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THE CARCASS CADAVER THE ART OF THE SPEW

Art Carcass



Last Updated: 7/9/2009

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Gender: Male
City: Toronto
State: Ontario
Country: CA

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July 7, 2009 - Tuesday 

Category: Life



Yesterday's news coverage was all about a certain event being held in Los Angeles today, to commemorate the
life of a suddenly departed and gigantically famous person.  The tickets, the special wristband, the draw to choose
winners from the 1.6 million applicants, the frantic rush to get from Toronto or Vancouver or anywhere distant to 
the Staples epicenter, the stringent police security measures to avoid or thwart that uniquely human propensity for
riotous mayhem whenever too many individuals congregate and coalesce into a seething collective stupid swarm.

So, I felt a little pinch of curiosity about the ass-wipes trying to cash in with ticket sales on eBay and Craigslist, and
went into an index region that I had never before investigated.  It was a detour, you see, impulse based, from my
usual cursory scanning of the real estate or camera equipment listings.  Instead of having a look for any of these
magical once-in-a-lifetime-event tickets being offered for thousands, my eyes caught a subsection heading and I
found myself immersed in an hour of scroll and click comedy.  The sight of so many explicit self portraiture blue
veiners and diamond cutters, troll ugly scrote sacks in harsh digital camera flash splendor, and even the one jerk
who photographed his "jerk" to excite and incite prospective new quick-friends... was the metaphoric equivalent of
slowing down to view vehicular highway carnage, only the bodies strewn all over the roadside were sex dolls.


RANDOM AD TITLES AND QUOTES FROM CRAIGSLIST TORONTO - "CASUAL ENCOUNTERS"

(any notes in parentheses are mine) (I further note that these types of ads outnumbered all others, greatly)



3k93mb3ocZZZZZZZZZ97533fef81f802411eb 3n23kf3o5ZZZZZZZZZ976225200286e3a1dcc

- actual ad photos




- "Forcefill My Mouth With Cock"  (sorry, too many teeth - too many risk)

- "Up for giving head?$$"  (Daddy can't look Mommy in the eye at the dinner table, but the t-bone was a nice surprise)

- "are you horny? just want a nsa suck and milk?"

- "Chubby guy looking to suck your cock"

- "Asian Male Powerhouse - No Mindgames here"

- "Any Asian boys want there ass filled?"

- "You Can Park Your Cock In My Mouth for Awhile" 

- "I will be very honest here, I have NOT had any form of sex, since my divorce 6 years ago, and I'M F**KIN' HORNY!!!!!"

- "I'm looking for an androgynous, but highly feminine woman"

- "need to unload today" ... "I love to have my cock and balls worked over... please be real and ready to work them over"

- "not sure how this is usually done but it's been a fantasy of mine to jerk a guy off in a public bathroom stall... Eaton
Centre maybe?"  (hmm... it's been a fantasy of MINE to kick the living shit out of someone having sex in a public place
meant for urinating, defecating, menstrual maintenance, vomiting, nose blowing, personal hygiene, and often used by
children...)

- "pregnant and alone?" ... "penetration not expected"

- "successful and bored" (unsuccessful people get bored, too, probably with greater frequency)

- "Hello, I'm looking for a submissive woman to be a cum receptacle. The sluttier the better."

- "a different approach to drowning" ...  "those with the literary taste to read between each line will be most graciously
responded to in kind"

- "come over and use my holes, fucking horny as can be! house to myself!"

- "my cock, your ass" (would be a great action movie title... Willis and Van Damme!)

- "speculum play" ... "Do you see the erotic potential of playing with medical instruments? I'm not a doctor but I have
some experience with gentle, safe but intense speculum play. I find the preparation and process very exciting and I'm
not looking for any other activity."  (I wonder if this person has more than a passing resemblance to Jeremy Irons)

- "bi sexual femme big sweaty boobs" ... "I am just back from laundry! It was hot in the place, so they're naturally sweaty!"

- "Total Loser seeks Hideous Dork for Hopscotch, Nookie" ... "Me: I am not quite as hairy as Seth Rogan. I can assure
you of that.  I have no money, but a great record collection.  Witness the awesome seductive power of my bachelor
apartment. I am brilliant but I languish in obscurity. I am hopeless at Milton Bradley's battery-operated game of physical
skill, Operations, but I will crush you at Wii Tennis.  You: You smell terrible, but know all the words to Wu Tang's "Triumph".
You had potential once, but now old friends can read in your eyes the pestilent decay of your soul.  Your liberal arts
degree was a horrible mistake. You used to pretend to like your boyfriends' bands; now, you can't be bothered. You bring
the granny pants; I'll bring the astigmatism."

(fuck damn... I wish I'd written that one!)


QUESTION: When did having your face force-filled with cock... when did becoming the cum receptacle for a stranger...
become a "casual encounter"?  Inane elevator greetings and banter about the weather; that's a casual encounter.
Replying to a Craigslist schlong and arranging to have that thing prod your entrails later that day, no matter the lack of
emotional strings attached, seems to me an "intimate encounter"... but it's just my opinion and maybe I have more than
a casual relationship with my dignity.  Maybe dignity has nothing to do with any of this.  We are big-brained and lost in
the cosmic puzzle.  We dress up every aspect of our lives to push back the icy cold fear that knows no epidermal or
national or religious boundary.  I'm going to die.  I'm not in any way certain about what awaits my soul after the host
body runs out of heartbeats.  My mind is a tumultuous sea of unanswerable questions.  No one God model captures
my belief or calms my restless need to comprehend the infinitesimal role I play in this grand theater of madness, but
attending Oakville's spanking party and having a big bear of a man redden my buttocks holds no appeal whatsoever
for me.  Answers no question, but creates some new ones.

How did I become so traditional?  (One partner, monogamous, romantic, protective.)
Why didn't I feel a need to explore my sexuality-options?  (Hetero, never screwed a farm animal or corpse, or both)
How did I grow this open mind about the sexual proclivities of others, (pedophiles DIE!, though) without experimenting?
Why don't I feel regret?  (I'll die without being peed or shat upon, with a cherry a-hole, without taking a paid for beating)
Why does porn make me laugh?  Or, if I'm not laughing, why does it make me feel sad for our species that we are so
involved in our parts and the variety of ways we can use them for stimulative escape?  It leads to, opens doorways to,
a flurry of cascading questions that involve our addiction to pleasure at all cost.  A substance, a physical act, a reward
for the brain's pleasure center.  How do I reconcile the fact that I gladly acknowledge the right of a neglected housewife
to climb in bed with a hot and horny young couple on a tedious Tuesday afternoon... or a well-loved wife who just needs
more spice in her pussy... or whatever scenario you choose by way of example (pedophiles DIE!, though), with the sure
knowledge that it would pierce my heart if the woman I love was an undercover Craigslister-sister?
Why the importance placed upon monogamy, faithfulness, the feeling that even fantasizing or skimming the surface of
fantasy with another partner (or a room filled with sex starved bikini models) is wrongful?  Did this built-in monogamy
security device start with my Dad's old school one-love one-woman ethic?  How am I to know that I didn't get those
new Puma soccer shoes I asked for on my fourteenth birthday because Dad was blowing part of his paycheck on
prostitutes in Barrie or Collingwood when he was working out of town? 

Are there prostitutes in Barrie or Collingwood, even?

Of all the questions, that may be the most troubling one.

Before I go, it occurs to me that nothing I could type up in a bid for humor or Craigslist casual encounters satire
would stand in contrast to the assorted oddities already posted there one daily avalanche at a time.  There are so
many holes to be filled out there.  So many swollen rods in need of attention, and like the seemingly continuous
loop of laundry or dish washing cycles, SO many gallons of sperm being manufactured in perpetuity so that life
itself may cycle... gallons wasted on and in assorted receiving surfaces and portals, but perhaps NOT wasted.
There are over six billion humans here.  Have you taken a hard look at the world lately?



- "watch me vomit KFC tonight! Cameras and touching welcomed"
- "long filthy toenails need to be sucked and clipped"
- "looking to have rectum glued shut; have funnel and contractor grade adhesive at home!"
- "seeking discreet taser teaser - no cops"
- "I wanna moonwalk on your spunk"
- "stop me from committing suicide this afternoon - swallowers only"
- "up and cumming chef wants to stir fry your jizzle"
- "let me make fun of your genitals - verbal or tactile!"
- "corn-hole me while I blog!"
- "feed me your juicy swollen kudo"
(those are my suggestions... are they any worse than the actual ads?)


Okay, that'll do.

Here it is... hungry and ready, perfectly timed for your complete satisfaction:



THE END.





July 6, 2009 - Monday 

Category: Art and Photography


This one should be easy to take.

Random images from my camera-net, captured recently and novice-intuitively.

Find what you like and may your new week be a good one!




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July 3, 2009 - Friday 

Category: Life


got this here blog
got stink
got neglected balls
got scabs
got angry union bosses
busy bees
city officials who ban pesticides on lawns but want to spray chemicals on garbage piles
that build and putrefy in allocated dumping areas during the outside workers' strike;
many of those temporary dump sites are parks and children are out of school
got a wisdom vacuum
got a Moss Park slam dunk denied


IMG_0326



The last outside workers strike happened in 2002, on the cusp of the Pope coming for a huge
love-in summit, and the city was apoplectic.  Removing homeless people from the limousine
routes and covering up all the shameful graffiti, too, but what about the mountains of refuse in
the streets?  Would the strike be settled in time?  Would our city get its blessings from up high,
or would the tsk-tsk of a Pope forever ruin our fragile civic self esteem?

Happy to say the 2002 strike was settled in time.  Unsavory sights and sounds were generally
kept well away from the famous visitor but one can't help but suspect we may not have received
the deluxe Vatican blessing.  SARS soon hit town, and hit it hard.  

You are looking at two images I time-borrowed a few days ago, of the dumping site at downtown
east's Moss Park.  Early days in a strike that could run well past the sixteen long stinky days of
that sweltering 2002 olfactory delight.  Moss Park and downtown east is a generally overburdened
section of the city core.  Most of the rooming houses, shelters for the downtrodden and mentally
unstable (I'm still waiting to meet the quintessential mentally stable person, come to think of it), and
rough and tumble drinking holes are concentrated in this part of town... all of it heavily populated
with home and business owners.  This is a giant human story blender here.  Lives that should have
and didn't, or couldn't-wouldn't, rubbing elbows with success and encroaching real estate fantasy
peddlers.  The readily identifiable bad ass areas include this wonderfully chosen temporary dump
site, where despite a large amount of open space behind the community center, it was thought best
to let the mountain of reek grow where the people without a pot to piss in might like to shoot hoops.


IMG_0325



DSC01561

The inner city also contains thousands of smaller buildings that aren't exactly prepared for a
protracted strike.  Images like the one I snapped above on the morning of Canada Day this
past Wednesday (hey kids, no fireworks for YOU... we want our 18 paid sick days) are very
common, and the raccoons are high fivin' each other.





Some random images from the local media:

tostrikechristie

1512740.bin


trashstrike2002 dynamic_resize

450_christie_dump_090629 1026498924christie_pits_garbage_2_400



- 24,000 members of the municipal civil service, both inside and outside workers, walked off the
job on June 22nd.  
- Due to the current economic hard times, the city wants to scrap the existing plan that allows workers
to bank their sick days and cash them out at retirement. This is the most bitterly contested of several
concession points being asked for by cash strapped city council.  

- 57 city-run daycare centers are closed due to the strike, affecting about 2,800 children.

- The 2002 strike ended only after the Ontario provincial government passed back-to-work legislation.

- I note with just a touch of amusement that these contract negotiations and disputes are scheduled 
for the hot weather months, when striking workers can really put the boots to the city.  A heat wave and
Toronto's always active wind patterns?  That dovetails nicely with the busiest tourist season and events
like the annual Pride week parade, when garbage meets the streets at a higher than normal rate.  

- There are 19 temporary dump sites, the most contentious of which being the Christie Pits location where
pissed off residents have lost their park and are putting up with over a thousand tons of rotting garbage
that will swell to double that amount in the days ahead.  It is day 12 as I type this, and the outlook for an
end to the walkout is ripe with pessimistic taint.  

- Like a smaller Manhattan, downtown Toronto is heavily populated and very active, all of this packed into
tight and narrow lots, fed by skinny sidewalks and backing onto crisscrossing alleys where restaurants
are hard pressed to dispense with everyday garbage even when the system is functioning... if this strike
continues well into a third week, I'll really have something to show you, pictorially speaking.

Now, a tangental image series that depicts the short travel route taken by a raccoon...

IMG_0376

- that's a young one, already fattened up on a steady diet of garbage buffet... from a seventh floor
balcony we could see him/her heading north to get away from barking dogs who live with property
tax payers who took up hoses to blast the unwanted masked troublemaker .




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- city raccoons are much larger than their rural cousins, at least in my experience, and they have
mastered the art of container entry.  Bold, too.  I've encountered my share of nonchalant bandits,
and a family of them where I last lived took the proverbial cake.  They were raucous youngsters
who would fight atop the angled plywood cover to the storm cellar entrance behind my old house
on Badgerow avenue, knocking over the potted plants, jumping on top of the barbecue.  I'd open
the back sun patio door and toss pots of cold water on the little buggers to send them scattering
into the night.  They figured out how to open the city's "organic waste" green bins, tripping the two
metal latches, and the mornings were a street long chorus of cursing human residents, the whisk
of brooms...



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- to your average Toronto raccoon, an open door like that is an invitation to rummage and dine...
I've heard plenty of tales about masked bandits with tails entering kitchens and giving attitude to
those who find them intrusive.  



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- this particular youngster, barked at and the target of home-hose-owners, waddled to the
north end of the row houses and casually settled in for a little crotch maintenance, which
reminds me of the "neglected balls" that I mentioned in the opening stanza of this blog.




IMG_0338

- alone and idle in the playground of an old school within nose reach of the Moss Park garbage
mounds, a round manmade object does much more than merely sit there.  It tells chapters of life
stories and seems to wait to be used again.  Many of us are waiting to be used. 




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- the way I am wired, the periphery of a given topic at the forefront of my mind seems to become
the more traveled path.  Suddenly struck by the sight of an unused ball in an empty schoolyard,
cuffed upside the nostrils by a stench that wafts from two blocks south because municipal staff
don't want to play city hall clawback, I drift into the peripheral envelope all around me.  Mash-up
city, boy.  All within drunken stagger distance, a dangerous intersection well acquainted with 
crime scene tape... a school... churches... crack hoes and suburban johns... families... stone cold
killers... street savvy adolescents looking to make a mark in life... hundreds of variations on this
riffing eternity

and me

my place to live it, dream it, hate and love it

attempt sense from nonsense





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- one side of a street decaying, the other an oasis of inner city heritage homes, well loved and tended...
my eyes first spy the horse behind century glass and then rove upward to drink in the ornate transom,
savor the petal surround, and I hear bees beside me.  Their buzz moves hearing to the front of the senses
line, blocks out wind wafted stink, causes me to look more closely at the long row of flowered bushes to
my right and running parallel to the empty schoolyard with the neglected ball.



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Garbage?
What garbage?



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Damn it, life stinks sometimes but it sure is good to be alive.









- pix and yap, A.C. 2009 (excluding the six frames taken by Toronto media)




MEANWHILE...

In the condo complex where I live, the board of directors is using a private waste removal contractor.

If the members of the striking union get wind of that, 

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I'll have far more interesting photos to share than this one of a bricklaying cat!

(have a nice weekend, and happy fourth of July to the Americans)