Bill Mullen

Dear Diary, On Saturday, the gardener planted a Valencia orange tree, a Cara Cara orange tree, a blood orange tree, a Satsuma Mandarin tree, a Meyer lemon tree, a Bearss lime tree, a Mexican lime tree, a Kaffir lime tree and a tangelo tree in our backyard. There was a Lisbon lemon tree already flourishing behind our house despite years of neglect, so we figured citrus trees were a smart way to go. There is a new irrigation system installed, plus gopher baskets and fences to protect from hungry deer. It is all terribly exciting. True Confessions by Bill Mullen

DEAR DIARY in ALT TEXT… #Citrus #ValenciaOrange #CaraCaraOrange #BloodOrange #Satsuma #BearssLime #MexicanLime #KeyLime #KaffirLime #MeyerLemon #Tangelo #Orange #Lemon #Lime #Fruit #Color #Colorful #Markers #Sketchbook #LandscapeArt

Dear Diary, Last Saturday night while in San Francisco for my birthday weekend, Todd and I were fortunate to make the acquaintance of the one and only Rory K. Davis—aka Coach Bator—when he was dancing on the bar of the Powerhouse wearing only sneakers and a threadbare gym sock pud warmer garter-belted to his bouncing junk with an industrial strength cock ring. The charmingly outgoing and Hollywood white teeth smiling Coach—a silver fox/hot daddy type as the name would suggest—is an acclaimed local legend choreographer with a client base ranging from superstar drag queens and world famous boylesque theatrical productions to chair bound geriatrics taking aerobic classes in the recreational common areas of assisted living spaces. I got all that from the internet. The studly yet humble Coach told me directly that when he’s not go-go-ing at the clubs, he’s back home creating gay porn content where he sucks and fucks his pig scene partners while slathered in and sloshing around greasy plastic tubs of “Nickelodeon green slime.” Coach Bator. At the Powerhouse. Saturday, 02/21/2026. True Confessions by Bill Mullen

DEAR DIARY in ALT TEXT… @yourcoachinsf.bsky.social #RoryKDavis #RoryDavis #Coach #CoachBator #PowerHouse #SFPowerhouse #GayArt #GayCartoon #GayDrawing #GayBar #GayClub #GayPorn #GayPornStar #Porn #Jock #Jockstrap #Fetish #GayFetish #GoGoBoy #Daddy #BigDick #SilverFox #Boylesque #Slime #Roryography

Dear Diary, Four months ago, a home in our neighborhood sold for a lot of money. Two weeks ago, the house was mysteriously back on the market. Last week, I went to the open house viewing as I had done last September. There were many of our neighbors there. Way more than last time. When I asked the real estate agent why the family was selling their dream home after barely moving in, the real estate agent made an exaggerated sad face and said, “Sometimes, life just gets in the way.” True Confessions by Bill Mullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT… #GladysKravitz #Bewitched #Neighbors #Markers #Sketchbook #Drawing #Cartoon #Diary #Memoir #Metiche #Chismosa #Busybody #AlicePearce #AngelaLansbury #CagneyAndLacey #SnoopSisters

Dear Diary, On December 21, 2025, there was a fatal shark attack just off Lovers Point in Pacific Grove, CA. Pacific Grove is the next town over from Todd and me and our West Coast life, and Lovers Point is where we go to sit quietly on a bench and stare peacefully at the sea. Todd still won’t stop talking about the shark attack, even when I ask him not to. To say he’s obsessed would be putting it mildly. True Confessions by Bill Mullen.

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT…

#SharkAttack #SharkArt #SharkDrawing #SharkCartoon #SharkIllustration #Shark #Jaws #GreatWhiteShark #PacificGrove #LoversPoint #MontereyPeninsula #KingOfTheMontereyPeninsula #BlackCat #HorrorArt #HorrorDrawing #HorrorCartoon #PostcardsFromTheEdge

I love it! 🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮💜💜💜💜💜

Dear Diary, Last Friday night, we went to see the punk band Apricot Court perform at Cuz’s Sportsman’s Club bar up in Seaside. Apricot Court is a VERY cool band. Although we love it out here, sometimes I find myself hyper aware of what is not really here. And alarmingly, what is probably never going to be here. It was a relief—as well as a rare and beautiful thing—to be able to feed a particular “punk” need last Friday night up in Seaside. Maybe you can understand this. Although Apricot Court hails from Pacific Grove and therefore totally local, the band sadly doesn’t play around here that often. Certainly not enough for Todd and me. One is much more likely to catch an Apricot Court gig a lot further north in Santa Cruz. Or way down south in Los Angeles, even. The magnificent Anthony Annigoni, guitarist and lead vocalist for Apricot Court, said to me, “They don’t like us here in Monterey. We’re too punk for ‘em. We come from the school of Joe Strummer, not heavy metal.” This resonates deeply. When I moved to New York City in 1987, I remember thinking it was the only place in the world that would want me. Up until that point, I had always felt like I was in the wrong location for lots of reasons. A different kind of punk, but also the same. Apricot Court has a new single out on Saturday. If you were actually any version of cool and/or punk, you’d support Apricot Court on all platforms. True Confessions by Bill Mullen.

Diary entry in ALT TEXT!
#ApricotCourt #ApricotCourtBand #PunkArt #PunkBand #CaliforniaPunk #Punk #Punks #PunkCartoon #PunkDrawing #PunkIllustration #OutsiderArt #Outsiders #Markers #Sketchbook ##Diary #GuysWithLongHair #GuysWithTattoos #PostcardsFromTheEdge

Text on Instagram @billmullenink @billmulleninc

#ChiChiLarue #BlackParty #Porn #GayPorn #PornStar #PornStars #PornArt #PornCartoon #Drag #DragQueen #DragArt #QueerArt #GayArt #GayCartoon #Muscles #GuysWithMuscles #MuscleButt #BubbleButt #BigDick #PenisPump #BoaConstrictor #BeerEnema #CircuitParty

#DearDiary, Friday night, Todd and I went to see A Flock Of Seagulls perform at the Golden State Theatre in downtown Monastery. Although the show was great and we were not the least bit bothered by the fact that the band is now a minimalist men in black duo and the sole original Seagull Mike Score’s hall of fame new wave hair-do is long gone, we were more than a little bit disappointed that there was no merch table to be found at the venue. We wanted and expected t-shirts. September 1982, I went to see the Go-Go’s with A Flock Of Seagulls and the Rockats in concert at the Bayfront Center in St. Petersburg, Florida. I remember buying a white with green sleeves A Flock Of Seagulls baseball jersey because I was worried what if I got a Go-Go’s t-shirt, I would look gay. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT… #AFlockOfSeagulls #GoldenStateTheatre #NewWave #NewWaveHaircut #NewWaveArt #Eighties #EightiesArt #PunkArt #GayArt #QueerArt #Markers #Sketchbook #Diary #Memoir

Love love love love

The worst 🦷🦷🦷

#DearDiary, On Tuesday I went to my new dentist. My first California dentist. My new dentist and his impressive staff and his state of the art facilities are all super duper future shock sci fi high tech slick disco minute detailed glamo whammo James Bond villain ultra advanced. My new dentist and his office make my old New York dentist and his office look like the Little House On The Prairie. Believe it or not. When my new dentist blew up the hyper realistic 3-D computer generated dental renderings on the panorama IMAX movie screen in the examination room, my mouth appeared as a gargantuan monster gash from a Marvel Comics film franchise set in a bomb shelter geriatric hospital in post apocalyptic Appalachia. When I confessed to my new dentist that my obviously jacked teeth made me seriously depressed, my new dentist—who is also young and good looking and charming—responded, “You’re actually pretty good. Better than most who come in here.” Then my new dentist set up me up with a next day endodontist appointment for the first of a four part root canal. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen.

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT… #Teef #Teeth #JackedTeeth #HillbillyTeeth #DentalHorror #HorrorArt #HorrorDrawing #HorrorCartoon #HorrorComics #Horror #Comix #Grotesque #Nightmare #RootCanal #Sketchbook #Markers #Monster #Mood

#DearDiary, The Powerhouse in San Francisco is totally fantastic and just what the doctor ordered, to put it mildly. Because we had such an excellent time there Friday night at the Stank Party, we returned the following evening for the Lick It Party. That’s where we met our new friend Daniel, who was dancing on the bar. Daniel is gorgeous and super hot, to put it mildly. Daniel. At the Powerhouse. Saturday, 10/25/25. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT…

#DanielEsquiveLopez #DanielEsquivel #PowerHouse #SFPowerhouse #GayArt #GayCartoon #GayDrawing #GayBar #GayClub #MrSLeather #LeatherBar #LeatherHarness #LeatherJockstrap #Harness #Jockstrap #Fetish #GayFetish #GayPornStar #GayPorn #GoGoBoy #Daddy #Scorpio #Stank #LickIt

🧡🩷🧡🩷🧡

#DearDiary, Friday 10/24/2025. Todd and I drove to San Francisco Friday morning to see Garbage perform at the Warfield later that night. We stayed where we always stay at the Mark Hopkins Hotel where we were given a beautiful room with an absolutely insane view of the city. Because we got to town early, we used our free time to visit the super cool Romer Young Gallery. I purchased an incredible piece of art by Gwenaël Rattke, a wildly talented Berlin-based artist of whom I am a huge fan. We had dinner reservations before the show at our favorite restaurant Florio on Fillmore and we ate almost too much but not quite. Our meal was so delicious that we booked a table for Sunday. When we arrived at the theatre there were backstage passes to go along with our comped tickets. We bought merch and cocktails and we were delighted to discover celebrities in the VIP area. The concert was brilliant. Our pal Shirley Manson was gorgeous and rockstar perfection as always, and the band matched her superstar excellence. Todd was in heaven and so was I, grateful for old friends who rule. We love you, Shirley. After the show, we Ubered down to the Powerhouse on Folsom Street, one of the world’s greatest gay bars. Famously edgy and sleazy and sexy and trashy, it’s also way easy to just hang out there with a drink and people watch, although we spent most of our time eyeballing our hot stuff bartender Max. Max gifted us tequila shots, which made him even foxier. A another magical day in California. I apologize that there is no sad or creepy spin provided here. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT…

#ShirleyManson #Garbage #TheWarfield #MarkHopkinsHotel #RomerYoungGallery #GwenaëlRattke #SFPowerhouse #SanFrancisco #California #CaliforniaArt #OctopusArt #RockArt #PunkArt #SciFiArt #MermaidArt #UnderWaterArt #PostcardsFromTheEdge

#DearDiary, Louie 3 (10/23/25) I’ve been avoiding Instagram. Every time I make an attempt to scroll through my feed, I keep clicking the paper airplane button to send stuff to Louie. I keep forgetting that he’s gone. And then I have to remember. One Tuesday night when there wasn’t anything going on at the Hellfire, Louie and I wandered over to Mother on Washington Street just below 14th Street to see what was happening at Jackie 60. Louie was wearing what he always wore—blue jeans and jeans jacket and work boots—and when we got to the the club, the door person—Jackie royalty and demimonde diva Hattie Hathaway—informed Louie sternly and dismissively that he could not come in because his outfit in no way on that night or any night met the strict Jackie 60 dress code. Quoting from the bottom line of the house rules posted on the entrance wall and pointing to a photo grid of downtown superstars mounted just inside the club, Louie shout-sneered at our seemingly impervious gatekeeper and to anyone else who might have been listening, “I THOUGHT LEGENDS KNEW NO CODE!” Louie was referring to a portrait of young Louie wearing only white Y-front briefs taken once upon a time by the photographer David Armstrong. The picture was framed and top row center of the downtown superstar grid, sandwiched between images of rockstar Debbie Harry and drag icon Stephanie Strawberry. Hattie Hathaway, with a raised eyebrow and without missing a beat, shout-sneered right back at Louie, “LEGENDS KNOW BETTER!” Then she grandly unhooked the velvet rope for Louie to enter with me following closely behind. “Okay?” He turned and gave me that look. “And is there a problem? Because I don’t see a problem here.” “DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM?” I can still hear him. And I’m laughing. But I’m also crying. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT…

#LouieChaban #Jackie60 #HattieHathaway #DavidArmstrong #MeatpackingDistrict #Downtown #Cruising #Nightclubbing #Legends #Memories #Drag #DragArt #DressCode #LegendsKnowNoCode #LegendsKnowBetter #WishYouWereHere

#DearDiary, Louie 2 (10/22/25) One night in the Meatpacking District, Louie and I spooked a hooker hike up her skirt to sit down and take a break on a fire hydrant on the corner of 9th Avenue and 13th Street. We knew the hooker wasn’t wearing any underwear because her shriveled cock and balls we’re dangling well below her scrunched hemline. After she left the corner to go back to work further west, Louie asked me if I would give him five dollars if he went up and sniffed the damp spot on the fire hydrant where the hooker had been sitting. I responded yes. So he did and I gave him five dollars. More than 25 years have passed since the legendary fire hydrant sniffing, yet every couple of months I’d receive a call or text with the message, “Remember when you gave me five dollars to sniff the stinky pussy fire hydrant?” Less frequently but not infrequently Louie would call or text reminding me of the time we “broke up,” referring to an icy era not long after the fire hydrant incident when Louie didn’t want to be my friend anymore. Although he’d be kind of joking around, I would always apologize each time he brought it up because I knew in his eyes I had been a really bad friend and it was a really big deal for him to forgive me. Saturday night, the night Louie died, Louie sent me eight Instagram DM’s, the last three arriving at 12:41 AM New York time. We’d go back and forth with the messaging; Louie would send between 20 to 30 IG photos and stories a day and I’d try and keep up. Fart videos. Body horror thirst traps. Geriatrics in heat. Insta-celebrity buffoonery. People beating the shit out of each other. People shitting themselves. People that are full of shit. Shit listers who will never be forgiven… To be continued. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT…

#LouieChaban #MeatpackingDistrict #Downtown #Cruising #Nightclubbing #VillagePeople #BadGirls #Friendship #Forgiveness #Memories #Legends #WalkOnTheWildSide

#DearDiary, Louie 1 (10/21/25) Louie and I spent a lot of time hanging out on the loading dock across the street from the Hellfire in the Meatpacking District. We’d sit there spooking the comings and goings for hours and hours until we’d eventually give in and make our way inside. We had nicknames for the regulars. Names Louie thought up. Nina Hagen. Joan Vass. The Cock-A-Roaches. Poppies. And we knew they were spooking us back. I sometimes wondered if they had nicknamed us too, as we were there so often. “There’s an awareness,” Louie would say. One summer night we brought along Missy Rayder, one of Louie’s girls. For years after, Louie and I marveled how Missy legendarily remained unfazed throughout the entirety of the evening, never losing her supermodel cool in the red lit recesses of the dank underground fetish club. Not even when a wrinkly white bearded Charles Dickens ghoul in a diaper and dungeon shackles was crawling around after her on the filthy cement, wiggling his drooly tongue like a dog begging to lick the bottoms of Missy’s feet. I’m pretty sure we included Missy on one of our Foot Friends excursions to the Lure as well. Louie loved that scene, piggy shrimpers paired head to toe and toe to head on rubber gym mats strewn around the leather bar’s floor. Louie referred to it as a “footy suckle.” The footy suckle parties were on Mondays, and the reason I remember this is because Louie and I rarely missed the Monday turkey plate special one block over at Florent. Louie established a 30 minute “grace period” for tardiness even though Louie could easily be 90 minutes late showing up. It is worth mentioning that Louie had genius nicknames for everyone at Florent too. To be continued. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT…

#LouieChaban #MissyRayder #Hellfire #TheHellfire #TheLure #Florent #MeatpackingDistrict #Downtown #Legends

#DearDiary, I have been feeling so empty and uninspired in regards to my drawing and writing, so I asked Todd for some subject matter from his life in a desperate attempt to get something down on paper. I know it’s probably cheating to appropriate another person’s history for a diary entry, but this is my art and my artist’s license, so fuck it. Something is better than nothing. Maybe. Todd very quickly conjured a memory of a fabulous circa 1989 Detroit adventure involving porn legend Karen Dior and a handful of gay male adult film stars that included Joey Stefano in cop drag shoving a billy club almost all the way up his world famous ass. Even though the real police were eventually called in to break up the good time, Todd’s delightfully lurid story was an easy visual that I had no problem mentally converting to a magic marker cat cartoon. When I urged Todd for more tales from his misspent youth, he got really bossy and controlling, unfortunately forcing me to abort the whole brainstorming session. Places I’d Rather Be. The Nectarine Ballroom. And I’d like to be there with Karen Dior. And Todd. Maybe. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen.

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT… #KarenDior #NectarineBallroom #GayArt #GayDrawing #TransArt #TransCartoon #QueerArt #QueerDrawing #Nightclubbing
#Nude #Porn #Markers #Sketchbook #Gay #GayPorn #Trans #TransPorn #Queer #QueerPorn #PornStar #JoeyStefano #PlacesIdRatherBe

#DearDiary, I suggested to Todd that we go to eat at the Japanese place down the hill. I figured that the sushi restaurant would be a cleaner, healthier dinner option for us, rather than the fried and fatty food we’ve been consuming way too much of lately. Todd responded enthusiastically, “That sounds really great! There’s a dish there I love. It’s called Sapporo.” #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT…

#DearDiary, Places I’d Rather Be. L’Amour. And I’d like to be there with Peter Steele. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT… #PeterSteele #TypeONegative #Carnivore #LAmour #RockArt #RockGod #HeavyMetal #GothMetal #GothArt #GothGuy #GuysWithLongHair #GuysWithTattoos #GuysWithMuscles #BigCock #BigDick #GayArt #GayPorn #GayVampire #Lestat #LostBoys #PlayGirl #MaleNude #Vampire #VampireArt

#DearDiary, It felt like we were still moving even though we were permanently out of Manhattan over a year ago, but the dust eventually settled. There was free mental space all of a sudden once the big stuff was finally under control. And I had a little freak out. Todd sat me down and calmed me down. He slowly explained to me that he was thinking we needed to make some little escapes from time to time. San Francisco was the obvious, but perhaps LA every now and then. Maybe even Vegas. Fun road trips and quick plane rides to change it up. Big city fixes. I have been missing something. Ninety-five percent of the time I’m blessed and grateful, but every now and then I crave the edgy. The gritty. The sleazy. The dark and/or funky. Gay stuff. Artistic stuff. Punk stuff. Something wild. Our trip to SF last month was our first healing journey, and it did wonders. We’ve got another mini vacation planned for the end of October and I can’t fucking wait. Todd was right. He gets it. He gets me. Places I’d Rather Be. CBGB’s. And I’d like to be there with Richard Hell. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT #RichardHell #RichardHellAndTheVoidoids #Voidoids #CBGB #CBGBs #Punk #PunkRock #PunkClub #PunkDrawing #PunkCartoon #GraffitiArt #Graffiti #Markers #Sketchbook #Smithereens #GabbaGabbaHey

#DearDiary, Local News. The vampire rockstar Logan Mason is performing tonight at Lucy’s On Lighthouse In Pacific Grove, 5-7 PM. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT… #LoganMason #LoganMasonMusic #LucysOnLighthouse #PacificGrove #Goth #GothArt #GothDrawing #GothCartoon #GothRock #GothMusic #GothGuy #GothGuys #LostBoys #Vampire #VampireArt #HairMetal #MaleBeauty #MaleNude #Nude #GuysWithLongHair #JimMorrison #NoOneHereGetsOutAlive

#DearDiary, August 31, 2024. Todd and I took the final flight to our new life in California. I cobbled together my remaining credit card points for two one way Alaska Air business class tickets, and we never looked back. August 31, 2025. We celebrated one year out west and twenty years together at the Old Fisherman’s Grotto on Fisherman’s Wharf in Monterey, a very cool restaurant recommended to us by a very cool local gentleman who happens to be 93 years old. After our meal, the restaurant’s host presented Todd and me with gold “locals only” VIP cards. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT… #QueerArt #GayArt #GayDrawing #GayCartoon #MaleBeauty #MaleNude #Nude #Neptune #Poseidon #Diary #Memoir #Memories #Muscles #Beard #GreekGod #BigFish #BigCock #Californication

#DearDiary, More new friends in San Francisco… Brandon. At The Edge. Saturday, 09/11/25. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT… @thequeermagneto.bsky.social #BrandonFrost #TheEdge #TheEdgeBar #EdgeBarSF #GayArt #GayCartoon #GayDrawing #GayBar #GayClub #Castro #SFNightlife #SanFrancisco #GoGoBoy #QueerArt #QueerDrawing #QueerCartoon #MaleBeauty #PostcardsFromTheEdge

#DearDiary, We booked a hotel and hired a pet sitter and scheduled a pre-show dinner reservation before driving two and a half hours to San Francisco to see Dale Bozzio and Missing Persons perform live at the DNA Lounge Friday night. When we arrived at the club, there was a color xerox flyer taped to the door saying the concert was cancelled. Although the Missing Persons disappointment totally sucked shit and getting a ticket refund proved to be a surprisingly complicated and frustratingly shady endeavor, Todd and I still managed to have a fantastic, fun filled 3 day weekend in the great city of San Francisco. We even made some new friends. Max. At the Powerhouse. Sunday, 09/12/25. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT #PowerHouse #SFPowerhouse #GayArt #GayCartoon #GayDrawing #GayBar #GayClub #MrSLeather #Fetish #GayFetish #GayPornStar #PupPlay #GayPup #PupMask #LeatherAndDenim #MaleBeauty #Woof

#DearDiary, Missing Persons, part 3. When the Kickers of Ass finally dropped me off at my house after the party, Dagmar was polishing off a cigarette in the shadows of her parents’ carport. Dagmar and I spent the next couple of hours dancing to records the Kickers of Ass would have scorned and ridiculed. Thompson Twins and Altered Images. The Selecter. Nowhere Girl and Upstairs At Eric’s. Despite the fact that Dagmar had an infant brother and a crabby 10th grade sister, her parents never gave us any hassle about playing music at 3 AM in their living room. Dagmar and I had these after hours New Wave dance parties fairly regularly, but I remember then and there on that particular night coming to the conclusion that this—whatever this was—was what I wanted and needed my future to be. As opposed to something I did in the dark, separate from my so-called real life. May, 1984–on my way home after freshman year of college to Kansas where Mom and Dad had moved the previous October—I was surprised and delighted to discover Missing Persons in the flesh looking at magazines and buying snacks in a Logan Airport newsstand. Dale was head to toe leopard print MTV super fox glamour perfection. Leopard print spandex and leopard print stiletto boots. Leopard print luggage. Leopard print chiffon wrapped around her delicate silver screen made up face like a punk dream Catwoman Norma Desmond. As the rest of the band observed sternly, beautiful Dale gave me a glossy lipped, high voltage movie star smile when I nervously started up a conversation that included an autograph request. “To Dagmar,” the goddess cheerfully and conspiratorially inscribed on a postcard. Sometimes, when we’d be lying on the beige wall to wall carpet too tired to dance any longer, Dagmar would turn to me with a wicked grin and confide, “You know what, Bill? I’ve got L.A. fever.” And I knew just what she meant. Even though I had never actually been there before. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT…

#DaleBozzio #MissingPersons #NewWave #Punk #RockStar #RockArt #PunkArt #NewWaveArt #80s #Eighties #Memoir #Memories #Markers #MTV #LeopardPrint #RhymeAndReason #SurrenderYourHeart #Give #Heroes #PostcardsFromTheEdge

#DearDiary, Missing Persons, part 2. I bought the Missing Persons 45 of “Words” because I loved the picture sleeve of the band posing all glam punk future sex with a bunch of artfully arranged mannequins. The set up was hot to me. Like, I was into all of them. The guys too. Like, not more than Dale, but certainly at least almost as much as Dale. The lyric “What are words for when no one listens anymore?” was the senior quote submitted for the yearbook by Dom Macy, a hulking and big boned yet gentle and wallflowery boy who was in my fifth period study hall. Dom’s choice was found hilarious by the entirety of the student body as Dom Macy possessed a terrible stutter. There were sixty-four graduating seniors in my class, yet Dom’s social epitaph is the only yearbook quote I can remember forty-two years later. Respect. At a parents away house party right before or right after graduating, Alison confronted me in front of a large group of semi-inebriated classmates about my friend Dagmar, who Alison had never met. Only I knew Dagmar. Alison was in an unexplainable rage, pink-faced and spitting as she hissed that Dagmar was a lesbian. Alison accused Dagmar of all sorts of second hand abominations, scraps of misinformed gossip that were totally delicious and inspiring to me. Dagmar was a fucking icon. But I hated all the glassy-eyed and wet-mouthed faces staring and bobbing in solidarity at Alison’s shrill indignations. Judging. And I remember nobody coming to my defense. Not even redheaded and good-natured Alan, whose mocking and mincing little brother Timo—the awkward sourpuss behind the Casio keyboard of a dive bar Factory Records poseur wannabe haircut dance band—was the vicious cunt churning the shit rumor mill to begin with. To be continued. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT…

#DaleBozzio #WarrenCuccurullo #TerryBozzio #MissingPersons #NewWave #Punk #RockStars #RockArt #PunkArt #NewWaveArt #80s #Eighties #MTV #Memoir #Memories #Markers #Mannequins #Words

#DearDiary, Missing Persons, part 1. Our friend Syd texted a Spotify link to a genius 2020 Missing Persons cover of “California Dreaming.” I’ve always preferred the Missing Persons version of everything, truth be told. At the very end of 1982 or maybe the very beginning of 1983, I saw Missing Persons live at the Tampa Theatre in Tampa, Florida where I lived my senior year of high school. The Kickers of Ass—my long banged and hard bargained, imports only Joy Division/Cure/Echo And The Bunnymen centric school crew—did not deem the Hollywood rockstar fabulosity of Dale Bozzio and the boys worthy of their sulky attention in the slightest, so I attended the concert with Alison Lewis, a way less edgy but beautiful-ish in a preppie norm way classmate who was soon to become the full time girlfriend of the redheaded and good-natured Alan Fitzgerald, not a Kickers of Ass but probably my best friend at the time. Alison had freckles and well-groomed Brooke Shields hair and wore a white cotton off one shoulder mini dress when she picked me up in her brown Camaro to go have dinner at Perkins’ Steak and Shake before the concert. I clearly remember being very aware throughout the entirety of the evening that this was in no way a date even though it felt like one by definition. I am not sure to this day if this was a sad thing for me or a total relief. It might or might not be interesting to include that Alison and Alan went on to college together and returned to Tampa to get married and have kids and do whatever else happens happily or not happily ever after. I was turned on to Missing Persons by my next door neighbor Dagmar X, whose taste was impeccable and whose New Wave coolness levels were off the charts. Dagmar was equal parts glamour and danger, and her teenage adventures in Los Angeles and back home on the edge were the stuff of dreams and legends. Dagmar, who went to night school, was my hero and a true grownup in my eyes, even though we were exactly the same age. Dagma…

#DearDiary in ALT TEXT…

#DaleBozzio #MissingPersons #NewWave #Punk #RockStar #RockArt #PunkArt #NewWaveArt #80s #Eighties #Markers #Memories #Memoir #MTV #SpringSessionM

🩷🩷🩷🐈‍⬛

#DearDiary, Remembrance of things past: Falling in love at Basic Plumbing. #TrueConfessions by #BillMullen

#DearDiary available in ALT TEXT…

#BasicPlumbing #QueerArt #QueerHistory #GayHistory #GayLife #GayDrawing #GayCartoon #GayArt #GaySex #GloryHole #SexClub #UndergroundArt #Cruising #Comix #PunkArt #Diary #Memoir #Memories #Markers #Sketchbook #TMI