Coffee Rhetoric: BDSM
Showing posts with label BDSM. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BDSM. Show all posts

January 28, 2010

Me Talk Pretty One Day

Snow fall, plus minimal sleep, coupled with grumpiness, divided by exasperation, multiplied by, "Wait, I'm flummoxed," plus "Bastard(s) please!"- minus zero booze equals my mind is on a marathon run, and it has a case of the disappointeds. 


"Sex only goes so far — then you want to be able to talk to the person..." -creator of that sex robot, talking, woman thing.
  • Smile! 
  • Slim down! 
  • Just nod! 
  • Go easy on the intellect, will you!
  • You're way too sophisticated for me (read: your brain is too high maintanence).
  • Only weigh-in when deferred to. 
  • You look angry. 
  • Bitch! 
  • I've created you in *my* image. Live up to it dammit!
  • Be infallible, pwetty pweeeease!
  • You're aging. Stop it at once before I upgrade!
  • I'll stalk you until you *do* give in! 
  • You're comfy with your sexuality? Then you're a slut, WHORE!
  • You can turn on the smart now. I'm ready for you. Bring it!
  • You should like this list of preferences, cuz it makes me happy and secure ... 
So many demands. The list seems endless. It becomes even more asinine and disturbing it its growth. Perhaps now that the latest and greatest in technological minds has created a sex robot (fresh off the AVN Porn Expo's showroom floor)  that focuses on "appealing to the mind." Real, living, and breathing women born of flesh and blood can exhale a little bit and get somewhat of a reprieve from living up to so many standards. Even if it seems to aim to make us obsolete (or to appeal to the socially inept male mind, who can't mesh well or deal with real female interaction anyway). Alas, an inanimate object, masquerading as a woman, reminiscent of a corpse can listen intently, as its human lover reads it passages out of David Levy's 'Love And Sex With Robots.' Ladies, hold tight to your vibrators. It doesn't judge or criticize, and will never demand that you "smile!" while walking past it.

April 04, 2009

Hormones and Obsessive Love

Friday was one of my worst, dark days. I haven't had one of those in a long time. Hormones. They were all over the place. Rampant mood swinging. I was extremely hot. Bloat, bloat, bloat. And on top of that, I had a horrible dry cough of meth head proportions My sinsuses were (and still are but not as much anymore) bothering me. Is this what happens when we (women) age? Do our hormones act ugly and randomly decide to shake us up for shits and giggles? A co-worker (after I expressed to him that I wasn't in the mood) leaned over and started singing Tomorrow, from Annie. That was the nail in the coffin for him. I went stone cold. My look sent in slinking away. I later sent an email apologizing, but reminding him that patronzing a woman while she is in the throes of hormonal shape shifting is a big no-no, especially after he'd been warned earlier. He realized his mistake and said he was only trying to make me laugh, but that he definitely understood that was NOT the time. Case closed.
I'm unapologetically human. I may seem otherworldly, but I'm not. I'm a human being whose emotions span a wide spectrum. Just so happened, I was caught off guard while a work, and not feeling well.
Been keeping a low profile this weekend. Relaxing, will probably luxuriate and have another Spa Day if I could peel myself off of this chaise lounger, and do something fun and exciting... like ummm... laundry. Oh goody gum drops! It's piling up. I hate doing laundry, but I need clean panties for tomorrow. Perhaps I'll make turkey bacon and eggs first though... as soon as I get up.
On a completely unrelated note, a few days ago while dusting, I came across a VHS tape of 9 1/2 Weeks which starred Mickey Rourke and Kim Basinger. It has been a while since I've seen that flick. Even longer since I popped a VHS tape in a VCR. A highly charged erotic drama about obsessive love. How one man meets one woman, and instead of courting her in the traditional sense, and getting to know her, and caressing her tenderly... completely pushes her to her limit by exerting control over her through emotional emotional abuse, coercing her to engage in a series sexy, and eventually dubious and at times dangerous, sexual situations, and then he caresses her gently. Kim's character finally reaches her breaking point and dips.

Mickey professes his love, only after she decides she has had enough of his psychological games and quits him. His character starts going into an abridged discourse about his life and where he grew up as Kim's character packs her things, but it's too late. Kim wanted to know that stuff in the beginning of the relationship... before the sadomasochism.

I'm reminded of the book, The Story of O by Paula Reage and published in 1954, which explores the very same themes... obsessive love, dominance and submission. Themes that have always piqued my curiosity (not in a way that makes me want to partake). I've always wondered what prompted someone to become so lost in another person, that it manifests itself in an unhealthy compulsion. More importantly, what makes a person to submit his or her will, or to engage someone who is so infatuated with them or who essentially hurts them, and breaks them down psychologically? Kim Basinger didn't really submit to being dominated, not in the traditional sense of S&M relationships where it's usually consensual, and both parties understand the rules of that type of courtship.

She was sort of, bullied into submitting to Mickey's whims. Unlike many other women, Kim's character finally found her derring-do and extricated herself from the situation, when things got unhealthy. Healthy Love vs Obsession. Why, if he loved her so, did Mickey's character manipulate and play games, instead of simply making love to her and taking her as she was? I suppose Kim's character, recently divorced, was feeling vulnerable, just getting back into the dating world, and was somewhat subsceptible. Why do people manipulate and hurt their paramour if they love them so? I know women, who seemingly have their act together, but who are wittingly, well, unwitting participants in this type of obsessive, sadomasochistic relationship. No amount of encouragement seems to make them leave. While they complain about how unhappy they are, they seem comfortable wallowing in that sort of misery, despite how much they say they want to move on. Co-dependency plays a large part, I'm sure. I'm just curious about obsessive love... the takers and the willing participants. What's going on here?
Thoughts?

September 01, 2008

Dante's Inferno

There's a new book out. Yet another manifesto that feasts and nibbles on the fleshy insecurities and perceived shortcomings of women. Because Tariq "K-Flex" Nasheed's Art of Mackin' and The Mack Within' needed a supplement. Because men are infallible masters who hold all the answers to life's complexities and one of their primary purposes is to guide us wayward women into a magick fairyland where we would gladly submit ourselves to a life of passivity and servitude.
In any event, this latest fuckery is entitled, The Re-Education of the Female and it's written ever so eloquently by computer engineer and first time author, Dante Moore. Moore-- described by Washington Post writer Laura Yao as a well groomed, heavyset, baby-faced, 33-year old with neatly twisted dreadlocks-- professes to love women, and that he wrote this book to help us along .
Moore was also raised in a matriarchal household, and his father was mostly absent. His mother insisted that he treat women like, "queens." But as Dante aged, he came to the realization that his mother was oh so very wrong. See, he discovered that acting like a douchetard toward insecure and needy women, made the phone ring off the hook, much to his delight-
"My mother used to say, walk them home from school, grab their books, give them gifts, blah blah blah, yada yada yada. I went like that for maybe two years, and I probably lost every girlfriend that came along- Once I started being myself and saying, 'look, I'm not going to do this, this, or that for women,' the phone didn't stop ringing, "
The kicker is that Moore was able to train his girlfriend of two years, into dressing sexy on the daily and even prompted her to clean the house looking like a femme-fatale.
"He's wonderful. He's one of the good ones." She coos lovingly (I assume she cooed lovingly). Despite succeeding in brainwashing gaining the adulation of his girlfriend, Dante still claims to not have found "true love" as yet, which would explain why he's not hitched, even though he has an impressionable 11-year-old son to doucheify. Yao neatly summarized the crux of Dante's literary point: Women need to Cook, clean in sexy-hot attire, bow down to a man's every command, put out, and stay skinny if they want to snag and keep a man's interest.
"I like someone of a certain size," Dante rambles on. "My preference would be African American, size 10 or under, conscious about her history and culture."
Miseducation Re-Education of the Female reinforces Dante's preference in this excerpt in which he charmingly compares women to rotten fruit--
"The fatter you get, the more you decrease your potential single-man pool. Let me give you an example. When you go to the grocery store to shop, do you pick out the nastiest-looking, most rotten, smelliest fruit or meat you can find? Oh, you don't? Why not? . . . It's the same with men when they see baby elephant-sized, out-of-shape women."
If Dante Moore's douchery still doesn't illuminate, read this excerpt from Yao's interview with him, in which he fumbles an attempt at being evasive about his dating history--

Though generally reluctant to discuss the specifics of his dating life, Moore does talk unabashedly of a time he broke up with a woman over the fact that he inadvertently almost stole $15 from her.

He took her on a date to Maggie Moo's, and she gave him a $20 bill to order for her. He pocketed the bill and, distracted by the menu board, claims he never saw the value of the bill and just assumed it was $5. When his date later asked why he hadn't given her change, he thought she was accusing him of not treating women well, and dumped her on the spot.

"If I would've just paid for it, had she not given me the money at all, we'd probably still be dating," he says.

This incident, he recalls, happened about two months ago. But weren't he and Tuitt (the trained girlfriend) "exclusive" during this time? Moore quickly revises it to "several months ago," he can't really remember, but probably before he and Tuitt "became exclusive."

Dante's bottom bitch girlfriend later covers for him, saying he probably made a mistake with the time frame, for he's "open with everything he does."--- (queue the collective Bitch PLEASE! and eye-rolls). Laura Yao concludes her expose by mentioning that a 14-year-old girl enthusiastically purchased the book promising to lend it to her mom when she's done reading it, and that a "large stack" still remained during Dante's underwhelmingly attended book signing, that particular day.

Unfortunately, this is what relationship advice has been reduced to. Insecure and bitter men doling out wordz of wizdom to other insecure, bitter men seeking validation and this overwhelming need to rate or condescend to women, not to mention the naive women who will undoubtedly fall for this hype, because they are sick of waiting by the phone (when they should be doing something far more productive).

I've extricated myself (unofficially yet gladly) from the market sans regret, and must admit that while annoyed, I can't be angry over books (or ideas) like this. All one has to do is find the comic relief and entertainment in its message. To read between the lines and wonder why yet another man, would go out of his way to write such a bittersweet symphony about the evils of womankind.
I'll bet Moore almost exploded into a million teeny tiny douche pieces when his book got picked up. All the more reason to gloat and pound his chest. Why not just enter into a legitimate BDSM relationship, complete with a signed contract and willing participant, if he is that intent on dominating and subjugating a woman?? At least it'd be a lot more honest and less bullshitty. I also just LOVE how he considers us FEMALES and not WOMEN. Makes me all shivery. If Dante Moore is indeed, considered "one of the good ones" as his loyal girlfriend claimed, then I'd rather find some Aggressive to do the scissor with. Look, everyone is entitled to having preferences when it comes to what they consider aesthetically appealing. I'd be lying if I said certain physical traits on a man didn't attract me. And admittedly, Dante Moore appears to be an attractive looking man. And while I believe I can pass for being quite attractive despite my flaws, I don't walk around pretending to be perfect looking or that everyone should want me because I think I'm goddess's gift. I'm realistic, and while my expectations are up there, they're within reason... with the bulk of the emphasis being on intellect and whether or not a man is respectable and respectFUL.
I am sick of dudes lumping ALL women in the same categories due to their own personal experiences:
  • Golddiggers,
  • Unappreciative,
  • Hyper-sensitive,
  • Gullible,
  • Not attractive or mindful of her appearance due to having some meat on the bones,
  • Expecting the world to revolve around her
  • Uncooperative.
We're automatically uncooperative and high-maintenance because we want to be treated respectfully? I'll be the first to admit that many women may be conflicted over that concept and will send mixed signals... and blow off a genuinely nice guy, no matter what he does for her, but the majority aren't. Trust. I mean, I could neatly classify ALL MEN under the same categories and write them ALL off for the following reasons:
  • Jackass
  • Douche
  • Disingenuous
  • Unreliable
  • Too Dumb
  • Not packing in the meat department
  • Fug
  • Blathery
  • Uneducated
  • Boring
  • Poor
  • Old
  • Impotent
  • Sloppy
  • Unstylish
  • Misshapen
  • Dogs
  • Liars
  • Cheaters
But I don't, because I realize one's personal experience with a few isn't indicative of the sum total of a whole lot. And more importantly, most of those labels and rating men based on bullshit standards are unfair. It's a shame that a few bad dating experiences from seemingly ungrateful women resulted in Dante becoming crass, bitter, and cynical enough to pen this book. Rather than suggesting that women need to be "re-educated", perhaps he should get some therapy and explore the things that may very well be wrong with him as well. Women who fall for men who treat them poorly have deep rooted issues they need to work out. i.e. the women who seemed to call Dante once he started treating them like yesterday's bowel movement. Or the groupies Dante met during his signings and whispered their phone numbers in his ear. I'm tired of guys of Dante's ilk thinking perfection is their due, when they have a looooog way to come themselves ... physically and especially intellectually. These distorted and unrealistic perspectives regarding what womanhood entails. Par for the course as far as the patriarchy is concerned. I am a LADY who would not give this type of base chauvinism the time of day. Get a fucking uterus, a pair of tits, some culture, and a clue and I just might engage you.

I shall certify Dante with Massengill's stamp of approval for exerting the effort, for having a great smile, and more importantly- for successfully conning his girlfriend.

August 10, 2008

I'm Still Waiting...

... I haven't exhaled in about a week. Waiting can be exciting. But it's also one of the most nerve-wracking feelings and can exacerbate feelings of anxiety and indigestion. I'm not gonna exhale until I hear. ...

March 15, 2008

The Gods Must Be Crazy

Why must the universe remind me, once a month, for one long excruciating and uncomfortable week, that I'm a woman. More importantly, why must I suffer for that very reason???
I planned on waking up early, this fine Saturday morn, to attend a St. Patty's Day brunch (complete with mimosas) at my workplace, but the powers that be had other plans for me... and it involves throbbing delicates, bloat, sore lower back, and a cramping lower tummy. This is what my weekend will end up being like (see below)... hope yours is just as pleasant. Men you just don't wanna know. You've no idea at'all. That's it...

November 16, 2007

I Hate Myself...

... Because I felt compelled to rent and then watch Herschell Gordon Lewis's campy, splatter flick, The Gruesome Twosome. If that weren't self-inflicted punishment enough, I decided to follow it up with John Waters's, Desperate Living. Now I'm all for camp and trash, but that hateful, hateful sadomasochistic torture I put myself through has left me flummoxed. As I stomped down the street this sunny fall afternoon, I suddenly paused in the middle of the sidewalk (much to a couple of passersby curiosity) and asked myself, "why?" Why would I do that to myself? Anyway, I'm following it up with The Gore Gore Girls. I'm sure that'll help undo the damage and take the edge off as I ponder my career and future.

November 13, 2007

Rat Race

I can openly say (now) that I've been pounding the pavement for the past several months, job interviewing, hunting, fielding phone calls, mailing out resumes, receiving notices confirming receipt of my resume, wash, rinse and then repeat. Needless to say, the whole process is frustrating. It's the pits! Particularly when you're so close. Sooooo very close to being hired only to be told "Ohhh.... well you're too overqualified" or "We can't move forward with an offer for another two months. Sorry for putting you through SEVERAL INTERVIEWS AND PHONING EVERY LAST ONE OF REFERENCES, AND DOING THAT BACKGROUND CHECK ON YOU!! Please bear with us..." Notwithstanding the fact that you've answered all of their redundant (and sometimes condescending and ridiculous) questions, and have been more than accommodating in providing them with everything they need to move forward with an offer, including making yourself available at a moment's notice for another interview. I feel like a salesperson, going door to door selling your wares. One or two people invite you in. Let you sit down and go through your whole spiel. They nod. They ask several questions. They seem interested. They breathe in as if they're about to say, "I'm sold! I'll take two!" Only to change their minds and say, "Ohhh. I'm sorry. I'm not interested." Argh! Frustrating. Sometimes I wonder if those doing the interviewing, remember what it was like when they were practically groveling for their jobs... I need a drink.
The movie clip is from the film, Fear and Trembling, based on Amelie Nothomb's novel Stupeur et Tremblement.

November 10, 2007

The Disintegration of Sexy Times

I've always been indifferent toward porn. It has never prompted any deep desire in me, during my precocious pre and late teen years to watch out of curiosity, amid all the salacious buzz. Sneaking a peek at the erotica on Cinemax after 11pm, finding and then reading Jackie Collins's titillating plots, Erica Jong's Fear of Flying, and the illustrated educative wonderment of The Joy of Sex was it for me. I didn't watch hardcore porn until I was in college... with my best friend. We watched out of sheer boredom. We walked down to the town's local video store and picked something from the late seventies/early eighties, much to the cashier's amusement. It featured an interracial raunch fest. Basic man on woman boning. Nothing too shocking or sexy and void of anything particularly depraved and disgusting. The usual cheesy fare, in fact. Neither of us found the antics sexy or arousing. We laughed raucously and critiqued the clownery of it all. Pure comedy. We decided perhaps we were too intellectual and snotty to get it. Other then a porn clip online here and a legitimate art house flick there- (most recently the movie Short Bus, which featured unsimulated sex)- it hasn't interested or enticed me since. Despite the rash of filmed celebrity sexploits being "leaked" online. Over the years... after having watched and read a great deal of "behind the scenes" documentary style films and books, I've came to the conclusion that porn is not erotic, is silly, quite frankly, ridiculous. Most of the pornographic material being released is filmed and produced by men. Men and their distorted visions of how women should look, what ridiculous sexual positions we should be bent in, and how we should act. Despite rumblings to the contrary, I doubt any of the women acting in these films have any actual orgasms. Hair flinging, head whipping, and high pitched 'O' and fuck yeaaah sounds, I'm sorry but the orgasm is fake. All in all, it's harmless fun for the lonely, lecherous, and in some cases... the socially inept. I've never been one of the protesters screaming for the industry to be banned. That being said, a lot has changed with the porn industry. The ever increasing advances in technology, the internet, video cameras, webcams, and the like have made porn more accessible and more achievable for aspiring porn mongers. Any amateur can film their sexual exploits and upload them onto Xtube or Pornotube with relative ease. In turn, the industry has become a virtual free for all. College fraternity houses host parties where group sex and orgies abound, while their peers (men and women spectators) stand off to the side, cheering the guerrilla fuckfests... clutching beers, fists pumping in the air. All in front of the camera and easy to view over the internet. These "gonzo" type films have raised the stakes... and the stakes have become even more disturbing and depraved in their delivery. The acts women subject themselves too is enough to make the most hardened, difficult to offend person cringe. And it takes a lot to make me want to gag and then vomit in my mouth or turn away with disgust. Some of it is downright perplexing. Such as the compelling documentary Sex: The Annabel Chong Story, which documents- Grace Quek's (Annabel is her porn name)- rise, exploitation, and eventual retirement from the porn industry. Annabel allegedly pioneered the whole "gang bang" trend in the industry. Nothing was too graphic or hardcore for Annabel. She performed a diverse array of hardcore sex acts, including "triple penetration." Annabel's motives for starring in The World's Biggest Gangbang were troubling as the documentary delved into her past. Needless to say, this current wave of pornography breeds misogyny and encourages violence toward women. Spat on, slapped, pissed and defecated on, penetrated and fisted in every orifice by several different men at once... It's sickening. And it's distressing. Particularly the gonzo films featuring Black, Brazilian, and Latino women. Men take trips to urban areas (usually scouting in a van of some sort) in search of "Black ghetto sluts" willing to oil up, shake, and then spread their cheeks in a seedy looking hotel room, on film. The perpetuation of sexual stereotypes frustrate the hell out of me. Two steps lower and more debased than the garbage shown in rap videos. And those in and of themselves are bad. I'm open and believe in people having the right to engage in whatever consensual sexual act they desire... but some of this stuff is troubling, notwithstanding my liberal stance. And it's not behind closed door. I think challenging what's wrong with the porn industry as it depicts itself today, does not a prude or anti-sex type make. I do believe there's something wrong with people who don't challenge this sort of behavior, the women who willingly subject themselves to this sort of humiliation, and the men who encourage them to do it or who are sitting at home with their hand down their boxers watching it and then thinking it's okay to go out and mistreat women, outside the realm of that business. In fact, I'll go as far as to say that the behavior in these gritty porn movies- the degradation, the abuse, the spitting, skull f*cking, quadruple penetration, crude talk, choking etc. are anti-sex. Here's a small snippet from Robert Jensen's book, Getting Off:

It hurts to know that no matter who you are as a woman you can be reduced to a thing to be penetrated, and that men will buy movies about that, and that in many of those movies your humiliation will be the central theme. It hurts to know that so much of the pornography that men are buying fuses sexual desire with cruelty.

It hurts women, and men like it, and it hurts just to know that.

Donkey punched, penises rammed down their throats until they puke, heads dunked in toilet bowls while they're being reamed from behind, faces saturated with semen and pee, wanting to jizz on a woman's face... Is this the type of sexual interaction men are craving to have with women?? Do you all secretly fantasize about making some woman vomit, while you force your penis down her throat? If so perhaps I should get my delicates stitched closed and look into becoming a nun.
Read a more substantial excerpt from Jensen's book here.
Also read this Money Shot entry, from October 29 blogged by Girl with a One Track Mind.

October 31, 2007

Keeping a List

This past week coupled with this present week has been rather interesting, to say the least. For 3 consecutive days in a row, I've slept under a full moon... literally hovering o'er my head, just outside my window, In all its resplendent glory. I don't know if my moon has anything to do with the strange haps, but I'm convinced that I'm the only one who proceeds through life as if I'm an unwilling cast member in some Twilight Zone episode. Let's explore this short (but indelible) diary of occurrences. Shall we? Oh let's!
Saturday, 5:15PM:
As I was walking from the bus stop in front of Bushnell Park, en route to my apartment building a couple of blocks away, a shuttle driver pulls over and implores me to hop on for a free ride. I told him I was only mere inches away from my building, but he insisted. He said he wanted to "kidnap" me, so I rode the loop downtown with him. During the course of the ride, he suggested that I take some of the brochures from off the dash to read about the latest and greatest the city was offering. I obliged him, fully aware of his motivation. I stood up quickly, snatched some literature up, and sat down just as quickly. Seconds later, Driver would remark, "I just wanted you to stand up, so I can look," to which I remarked dryly, "I know. I figured I'd humor you, and let you get a quick peek. " Embarrassed and surprised by my response, he chuckled and said nothing more.
Monday, mid-Afternoon:
The Fire Marshall is scheduled to come test the museum's fire alarm system. It's difficult for him to focus on the matter at hand, because he finds my scent alluring. So alluring in fact, that he keeps sidling next to me and sniffing me. Deep inhalations of breath. While the few who notice, stand by, looking flummoxed by his behavior. He suggests that I work behind a cage, because men such as himself, are likely to pounce on me for smelling so good. I shrug indifferently. And manage a tight smile... or was it a grimace? His task complete, the Fire Marshall heads out and on his way. But not before walking over to where I'm working for one last, hearty sniiiiiiiiifffffff.
Wednesday, 9:15 AM, This Hallow's Eve:
As I'm standing at the bus stop, a white man (attractive and rather sane looking) around my age walks by me, towards the Holiday Inn Express... on his cell phone. Not finding what or who he seems to be looking for, he heads back in the opposite direction from whence he came but not before stopping and telling me how much he likes my shoes. In fact, the conversation went as follows ...
  • Perv: Hi, I really like your shoes. They're so hot.
  • Me (hiding behind large, dark shades): Thanks
  • Perv: They're smokin' Hot. They're so sexy. Listen, I'm sorta into shoes. Well... I have a bit of a shoe fetish.
  • Me: Do you, now?
  • Perv: Yes. Um, actually, can I take a picture of your shoes. They look so hot.
  • Me: No.
  • Perv: Please? I really like them. They look so hot on you. I would love to take a picture of them.
  • Me (considering an asking price): Umm. No.
  • Perv: Okay. Sorry to bother you. Have a great day. Bye!
Until this morning, I honestly didn't think my existence and interaction with the male populace could get any stranger. ...

October 01, 2007

Where I Converse with Myself

Dear Self,
You drink massive amounts of coffee and water. And you have somewhat of an overactive bladder, particularly during those pre-menstrual days where ten times on the hour, every hour seems pretty typical. Par for the course, especially this past week and then today. You are aware of this, self. So why? WHY did you think it was a wise idea to wear your black, pin-striped high-waisted, nautical pants?? 12-plus buttons to fiddle with. Self, your fingers seem awkward and big, when you're making that mad dash into the loo, to get to the bog pan in time to avoid an embarrassing situation that'd send you home early. Fingers don't seem to want to cooperate and you're tempted to just yank down the flap of your trousers, sacrificing all 12 plus buttons. But you clench those kegels-- along with all the other muscles south of the border tightly, to keep from regressing back to your years as a toddler. Sometimes it just isn't practical for one to enslave her (or his) to fashion.

September 14, 2007

And the HATEFUL beat drums on...

I don't have too much to say about the sheer despicable-ness of this crime. How does one even begin?? While our country's leaders fight a fruitless war on terror, and label the likes of Assata Shakur as a terrorist. These are the faces that represent real, homegrown evil, terrorism, and hate. Read and view the video for yourselves.

September 02, 2007

The Voice inside the head of The Voice inside my head

I'm a head case. There I said it out loud, finally. A beautifully broken mess whose affliction is of moderate- (or epic depending on the week)- proportions and could use some shrinking. But here I am, constantly self-diagnosing and looking inwardly sometimes, to no avail. I'm basically a guinea pig. A willing participant in my own experiments.
I engage in behavior I probably shouldn't engage in, I think thoughts I probably shouldn't entertain. Somehow, it all works for me. Weird and twisted? Yes. But it works. I'm daring, I'm self contained, I'm antagonistic, I'm aloof, I'm self involved, I'm introverted, I'm extroverted, sometimes I'm misanthropic, I'm egotistical, I'm meticulous, I think I have a touch of O.C.D., I hate hard, I love and trust almost never, I'm neurotic, I'm a hard shell to crack, I'm genuine, I'm angry, I'm quiet, I observe, I'm content, I'm sated, I'm dissatisfied, I'm suspicious, I'm passionate, I'm sexual, I'm jaded, I push, I prod, I push away, sometimes I want to hurt myself, sometimes I want to punish myself, sometimes I want to reward myself, sometimes I want to disappear, I'm tempestuous and I crack under pressure from time to time, I am also calm, unflinching, & have a stone cold resolve, and sometimes I live in an alternate universe, I have insomnia and can't breathe when I close my eyes and so am afraid to fall into a deep slumber and yet sometimes sleep falls over me without effort. ...
Somehow... these idiosyncratic things work in tandem with and against me. I don't think my neurosis will ever find a balanced medium. When I'm alone, these things are obvious to me. When I integrate myself into the general populace, these things are not discernible and I'm functional. I function quite fine, in fact. This is why they work in tandem with me. My demons and I have an understanding. We don't always see eye to eye, but we have an understanding and we've made some semblance of peace.

November 02, 2006

Beautifully Broken

I called in “sick” today, in hopes of decompressing and getting some laundry and other domestic things done. I did have a bit of an upset stomach, but not uncomfortable enough, to warrant my playing hooky.

Needless to say, it’s 10 minutes past 9pm, and I’ve yet to launder the load of linen and towels I planned on doing this morning. I will though.

While I lazed about, not doing anything beyond drinking coffee, logging onto MySpace, showering, brushing my teeth, and watching Judge Mathis and reality-tv of the like, I also managed to stumble upon some titillating and erotic weblogs, and have been glued to my computer for the bulk of the afternoon. These particular weblogs center on the BDSM lifestyle and all it entails.

There’s one extremely well-written and detailed blog in particular (explicit pictures are featured) that at once repulses and intrigues me. I’ve always wondered what prompts a person (usually female) to enter into a consensual relationship, where they succumb (wholeheartedly) to someone, mind, body, and soul; choosing to acquiesce to the sovereignty of an unrelenting Master. I’m flummoxed as to how a person tingles with anticipation… knowing they’ll be flogged, branded, made to sleep on the cold floor whilst chained to the bedpost, made to wear a butt-plug, or anal-extender (my sphincter tightens at the thought) for an extended period of time, or told to act out some squalid sexual deed.

While I know basic things about the Marquis de Sade, and how he may very well have influenced this brand of unconventional sex, reading these blogs prompted me to further investigate the mechanics of this lifestyle a little bit more. I learned interesting phrases like “vanilla”; which applies to those of us who engage in relatively standard sexual activities. I mean, us vanillas have flown (or are currently flying, as I type this) the freak flag every now and again, during intimate moments, but probably nothing as intense and methodical as sadomasochistic relationships.

While I’ve no desire to enter into this type of relationship myself (I’ll leave it to the experts), I’ve always been intrigued by reading other people’s accounts of their alternative lifestyles (see Delia Day). My interest was first piqued many years ago, after reading Pauline Reage’s “The Story of O” and then watching the film adaptation of the same name. I also found myself reading and flinching at Anne Rice’s (written under her the pseudonym A. N. Roquelaure) “The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty” series (yup, I'm a closet debauchee and voyeur).

While many of us are repulsed by, and in some cases outraged, by the BDSM lifestyle- (particularly since it seems to be contrary to everything women fought against… or at least that’s what many of us may believe)- we are still intrigued (despite whatever protestation we make against it)- I know I am.

To each his or her own, undoubtedly, different strokes for different folks, as they say. I suppose us “vanillas” will never understand what we don’t truly know about, something that goes way beyond and outside the realm of what we’re used to. I know that when I first stumbled onto the aforementioned blog, I was disgusted, flinched at the visuals of her torture (yet I could not stop reading this woman’s discourse on her life as a willing sex slave or as a self-described “married man’s fucktoy”). My antipathy is what prompted me to, at the very least, learn a little about this practice- (as it also aroused my interest in Fellini's Satyricon, all things Catherine Breillat, to read Pauline Reage's novel, and to complete Anne Rice's Sleeping Beauty series, etc.)- so as not to partake in it myself, but to understand and further respect someone else’s right to succumb to humiliation and pain; moreover, my constant need to understand the many layers of human sexuality (I think I lived one of my former lives as a sexologist). We’ve all stumbled onto our parents' stash of erotica (or snuck it out of our local library) and giggled under the covers or muttered “ewww” as we greedily absorbed the visuals and words.

Either way, for obvious historical and cultural reasons, I completely and emphatically refuse to become anybody’s slave... just not my bag … but I will continue to lurk on the outskirts and indulge my curious mind, as if I were 10-12 years old, precocious, and giggling in the privacy of my room at the images illustrated in The Joy of Sex, or over the content of Erica Jong's, Fear of Flying (more my bag).