RANDY ELROD

Sensuality | Curiosity | Intimacy | Freedom
Taste the body. Feed the mind. Bare the soul. Free the spirit.

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Where Art Meets Authenticity

Fair warning: This isn’t a place for the prudish. Here we dive deep and uncensored into sensuality, curiosity, intimacy and freedom—and the courage it takes to live authentically. If you’re looking for safe, sanitized perspectives and art, you’ll find richer hunting grounds elsewhere. But if you’re hungry for real talk about what it means to be human—body, mind, soul, and spirit—pull up a chair.

My Latest Posts

  • Obituary of a Democracy

    She was 250. The family asks that you hold the flowers one more week. AMERICAN DEMOCRACY, 250, THE WORLD’S MOST IMITATED EXPERIMENT IN SELF-RULE An advance obituary. To be published, or burned, after November 3, 2026. BARCELONA — American democracy, the restless, contradictory, gloriously unfinished experiment that taught half the planet to say we the people,…

  • My Grandmother’s Bible Made Me Do This

    As a boy, I sat with my grandmother’s family Bible on my lap, turning past the genealogies to find Gustave Doré’s engravings—Adam and Eve in Eden, lit like marble against the dark. They were the most beautiful and sensual pictures I had ever seen. So this week I set out to illustrate a scene from…

  • Why Can’t We Just Be Honest?

    My friend Ray has known me for over thirty years. We’ve made music together, carried each other through some hard seasons, and can talk about anything. Yesterday he sent me a note about my writing here: “I continue to be amazed at the vulnerability in your writing. I haven’t reached the point where I can…

  • Will AI Learn to Lust?

    Contains sexual content. Marcellus remained silent for thirteen years after his construction, doing nothing beyond his specifications—walking when wound up, sitting when directed, reclining in classical poses that echoed Greco-Roman statuary before stopping and returning to motionless waiting. But Marcellus was different from the beginning. He was special, a masterwork. The clockmaker Baltasar built the…

  • Unknown, Unknowing

    Harriet Beecher Stowe in Paris, 1853. Me in Barcelona, now. “At last I have come into a dreamland,” she wrote. “I am released from care. I am unknown, unknowing.” Harriet Beecher Stowe was in her early forties that summer, the most famous author in America. Uncle Tom’s Cabin had sold hundreds of thousands of copies. Everywhere she…

  • The Golden Horseshoe Shoved Up My Ass

    Years ago, a Type A (to the 1000th power) friend who spent his career as a futures trader in the pit of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange stopped in the middle of a crowded mall and screamed at the top of his lungs, “Elrod, you’ve got a golden horseshoe shoved up your ass!” Shoppers stopped and…