Goat Fucking and Other Atrocious Acts

I don't think that goat fucking is inherently wrong.  I'd never do it myself, but I have no problem with those who choose to.

See here's the thing.  Goats don't have the same socially imbued attitudes towards sex that we do.  They don't have any moral hangups.  They aren't married.  They don't attach sex to sin, or corruption.  They don't attach sex to personal value.  The goat doesn't think it's "wrong".  You cannot steal a goats chastity.  You can't make it feel bad about itself.  You can't make it feel the need for a long cry in a hot shower afterwards. You can't fuck a goat, and expect the goat might possibly wake up the next morning with regret.

Now if a person is trying to fuck a goat, and the goat kicks him in the nuts, well...dude had it coming...for trying to fuck a goat, but if the goat doesn't have any objections...well...

I personally have never been drawn to any type of animal other than my own.  In fact as far as sexual attraction goes, I'm about as vanilla as they come.  Entirely members of my own species.  Almost but not quite entirely members of the opposite gender.  When you think about what a huge and diverse planet we live on, you begin to realize that I'm really limiting my options.  Truth is, I'm pretty okay with that.  On the other hand, who am I to judge those who decide to try new things?

Much like the goat, I personally have no hang ups about sex.  Well maybe just a couple.  I'll get to those in a minute.

First I'm going to go somewhere that may make you a little uncomfortable.  I opened with goat fucking intentionally.

It's the litmus test for the rest of this little blog.

If any of the goat fucking bit made you squirm.  Made you uncomfortable.  Made you angry.

STOP READING NOW!!!

Those old Greek bastards we look up to so much...you know, the thinkers and such, were a bunch of boy fuckers.  There was a relatively prevalent idea that women were for babies, and boys were for fun.  This was not a taboo.  In fact, it was commonly accepted, and to some degree...expected.  To our knowledge those pretty young things were not traumatized.  They were not scarred for life.  They were not shamed or shunned.

Of course if Old Man Socrates were to so brazenly try that in today's western culture, we might...I dunno...make him drink hemlock or something.

A decade or so ago...when I was in college, there was a young lad that roamed the hallways of the theatre department.  He was probably thirteen or fourteen, but certainly no older than that.  He was the son of one of the professors there, so he was around often.  He was also adorable.  You know, that hair...those eyes.  Just...well...pretty.  And charming to boot.  You kinda wanted to kick him, but you couldn't cause he was too damn sweet.

All the girls loved him.  I know for a fact my then wife harbored a little crush.  I also know for fact that many of the other girls in the department did as well.  It was a little bit funny, a little bit bizarre.  Now I can't say with any degree of certainty that the girls were fetishizing this kid.  I can't tell you that he had become some little boy toy sex object/fantasy.  But I can say that the girls were not entirely innocent either.

All fun and games right?  I mean, really...it was all harmless.  No one got hurt.

I can't imagine how different things would have been, if it would have been a 13 or 14 year old girl, and all the guys were acting...EXACTLY the same way the girls in the department acted.  I can guarantee it would not have been considered fun and games.

Oh boy.  Here we go.  Now we're getting there.  The part where you may actually change the way you feel about me.

I don't think it would have necessarily been wrong if one...or more...or any...or all of those girls had enjoyed every imaginable erotic pleasure with that kid.

Granted, he wasn't "The Age of Consent".
He was certainly capable of making a consentual decision.
I also don't think it would have necessarily made any of the girls a "sexual predator"
I don't think he would have been a victim.
I don't think they would have been criminals.

I also feel the same if all things considered, it was all reversed.

Since the time of Socrates and all of his boy buggering buddies, we have had about six thousand years of social conditioning.  We have attached certain attitudes (very strongly attached) toward sex.  We have associated it with religion.  With self esteem.  With power.  With personal value.  With shame.  With invented morality.  With a whole shit ton of things that our Greek forbearers never really considered.

In other words we've had six thousand years to become civilized.

We have a cultural problem.
There are a LOT of people who like to have sex with kids.
Men and women alike.
Boys and girls alike.

We need to address this problem.  We must if we are ever to solve it.  We absolutely HAVE to talk about it.  And I mean talk about it.  Not just condemn.  Not simply judge.  We need to get into the uncomfortable parts of it.  We need to stop closing our eyes, plugging our ears, and singing la la la la la.

It is NOT unnatural to be attracted to youth.  In fact...it is very VERY natural.

I feel I need to state here, that I'm not justifying anything.
I personally have about as much interest in having sex with a little kid, as I do in having sex a goat.  Which is to say... no interest at all.

But we have to start being honest.
We have created a blanket rule on how young is too young, but I think we have to admit that blanket has a LOT of holes in it.

I also have nieces and nephews.  If I ever knew of anyone hurting any of them, in any fashion, and I had the means and wherewithal, I would without hesitation visit grievous and bodily harm upon that person.  But we always say that don't we.  We always qualify it.  So allow me to not.  If I ever knew of anyone hurting ANY child, in any fashion, and I had the means and wherewithal, I would...well...you know where this is going.  But we always say that don't we.  We always qualify it.  So let me not.  If I saw anyone hurting ANYONE, in any fashion...and you know where it goes from there.

I don't know if there is an age of consent.  I know we've created one.  I don't know that having sex with someone beneath that age is necessarily wrong.  I don't have the same value/moral system as everyone else.  I ABSOLUTELY don't have the value/moral system that our government or religions tell me I'm supposed to have.

I know this.  Of all the things I've been told.  Of all the things I've been instructed.  Of all the things I've read.  The only REAL thing that I know to be wrong, truly know, deep down in my non existent soul, is to intentionally bring harm to another human being.  In any form.  Physical. Sexual. Psychological.  Even financial.

We have invented laws, and rules, and moral codes, and congratulated ourselves for being civilized because of them.

Those laws, rules and codes don't mean anything.
Each person will follow AND break them according to his own conscience and desires.  All of us...every single one of us, will pick and choose the ones we like, and don't like.

Laws do not make us civilized.
We are not at all civilized.
Unless we choose to be.

Civilization can only happen when we choose to live with each other, without harming each other...not because the laws make it so, but because we actually prefer to live that way of our own volition.

We must open the dialogue.
We HAVE to talk about the things that make us uncomfortable.
We need to stop condemning,,,and start exploring.
We need to ask questions.
We need to not be afraid of the answers.

I think we can be better...
but in order to become so...
we must be brave
we must be honest
we must

be.

Now if you'll excuse me...

I've got a goat to go not fuck.

Split into two

Last night I started a new blog.  I do this now and then.

Some night long ago, 2002 or 03 maybe, my friend Frank, (who also has a blog that you should absolutely read) told me of this new thing called a blog that he was trying.

I'd never heard of such a thing.  He explained it, and I was instantly intrigued, and a little intimidated by the whole idea.  What?  Write stuff that people can read?  Whatever I want?  No form?  No format?

It all seemed so big.

Since then I haven't really stopped blogging.  Oh I've had slow periods.

I've got blogs floating all over the place out in internetland.  I don't even remember where some of them are.  Just...out there.  Going unnoticed.  Floating in digital purgatory, waiting to be noticed...or something.

I've been part of blog groups.

I read probably twice as many as I write.
I voyeur my friends through their written words.  All the time.
I really love how uninhibited we become.  The things we choose to share.
I love getting to know you better.

I've had this habit in the past of starting a new blog, and then forgetting the old one, and then the new one becomes what the old one was.  I actually did that a LOT in the beginning.  I tried.  I explored.  I looked for a voice, then a new one, then a new one.

I think the first blog I really settled into was my Myspace blog.  I would probably still be doing that one, but circumstances beyond my control (Myspace becoming completely irrelevant) made that impossible.  FB, for all it's little apps and games and whatnots, never really did get behind the blog, and that always pissed me off.

So I came back to where I started.  My very first blog ever was on blogger.  This is not that one.  I sometimes go back and look at it though.  Fun times.

This one you're reading now, I am absolutely devoted to.  It is my playground.  It is my joy.  It's my catharsis.  My therapy.  My place where I get to go and have sex with words.

It's not always a great result...but for me, it's always a good time.

So a few days ago, a friend of mine posted on her timeline something about small boobs.  Me...being who I am...saw a post about boobs.  Of course I commented.  It came up in the thread of comments that years ago  had written an ode to small breasts.

I use the word "ode" VERY lightly.  Mostly I had written an appreciation blog, and titled it Ode.
It took me a while to find it.  It was posted on a blog site I hadn't used in years.  I quickly created a new blogger page, and put it there, simply so I could share it with her.

She seemed to like it, and that made me glad.  Even though after having read it again after so long, I saw all the re-writes I wanted to do to make it better.

At first that was the end of it.  I had created a throwaway space, simply to share something with a friend.

Yesterday, in one of my FB groups, the topic of Polyamory came up.  In the comments thread I answered a couple questions...but I always felt limited.  I'm not a fan of creating a wall of text in a comment.  That's what I have this for.

(Light Bulb)

I had just created a new blog, where I had left something for what polite society calls "Mature Audiences"  (I hate that term btw)

Now I had something in the "Mature Audiences" category I wanted to write...and by sheer coincidence... a place to put it.

Things started falling into a weird sort of place.  I often contemplate writing more adult themed pieces, but I never want to leave them here.  Sometimes I will, but I find I have a lot of thoughts, and I don't want this place to get locked into a theme.  I love the openness of what i have here...where it can be anything.  I also don't want people who read this blog, to start thinking of it thematically.  I don't want to become topically predictable here.  I'm sure I have been...or can be...but it's still my desire for the place.

So my friend Frank.  He started me on this whole thing.  He is in fact my longest time blog follower (and I'm very likely one of his), knowing my penchant for starting up new blogs, expressed his concern.  I've done this before.  It is quite valid.  That I may forsake one for the other...or turn one into the other rendering it superfluous.  I will extend every effort to make that not so.  This one is my me.  This is who I am in all my digital naked glory.

The other one I really do want to make topic specific.  Something I've rarely tried, and never with any great success.

Here's the thing though.
Once upon a time...here on this very blog...I wrote one about boobs.  It was done because someone suggested I should...and I did.  According to my blog tracker, that blog, without even the slightest competition, has been viewed in numbers nearly tripling the blog with the next highest number of views.

I posted a blog here last night.  I posted just the second blog ever at the other space last night.  My other blog has more than double the views, even though this one is far more established.

Face it.  People love reading about all things sexual.  It's a simple fact.  I extended no effort to promote the other blog at all.  Since it's a topic I don't necessarily want every person on my friends list to know about, I announced it in a limited friends list.  STILL...it had more than double the hits as this much more established, and followed blog which I announced to my entire group of friends.

I think that says something.
It also encourages me to write for a larger audience.
We'll see what happens.

I know this.  This one...isn't going anywhere, and will always be whatever the fuck I'm thinking or feeling when I sit down to type it all out.

The other one is as much an exercise in topical discipline, as it is something that I think may also turn out to be a little bit of fun.

Also...I may lose interest in that one.
Also...like always...I appreciate feedback, and comments, and well...suggestions on what you would like me to write about...

In the end, I'll always have drasagoblog.

but for now, I also have

For What It Isn't

Choose your own adventure

I curious.

If you could know precisely when and how you were going to die, would you want to?
What if knowing changed nothing?  You could not in any way change the outcome of events.  What if your future were as written as your past?  Would you still want to know?  What if you found out you were going to die tomorrow?  What if you found out you were going to die a very long, slow painful bedridden death in sixty years?  What if you found out you were going to be the first human to achieve actual immortality?  Would you still want to know?

My dad's high school best friend knew the exact day and time he would die.  The judge told him.

What about love?
What about money?
What about success?

Have you ever had a vision?
A portentous dream?
Deja vu?

Shivered when the black cat passed in front of you?

I used to own a black cat.  That fucker would go out of his way to pass in front of me.  He was like a goddamn FED EX delivery man, bringing the potential of bad luck every time I stood up to go to the bathroom

Once upon a time, people used to cut open cats, spill out their guts on the floor, stretch out their intestines, and use that as means to tell farmers whether or not their crops would yield abundance that year.

Last night I had The Actors Nightmare.  This is not entirely uncommon.  It happens.  You've probably had it too, or some variation on it.  For those who don't know, The Actors Nightmare is the dream where you suddenly have to appear on stage for some reason.  You don't know the lines, the blocking, or what you're supposed to do once you ARE on stage...but you must go and perform.  The audience is waiting.

In my dream last night it was a musical. I didn't know the songs.  I didn't know the choreography.  It was also an all woman ensemble, much like The Taffetas.  Yes I had to wear a pink dress.  The entire experience was horrifying.

As I've mentioned, I've had this dream (well not this one specifically, but The Actors Nightmare) many times in my life.  Used to be I took it as a sign of bad things to come.

I woke up this morning later than I should have.  My alarm didn't go off.  Already off to a bad start.  Since I was running late, I rushed through my morning routine, and ran out the door,  forgetting my headphones.  I had to go the day without the music in my head that so soothes the savage inner beast.  Yup...bad day indeed.

Except, really...it wasn't.  Once I got out the door, it was pretty much like any other day.  Nothing too incredibly bad, and nothing approaching greatness.  Just a standard day.  My dream did in fact not portend any certain doom, or even gloom for that matter.

In the movie Cold Mountain, Nicole Kidman has a dream, that if you know anything about signs/omens kinda gives away the end of the film.  As soon as she had that dream in the move, I knew exactly how it was going to end.  It didn't ruin the movie for me, but there was certainly no dramatic build up from that moment on.

We have, built into our collective unconscious, a need to make meaning out of things.  Anything to bring order to the chaos.  We need things to matter.  We need something, sometimes, to use as a foundation for our hope.  Something to build off of.  Some sort of reinforcement from the outside, that things will be better.

I have one friend who claims there is no such thing as coincidence.
I have another that knows for certainty that all people come into our lives for a reason.
Most of my immediate and extended family is assured that all things serve God's greater purpose.

All these ideas lend themselves so easily to some sort of higher plan.  Not always or necessarily "God's plan", but certainly SOME plan.
Some course
Some grand scheme that we aren't aware of.

If there IS a plan...it stands to reason then, that we can get some glimpse OF that plan.

If it IS God's plan then surely he has left guidance.
If it IS the Universe's plan, then surely the stars can guide us.
If Nature is our mother, surely she has left something here on this planet to point is in a direction of truth.

Or maybe we're simply filling a void of understanding, with a particular kind of hope.

Over the course of this day I had three different friends, none of whom know each other, make a similar type comment.  Each of them took two random events, with the loosest, if any type of connection to each other, forced a connection through the most tenuous line of reasoning, and called it an omen.

I wonder if this isn't our nature.
I wonder if the need to connect is so ingrained, that creating arbitrary connections, happens with just the slightest of thought.

I wonder a lot of things really.

If my cynicism is showing...well...that's not by accident.

You see I don't believe that god has a plan.
I don't believe the stars can guide us.
I think coincidence happens all the time.
I don't believe that everyone comes into our lives for a reason.

I think that we allow people into our lives.  We form emotional connections that DO seem larger than sum of both parts, but on a planet littered with near 7 billion people, I just can't assume that most of the common interactions are part of some greater scheme.

I think sometimes we want the romance of it so badly, that we create the romance out of whatever we can.

Here's the thing though.

I do believe in magic.
I do.
I do.

Let me restate.

I don't believe in magic.
I believe in its necessity.

I believe in the NEED for magic.
I do.
I do.

By nature of who I am, I will ALWAYS look for the man behind the curtain.

But there's a moment, between the time the magic happens, and the discovery of how, that is pure, and absolute bliss.

Maybe there are people who really do...probably...but I personally don't actually know anyone who 100% absolutely, believes that their horoscope, or tarot, or fortune cookie, or even the little signs and omens they invent...are really going to happen, or come to fruition...but...

there's always a certain satisfaction when they do.
So satisfying in fact, that we'll often go through great lengths, perform the greatest feats of mental olympics to make it so.

And I think that's fantastic.

Cause for me, life without magic is much like a new coloring book.  It's simply the lines of pictures, without any color.

Give me Oz any day...and all the signs to get me there, and omens to warn of danger on the path.

I don't have to believe,
to love every damn bit of it.

This has all been part of an ongoing blogsperiment with my friend Deena.  This is a shared topic, and I hope you'll all share it with us.  I personally LOVE her words, and invite you to read them here.

Follow the omens

KALLISTI

I forgot to light my incense.  Hold on, I'll be right back.

Much better.  I know incense isn't everyone's bag.  I also know that over time it has acquired a certain stigma.  Associated mostly with new agers or pot smokers.  That's fine.  To each their own I say.  I am neither...really.  I simply love the way it makes my room smell.  Always have.  Always.

My dad didn't care for it much.  Mostly he said the smoke and ash bothered him.  I can respect that.  Not enough to not burn it though.  He never said I couldn't.  He just didn't like it much.

It has been said that every person who crosses your path in life has some impact.  I think that's neat.  I think it's a nice sentiment.  I also think its total bullshit.

I know I know.  There's me.  That rascally cynical shit ruining the fun for everyone.  However, bear with me if you will.  I am once again, as per usual, going to take the scenic route.

For starters, a small experiment.  Think of every single person you've ever met.  Think of their face.  Think of their name.  Don't miss anybody.  Remember them all.

Did it work?

I'm guessing not.

Let's narrow it down a bit shall we?

Try it again with every single person in your first grade class.

I can in all likelihood accurately assume that unless you were home schooled, or have some phenomenal memory, you failed.  You missed someone.

How about your first crush.
Of course that one was easy...but...but
How about your third crush.

I come from a rather large extended family.  I can't even tell you the names of all of my cousins.
My graduating class was somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 people.  I can't right now tell you the names of everyone I went to school with for twelve years.  Most of them, maybe...if I really stop and think about it. Which I won't.  At the time I could of course, but a couple of decades have separated me from the memory.

I'm not going to belabor the point.  I think you get it.

Don't get me wrong, I truly do appreciate the idea that everyone is that important.  The truth is, I'm not saying they aren't.  I hold life in absolute value.  Every single person is somebody, to somebody.  I simply can't pretend that everyone is somebody to me.

I like to think that anyone could be.  Given enough time.  Contact.  Information.  Exchange of ideas, thoughts, laughs, tears, and values, and yes...anyone could be that someone, but not everyone is.  That's just silly.

Contrary to that specific thought, idea, or sentiment...not everyone I've come in contact with has changed me.  In fact, very very few people that I'm incredibly close to have actually changed me.  Some have.  A few.  Certainly not many.  Certainly not all.

I also completely understand the idea on a more butterfly effect/chaos theory level.

 I have a very personal, very intimate relationship with mistress chaos.  I know her well.  I know the color of her hair.  I know the taste of her morning breath.

I have more than once caved in to her naked embrace.  She and I are often brief but fiery fornicators.  I have felt her mouth against mine, and her knife in my back.

I have her tattooed on my arm.

I know all of her unrules.

So yes, I understand the the most casual contact with a stranger passing in the hallway can affect the course of my entire day, in turn affecting my entire week, month. life.  I know this principle.  I understand this discourse.

It's also unknowable. Indeterminable.  Xfactors.  It can not be proven, touched, seen, or measured.  It is intangible, and therefore cannot be stated as fact.  Ergo once again...not every person I meet is going to have impact on my life.

I've mentioned before, a few times...a LOT...to the point of tedium, that I have a kind of disability.  Inability?  I don't know.  I don't really emotionally connect to a lot of things.  People.  Ideas.  Especially on a social level.

I was at a party last weekend where this was made very apparent once again.  A delightful young lad introduced himself to me.  We went through the introductory routine, and then I moved on.  Later he approached me again.  He very blatantly made some incredibly astute personal observations about me.  Turns out he's intimately aware of the type of person I am, by coincidence that his best friend on this planet is the same type of person.  It was intrusive.  It was fascinating.  It was a fun conversation.

This person didn't change my life.  He didn't have much of an impact overall.  He did make a party where I only knew one other person...a little bit more bearable.  That night I left the party, went home, went to bed, and didn't really give it another thought til just now.

Maybe I'm wrong about all of that.  Maybe for most people, all people really do have a stronger effect.  I'm not unaware of the fact that I am missing some essential life elements.  I just... I dunno...  I don't think so.

However, in the event that I am completely mistaken, allow me to personalize this all a bit.

I have forgotten more people than I'll ever really know.  The great majority of my personal interactions are forgotten, almost as I'm having them.  I am never making an intentional attempt to be a dick.  Almost every person I'm close with is because they are the ones who took the necessary steps to get close.  Not all.  Sometimes also, simple casual events created my relationships.  Theatre for the most part, but even there I am close to a VERY few of the actors I've worked with, when I compare to ALL of the actors I've worked with.

I simply don't let people in.  The ones that are?  Well...you snuck in.  You somehow...someway...got past all of my defenses.  Broke through my barriers.  And I so deeply thank you for that.

So here's the crux of it all.  (Told you I was taking the long way.)  You see there are people in my life, and you just may be one of them, who don't mean the world to me. You ARE the world to me.  I don't love often, or much, but when I do...well...there it is.  You come into my life, and you do change me.  You make me...more me.  You inspire.  You delight.

You come in, you say hello, and you bring your light with you.  Your intelligence, and your dreams.  Your smile.  Sometimes you bring your pain and your frustration, and I love you just as much through that.  Sometimes life gives you to me for a minute.  And sometimes...life takes you away again.  You're never gone though.

We're told to move on.  This is something I just cannot do.  I'm a love for life kind of guy.  I can move forward, but I can't move on, and I think there is a significant difference.  Perhaps it's simply semantics to some, but to me it's night and day.

I am haunted by all I have loved.  All I do love.
I am selfish.  The time I do have with you is never...never enough.  For this I taught myself how to stop time. I have learned to make my mind a camera.  I have learned to paint you in happiness.  I can't remember much of anything, but I'll never forget what it's like to touch you.  I'll never forget the sound of your voice.  And I'm not talking to just one of you right now.  I'm talking to all of you.  If you have touched me...I remember it with absolute perfection.  I hope to never make you feel uncomfortable, but I also want you to know that to me, you are poetry.  You are art.  You are the best part of being human.  To me.  For me.

You make me want to never die.

When I first started tonight, I was as always distracted.  I was trying to find my music.  I was trying to find my center.  I was reading other pages.  Other blogs.  I read a new post of one of my favorites.

My friend Deena posted a new blog tonight, and I would be remiss if I didn't mention that what she wrote honestly influenced where this blog went tonight.  They are not the same...by any means...but you may see similar themes.  She says some of these same ideas...but in my opinion much better.  If you don't or haven't read her words...well...please do.  It's worth it.  I'll even make it easy for you.

A series of goodbyes with stolen moments

I don't deny that everyone may be important.  IS important to someone else...but for me...fuck everyone else.

It's you I love.

Different for guys

I'm a jeans and tshirt sort of guy.  Typically.  Currently I'm more of a jeans and thermals and thermals and hoodie and beanie sort of guy.  The thought behind my fashion however, remains the same.  As little as possible.

I can't wear watches.  Bracelets.  Jewelry of any sort really.  I can't wear rings.  Even my wedding ring when I was married.  I lost it early on, never found it.  Never replaced it.  Adornments of all types...any type...really bug the shit out of me.

I did have a crystal necklace once.  I really liked it.  I wore it for a couple years.  Not because I had any particular care for "crystal energy" or because I thought it was pretty, or carried any charm or luck.  Nope.  That thing was my trophy.  I wore it as such.

It was the summer before my senior year.  I was at BYU for a huge week long...thingy...event of sorts.  I was there with a couple friends.  My best friend at the time had become quite infatuated with this cute little blond girl.  He had determined that by the end of the week he would have her phone number, mailing address, and the crystal necklace she was wearing.  I thought the whole thing quite ridiculous.  However...I was also young and much more impetuous than I've now become.  Challenge accepted.  While he was plotting, scheming, and working up the nerve to just go talk to her, I didn't hesitate.

I approached her.  Asked her name (which I no longer remember), and initiated conversation.  I asked her questions.  I made her laugh, and laughed at her jokes.  I complimented her necklace, and asked rather rashly if I could have it.  She agreed, but it would cost a kiss.   I paid the price, and dropped the silver chain over my head.  I will never forget the look of combined pain and frustration on my friends face.

The end of the week was a closing event dance.  I got together with her again that night.  I hate baseball.  I hate baseball metaphors.  I also have no idea what physical act constitutes what metaphorical base...but I got to one or another.  It certainly wasn't "the spirit"  I was feeling.  All that talk from all those church leaders about not engaging is sexual activity, sure makes you kinda want to. We agreed that night to NOT exchange numbers or addresses.  We made the youthful romantic ridiculous gesture that the week would serve its own purpose.

I wore that damn necklace every day for the next two or three years.  It was, as previously mentioned, my trophy.  One winter night I was car surfing (yeah it's exactly what you would imagine it is), and fell off the car.  The necklace broke.  After that, I lost interest in wearing it.  Haven't put on another one since.

That story has nothing to do with anything.  Simply something I remembered while bringing up how I don't/can't really wear any type of adornment.

So taking the VERY long way to get to an initial point.  My fashion is nil.  I have none to speak of.  I've been told I clean up rather nice, but I rarely have or take the opportunity.  Cover my naked body with whatever happens to be closest, and I'm good.  When a shirt needs replaced...I buy a new one.  It will also have no particular style.

So yeah.  I'm a jeans and tshirt kind of guy.  If you see me, odds are that's what I'll be wearing.  Or some very slight variation on that theme.

I work in a warehouse where there is no dress code.  No standard uniform.  As long as what I'm wearing doesn't offend someones fragile sensibilities, no one is going to say a word.

Same goes for pretty much everyone there.  We're all pretty much jeans and tshirt people.  At least in the warehouse.

There are also some women who work in the warehouse as well.  Guess what.  Jeans and tshirts.  Or for a lot of them...sweatpants.  Whatever.

So today one of my co-workers comes up to me, (jeans and tshirt) and...I shit you not...starts complaining that the girls there don't take more time to pretty themselves up more.

Oh thou hypocrite.

I wanted to laugh at him.
I wanted to smack him.
I wanted to ask him, what it was about me, that made him think I would care to have that conversation with him.
I simply pointed out to him that until he started wearing a suit and tie to work, he didn't have much room to talk.
His exact words were, "It's different for guys."

I sometimes wish I could punch antiquated misogyny right out of people.

It's different for guys.

I think I live on a different planet than everyone else.  It's my own planet to be sure, and I'm not saying its necessarily a good thing.  I know that mentality exists.  I know it.  I do.

But it's so foreign to me, it a purely academic knowledge.  I forget that people live in that world.  That guys...and unfortunately probably a lot of them...live in an Its Different For Guys sort of world.

You know, until he came up to me with his unwarranted opinions today, I had not given a single thought to how the girls at work should or shouldn't be dressing.  I talk with them.  I work with them.  I'm friendly with them.  I've never thought them more or less attractive based on what they were wearing, or if they had their face on, or their hair did.

FUCK THAT SHIT

Seriously.  Right in its beauty myth ass.

Now I don't consider myself a feminist.  In fact if there is an ist I must label myself as, it would be humanist.  It's conversations like this though, with guys like this, that so hit home, and reinforce why not only does feminism exist, but why it is absofuckinglutely necessary.

I think the most depressing thing to me, about that entire exchange, is that it wasn't some stuck in the 50's slap his secretary on the ass, lost in his generation old guy.  No. That I could have laughed off in an "Oh you relic you..." sort of way.  This was a kid.  Okay...I'm a bit older so perhaps I use that term a little liberally.  Mid twenties something though.  And not even typical frat boy.  Just a guy at work.  Young enough to know better, but...I guess honest enough with his own hypocrisy, to not even realize it as such.  And this was probably one of the most depressing discouraging little things I've experienced for a very long time.

I guess I live so much in my fantasy world, with more enlightened friends, that I forget this mentality not only exists...but has a certain prevalence.  I forget that there are guys out there who in their minds hold women to a certain standard in their own minds.  I forget that they exempt themselves from the same standard simply because during gestation, their other x chromosome grew a tail.  I forget that there are these seriously deluded fucktards that honestly believe they deserve more, for doing less.  I forget that this shit is real.  And sad.  And too a certain degree, very...very...dangerous.

I didn't do to him all the horrible things I imagined doing to him.  I did laugh at him.  I may or may not have told him he was a jackass.  He may or may not have though I was joking.  He laughed with me for a second, as though we were sharing a joke.
He asked if I didn't agree.
I simply told him...dude...there is not a single woman on this planet who is obligated in any single way to do any single thing, to, with, or for you.  Then I went back to work.

I don't think he gets what I meant.

I think he thinks I was the asshole.

This is the kind of guy that routinely refers to women as bitches.  That feels that if he paid for dinner, he's by rights, warranted a blow job.  That will never talk about a date, without mentioning how much it cost.

I marvel at how far we've not evolved.

I think I wasn't born to be a "guy".

Don't get me wrong...I love being male.  I'm even quite fond of many of the "guy" things, but...oh god but...

I'm just NOT that guy.

And I love our differences...but I don't want ANYTHING...

to be "different for guys".

Winter

The ache of our days
is all that remains of the
memory of her.

Words without destination.

I sometimes wonder what we'll do when once we are together again, you and I.  I think we'll have some stories to tell, and conversations to have.  I think there will be laughter.

I think underneath the pleasantries there may be a certain kind of heartbreak.
We'll wonder "what if" a lot.
We won't really talk about it though.
We never do.

I sometimes wonder what we'll talk about when once we are together again, you and I.  I wonder if we'll simply "catch up".  Share the stories that don't matter, and avoid the ones that do.

I wonder that a lot actually.
If maybe it's just me.
Or maybe it's all of us.

Not having the real conversation.

I wonder when we became so polite.
I wonder when we became so afraid.
I wonder when we stopped asking the real questions, not because we didn't want the answers, but simply because we didn't want to seem intrusive.
I wonder if we ever did.

Or maybe the simple laughter is enough.
As maybe it should be.

Maybe the opinion is enough
without the explanation.

Maybe when we travel our own dark roads, we don't want a map.  Or a guide.  Or a companion.

For me...I don't think I push people away so much as...
Simply never really let them in.

Or is that the same thing?

I wonder when we meet again, if we'll make eye contact.
Or hand contact.
Or body contact.
Or emotional contact.

Or if we'll smile,
and nod

and talk about weather...
or whether...

and families
and plans
and who we were
and who we are
without each other
and why that
is such a good thing after all.

I wonder when we meet again, if we'll chase our truths with coffee and cream.
A nicotine dream,
and a pinpoint instant when we will choose silence instead of hope.

Move on
move on
move on they said...

But didn't tell me where to go...
and on felt like
such a boring place.

In the lost summer
we knew our ending would come
without safety nets.

A MUSE me

Tonight I'm wearing blackness as a blanket.  I've turned off the lights.  Taken out my contacts.  Removed the glasses from my face, and live life without sight.

It's kind of refreshing.  It's a point of view I've chosen.  I hate being blind.  I really really do, but the fun thing about it is this...I get to choose when I don't want to see anymore.  Just remove all vision aids from my face...and I don't have to look at a goddamn thing.

I meditate (as I do all things that I do when I'm alone) sans clothes.  I have no training in meditation.  I've never been guided.  I've read a couple books, but beyond that...I have no formal training.  I'm not Buddhist. I'm not searching for zen.  I simply found a way to go into that place that they all talk about.  I don't know what enlightenment is, or even what that really means, but I do know what a light/love explosion is.  I can get that nearly every time.  I created my own form of meditation based on shit I've read, and things I've picked up...and by god it works.  At least it works for me, and since I'm the one doing it...I guess that's enough.

I wonder though if I could become some sort of guru.  Teach this naked meditation practice to other people. It's a two birds trick.  I get to hang out naked with other people...and if I'm really clever, they'll pay me for it.  Now this is actually never going to happen...but it's something to file away in my "makes me happy to think about" file.

So now I'm sitting here.  Post meditative glow.  Blind.  My glasses mere inches away from me, yet I keep not reaching for them.  Still kind of enjoying not being able to see.  Although I do have to hope a little bit, that my fingers are in the right position on the keyboard.  Otherwise this is all going to be just so much gibberish.

So my last three posts here...the Lust/Passion/Romance trio, was an attempt at a bit of a purge.  I'm kind of afraid it didn't work.  I'm either going to have to get more in depth with that shit...or
or
or find another outlet.  I don't know.  I seem to be hanging on to a lot of crap.  I can backburner most of it, but soon enough it's at the front of my brain again, screaming for attention, that in all honesty I feel like I've already given enough to.

Funny how our brain forces priority.  So many other things to think about.  To focus on.  To try.  So many goddamn adventures to have...and I seem stuck in this weird graveyard of my own past.  Don't get me wrong...I'm a huge fan of graveyards, and I'm also pretty fond of my own past...even the shitty parts of it....but if I'm ever going to eventually bury even more ghosts there...I'm going to have to find the fucking exit.  Instead I find myself continually wandering the tombstones of my pain, and laying flowers at the graves of all my loss.

Now I know it's time to get up and go to the dance...but my knees have dirt on them, and I want a shower first...but even before that...I still have to find the gate that gets me out of here...and still...
I'm so very distracted by each new stone I pass on my way out.

That's all so fucking emo morbid, it's rather sickening...but by the same token, it's the best metaphor that comes to my mind right now...so I'm sticking with it.

I think ultimately I'm selfish.  I want what we all want.  What most of us never get.  Only the few.  Only the lucky.  I want closure.  I want fin.   I want to have that thing that finishes beautifully, whatever it was that was begun.

That doesn't happen though.
We all just keep going.

The trick is learning how to invent that ending, using only the raw materials you were given to begin with.  Or maybe that's the trick.  I don't really know...or else I might have done it already.

There's also replacement therapy, but I've always thought that kind of sick.

Hey kid...sorry your dog died...here have a puppy.

Something about that just doesn't sit right with me.  But I guess it works for a lot of people...so who am I to judge.

They say time heals all wounds, but I've known a guy who's been paralyzed from the waist down since high school.  Time hasn't given him his legs back...so, I suppose there's fallacy there as well.

I think the biggest problem is determining desire.  You see, I have no effin idea what I want.  I know all the things I DON'T want...but that doesn't help me find motivation or direction toward anything.  You can't help a guy who doesn't know what he wants...but it is an interesting place to be.

It's a conundrum.  A paradox of sorts.  I wan't this...but I don't want this at all.
I wan't to be social, but as soon as I am I  want to be alone, then as soon as I'm alone again, I wan't company.  How do you find an answer to that?

I feel mostly like I'm on this incredible search, but it's really a search FOR a search.  I'm looking for something, but I don't know what it is...and I can't start looking for it, until I know what it is, but I have to keep looking for it to discover what it is.  Does that make sense.  It sure as shit doesn't make any sense to me.

Anyhow...

I'm rambling.

Sometimes I do that.  Sometimes I write very specifically, in hopes that it will purge.  It doesn't.  Then I ramble, in hopes that it will purge.  It doesn't.  I need to figure out a way to stick a metaphorical finger down my psychological throat, and just vomit all that shit up...but it will probably really fuck up my figurative teeth...so fuck it.  I'll keep searching.

For the search.

Romance

We stood at the fence smoking our cigarettes.
Staring at the moon, full in her August cycle.

You told me of your scars,
and I envied your courage.

At some point I stopped hearing your words, and started hearing
your
language.

We were alone
on a planet filled
with a billion lonely people.

When you left,
you
never
looked back.

I've not since looked forward.

She slept
the elastic sun stretched over her body
in nets
and colors.

I tried to wear the sun too
but
it didn't fit me as well.

My eyes were burning
and you sang to me
laid down next to me
and told me to breathe.

I love you
you said.

I love you
for that lie.

Everything is temporary
Everything is a memory already
Or the fantasy of a future memory.

And now the fence
the pregnant August moon
the lonely planet

Are now my scars

And I still lack your courage.

We were entwined once
Our convictions
forced us to
un
entwine
do
love

We un'd everything

And now we are
a
canyon.

She took my hand
and kissed it
and held it to her cheek
her neck
her breast

and dropped it again

She stood behind me
in the shower

Her head against my shoulder

She wears sunlight
better than
artificial.

She lies next to me
naked
pressed against me
sleeping

I close my eyes
and see your face

She never had a chance

I feel the guilt of knowing that already
and letting her
be there anyways.

I'll be her scar later.

Like you are mine

Like he is yours

Like we all cut each other
and call it love

and memory

and life.

Passion

Everything is rushing toward some grand conclusion.
Some grand delusion.
Some lost illusion.

We are tumbling through a murky stratosphere.

We used to dance so precisely, but we have since forgotten the steps.

Our laughter is less cynical now, but carries more guilt.
Less pain, but more understanding.
It makes the joke less funny, because now we see the truth in it.

We are not yet old,
but by all the gods in all their naked glory,
we are no longer young.

Our innocence was not lost.
We know exactly where we left it.
We simply cannot have it back again.

We threw our dreams into the fire so we could keep warm.
Then we sang songs, and you twirled.
Lifting your skirt above your knees,
and laughed.

We woke up.
Hungover.
Sun burnt
and jumped into the lake once last time.

We looked at each other.
We toasted the bride and groom.
We kissed for everyone to see.

That night you pressed your cheek to mine, and said
goodbye.

I was glad you were crying, so that
I could feel tears too.

We tiptoe toward our graves now.
Still falling in that murky stratosphere.
A dual existence of
sun
and
moon.

The constant
eclipse.

You wretched ghost.
You gleaming monster.

You dark salvation.

We lied so eloquently through our smiles.
We transcended so gracefully our silence.

We lived a brief summer in Narnia
Oz
and Wonderland

Only to find

Home again.

In that murky stratosphere.

Lust

The Longing is a place.  A distance.  A horizon.

The Longing is not the light at the end of the tunnel, it's the darkness that makes the light possible.

The Longing is a double breath.

A skipped beat.

A missed moment, realized a moment too late.

The Longing is knowing things could have worked, if only one decision had been made differently.

The Longing is a memory of your hand on her leg.  You're looking her in the eyes, and she is returning the gaze.  You open your mouth to say the exact right thing, and feeling the words stop before they fall out.

The Longing is the fantasy of what would have happened if you would have just said the words.

Those words.

Those goddamn words.

Whatever they might have been.

The Longing is knowing, that you'll never know.

The Longing is the smell of your perfume...on another person.

The Longing is knowing that the picture is a lie.

The Longing is falling asleep with you in every part of me.  And waking up alone.

The Longing is that desperate desire of feeling anything comparable with anyone else...and not.

You made me better.

You made me great.

You filled me up.

You made me empty.

The Longing is sitting silently in the noisy room.  Watching you...watch everyone else.

The Longing is that one moment.  That one second.  That single instant,

when we were alone

and

honest.

And now for something completely the same.

In 2012 I walked my way through 5 pairs of shoes.  I put a lot of road on my soles.  People have a hard time believing me when I say I don't mind.  I don't mind.

At the beginning of 2012 I was in love and in a relationship.  At the beginning of 2013, I have a different love, that I can actually never have. I have put a lot of pain in my soul.  People have a hard time believing me when I say I don't mind.  I don't mind.

Between the beginning of 2007, and 2012 I had been in 4 productions total.  Easily the slowest period of my entire life.  Between 2012 and 2013 I was in 4 productions.  Not even close to the busiest period of my life...but damn it did feel good.  Now though...I'm getting that bug to start directing again.  I used to be very good at that.  I was always more confident in my skills as a director than I was as an actor.  I wonder if the six and a half years of NOT directing, have caused those skills to disappear.  It will be neat to find out.

I'm also feeling words lately.
Not so much blog words, though I'm pretty sure I'll never run out of those, different words.

Play script words.
Short story words.
Novel words.
Even...maybe...perhaps...screenplay words.  We'll see about that one.

All these words are scratching the inside of my skin.  Those words...like Fortunato sobering up behind a brick wall, and clawing and fighting to get out.  My brain and laziness that wall.

I have since the inception of the blog, had many.  Although this particular one has become my main one, the one that was most followed at one point was the bitchcake.  Good times.  I also had my "evil" blog where I let all my darker thoughts out.  It was the place where I got pretty snarky.  Kind of mean  Never held anything back.  TOTALLY honest...according to my own opinions.

Then there was the Myspace blog.  I re-read some of those recently.  I was kind of proud of some of the things I had written there.  Things that will in all likelihood never be seen by anyone else ever again.  I mean really...who goes to Myspace anymore.  Do you?  Didn't think so.

I also had a blog devoted solely to fiction.  Little tiny one paragraph stories.  Sometimes a bit more...but I intentionally tried to keep the shit concise.  It was an intentional exercise in word economy.  Something I've very much gotten away from here.  I really don't care though.  Here I like just letting it flow, and see where it goes.  This place for me is not an exercise, so much as it is stream of consciousness.  Sometimes I do have a bit more intent and direction.  Other times...like tonight...not so much.

I do think though, that I'm going to revisit the fiction blog.  I really need to prime that pump again.  Tell my little one paragraph to one page stories.  Who knows...maybe one of them will blossom into something much larger.

I also have ideas for a couple other blogs.  One specifically dedicated to my quit smoking experiment, when that begins.  One specifically for reviews of shows I see.  Starting with whatever the first show I see in 2013 is.  I haven't decided yet if I want to stick with just theatre, or opine on movies as well.

I think really though, what's happening, is my soul...or spirit...or essence...or energy...or all of those other words we use to communicate an idea of something inside us that is actually bigger than we are...is thirsty.  I am really feeling a need to create.  Not simply theatrically, or writing, or...I dunno...

I want to experiment with different mediums.  I can't draw or paint...but I want to draw and paint.  I don't have any type of great camera, but I want to take pictures.  I want to stare at an empty page, empty stage, empty canvas, empty anything...and fill it up.  With stuff.  And things.

Acting this past year has been nice, and I want to keep doing it.  I never want to stop, but what really happened this past year is I realized that in my drought of creativity between 2007 and 2012, I forgot that I was a creative person.  I need it.  Not to survive.  To live.  I really do need to direct a show again.  

I feel like I'm coming out of a cave, and into sunlight again.  I'm remembering what it was like to have that kind of energy inside of me all the time.  I don't ever want to lose that again.  EVER!!!

So I guess...since it's that time, and it's what we're talking about...that would be my resolution.  I don't really do the new year resolution thing...but if I did, that would be it.

Not to do more...but to never...ever...ever again.

Do less.