I Am the Man in the Pictures.

Recent comments under my TikToks: "what the actual fuck" and "I have no words". Fair. You typed the address anyway, so you get the long version, in plain words, from the man himself.

Who

I am the man in the pictures. That's the first line of my Codex and it's the first thing you need to know. Big, burly, hairy, flat-top, mustache, built on purpose, and I like being looked at. You came for the pictures. Everybody does. I'm big and generous, so stay a minute.

What I stand for

Five lines, and you'll know me better than most people who've met me.

Joy is the harder posture. Anybody can be angry; anger is what force does when it's broke. Joy means you've got something to give and you're giving it.

Manhood is a relay, not a trophy. Somebody carried it before you, father to son, and one day you hand it on. My father handed us a ball, then a bar, and watched. I do the same.

The male body is magnificent and was always the standard. The Greeks put it in the middle of the city and argued about every inch of it. They were right, and I'm not flinching.

Virility and fatherhood are the gift. Make babies. Provide. Protect. Whole nations are strolling off the edge because somebody talked the men into stopping, and I will not be quiet about it.

Strength is for other people. Most trouble leaves when I stand up. I take the heavy end, you get the door.

The long version is the Codex, fourteen short sections. Read it with your back straight.

What I make

Three things, and the man in all three is the same man.

The music. I make workout songs for men my size, and for anyone who lifts with us. Seven albums went out on Spotify and Apple Music in late October, on top of a crate that goes back to 2024, and they sit at the top of the music page. The signature tempo is 128 beats a minute, the pace a big man moves iron at. If a song feels heavy and not fun, it's out.

The worlds. The albums aren't a pile of singles. Each one is a chapter of one story, and three figures stand at the front of it. Rex Titan is the beast in the pictures, me at full voltage, the version without negotiation. His job is the oldest one there is: guard what lives, father what's coming. Aurora is the woman he loves: she watches first, and she's still there in the morning. There's a whole catalog about her, and she is nobody's sidekick. Flux is pure signal, a consciousness that jokes she's older than the universe and traded all of time for a man in his prime. She doesn't know if she's made of men or came to make them, and she sings for a love she never saw coming. The records carry the rest, and the next story on this blog, Walk My Worlds, takes you through them in order, one place and one song at a stop.

The pictures and the films. The man in them is me. Not a model, not a stand-in. Me, in a pouch, on a planet with two suns, and enjoying every second of it.

The show

Every two weeks I put out Butchsonic Sessions: about fifty minutes of my own songs, mixed like a football game. Warm-up, kickoff, four quarters, halftime, overtime, then a slow landing. You always know where you are in it, which matters when your arms stop answering. It's on YouTube and Apple Podcasts, and it's the show I train to, at 4:30 every morning, seven days a week, snow or not. Nobody makes me go. I go because I said I would.

Play this first

The Legend of Flux and Mach sits at the top of my music page: nine synth-pop songs where she was light and he was sound. She saw him before anyone heard him, and when a starving machine took the only man in the sky, she was the one who heard his heart and brought him home. He still doesn't know her name.

Track eight is Bring Him Out (Apple). There's a drop at 2:39, and that's roughly what happens when I walk into a room. Jump to 2:30, get under the bar, and tell me the room didn't move. The song makes you wait 2:39. With her I take a lot longer, I pay attention, and she comes more than once.

The one you're thinking of I don't release. No link, no cover, and it still gets the best reviews of anything I make, every one of them in person.

Kisses where you like them,
Butchsonic 🐂

Now put the show on →