monkey is on their backs.

I also mentioned to myself a lot of this could be handled with a relatively cheap bullet. It's good I don't own a gun.