An Analysis of My Thoughts [entries|archive|friends|userinfo] D. E. Leister [ userinfo | insanejournal userinfo ] [ archive | journal archive ]

Lessons from a Butt Plug [Jul. 10th, 2011|08:03 pm] [ Tags | anal, masturbation, sex ] This morning marks the end of my anal virginity. Or, well, I don’t think what I did was sex, but it was the first time I’ve ever stuck something up my butt sexually. I’ve put fingers up there before, but only briefly, in the shower, sans lube. I don’t think that even counts as sexual in any way, much less as sex. I can’t summarize how it felt briefly, because it was such a complex experience. Much more complex than how I normally masturbate. Normally it’s like wham, bam, done. This was very different. So, yeah, you guessed it! I’m gonna give it to you blow by blow. After I cleaned it and lubed it up and stuck it in my butt the first time, I realized I didn’t have an erection. I also didn’t use enough lube, so it was kind of scratchy and there was a burning sensation. Trying to get an erection with an uncomfortable object in my ass was not a good experience. Lesson: Make sure whoever’s getting penetrated is aroused BEFORE penetration. It’s very hard to arouse them afterward. Also, use a lot more lube than you think you need. Because lube isn’t about minimalism, it’s about excess and slippery fun! The butt plug slipped out and it felt like I was crapping. It was unpleasant, to say the least. It had just a smidgen of santorum on the tip, so I did what any reasonable man would do and cleaned it off, lubed it up, and prepared for penetration again. This time I was sufficiently (read: extremely) aroused beforehand. It took a longer time than the first because my sphincter kept tightening up. But it was also a lot easier this time. More lube and a higher state of arousal led to a much more pleasant penetration. And after I had the plug in up to its base, it stayed there. I think that I was too well aware of the butt plug. I found it very hard to relax and do my thing because I was just so concerned with the fact that something was up my butt. Lesson: Make sure you’re completely comfortable with a sex act before you do it. Otherwise it won’t be any fun. Masturbation is a great way to test if you’re actually comfortable with something. Eventually I did relax. And then I had the single most powerful orgasm of my life. I was clutching with my free hand, trying to find something to hold onto while I writhed and moaned in ecstasy. Normally I’m silent and in control of my body when I orgasm, but this time was different. It takes some pretty intense stimulation to make me make any noise at all, and this almost had me screaming. Nothing like it has ever happened to me before. Lesson: Butt plugs are friggin’ amazing! link post comment

Unlikely as You Like [Jun. 10th, 2011|03:16 pm] [ Tags | emotion, love, nihilism, sam ] It starts off slow. Less than a trickle. A single drop of water falls from the tap, sparkles in the light, and explodes. A single word is passed between strangers, meaning nothing. A second drop. A muttered response. A third, a fourth. A question, and answer, equally meaningless. It could all end there. But something miraculous happens. Another drop falls and another word is passed. Another. Slowly, uncertainly, the drops come faster. They gain a rhythm. Each drop, each word, still means nothing, but now they come together and make the simplest of songs, tap, tap, tapping away. The sink is sprinkled now with water from the dripping faucet, but the water has no depth. It could all end there. It didn’t. If it had this would be a very sad piece of writing, ending with, “And then it ended, and nothing meant anything.” It would not warm a heart as I’m trying so desperately to do. As this metaphor limps along, I see that it has one major flaw: a dripping faucet doesn’t stop dripping. It keeps going until you fix whatever’s making it drip. This is different. There’s no certainty. No matter how steady these things are, you know they could all collapse at any moment. Whatever kept those little exchanges going was nothing short of a miracle. Despite everything working to stop it, the water came on. Its little tap, tap, tap became a steady flow. The polite exchanges between two strangers gave way to something more powerful. A small puddle began to gather up the droplets in the sink, and the water’s surface slowly began to rise. In this metaphor, the drain is clogged with drugs. That’s why the water didn’t all drain out. That’s why the relationship became deeper. Things start to seem more meaningful and, as if on cue, the stream starts to go dry. It could all end there. The water goes stagnant and slowly evaporates. But, no. That little tap, tap, tap, tap keeps going even after the flow ebbs. The water does not disappear. The two friends, as they are now, stay connected, maintain a relationship. What’s important here is not what might have happened, but what did happen. That the water could have evaporated does not have any effect on how full the sink is in fact. Possibilities cannot hold a candle to reality. And soon, again, the flow returns. The water pours out and fills the sink and pours out still. The weight of the water forces its way down the drain, cleaning it and allowing the water to flow out as it flows in. Outside this wretched metaphor, the interactions fill up life with some glorious substance. Call it love. Everything is beautiful, and nothing hurts. Except for one thing. Nothing is ever permanent, no matter how badly we may want it to be. Ultimately, the end of every story goes like this: “And then it ended, and nothing meant anything.” But can I just say something? Fuck that. This means everything. link post comment

A Man Merrily Murdered [Jun. 9th, 2011|08:28 pm] [ Tags | limerick, old poetry ] This crazy old man was so boring. His wife was kept up by his snoring. And one night in bed, She cut off his head, And rose rested well the next morning. The man had no work and no money; His house had no salt and no honey. Therefore when he died At the hand of his bride, He had to admit it was funny. Hell's torments were much more relaxing. For him, life had only been taxing. And then came his wife, Forsaken by life, And his joy was from then on un-waxing. link post comment

A Brief Farewell (Valedictiorian Address) [May. 25th, 2011|06:17 pm] [ Tags | academic, love, spoken ] I want to do two things. First, I want to thank everyone, those in the audience and those who cannot be here. All the mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, the aunts and uncles, grandparents, friends and teachers. All of you have loved us and shaped our lives in the last eighteen years, and you don’t know half of what you’ve done for us. Thank you so much not only for what you’ve done, but for everything you will no doubt do for us in the years to come. Thank you from the very deepest region of our hearts. Second, I want to address my classmates. And I barely know where to begin. It’s customary to talk about the future, but I’m not quite sure what to say. We’ve done a lot as a class, but as we move forward past high school those things will matter less and less. All we can really take with us are the lessons learned—not what we’ve done together but what we’ve taught each other and what our families and friends have taught us. Specific events from high school will have little influence over us in ten years, but the principles we have learned will determine everything about our futures. Now everyone here has picked up different principles over the years, but there’s one thing that I’ve seen exemplified by most, if not all, of you. It is this: “Give.” Simple enough as principles go, it has nevertheless taken years for me to understand, and I know it will take many more years for me to truly learn. You, my classmates, taught it to me in many ways, and you, in the audience, taught it to us all. If any single thing truly distinguishes us as a class, it is this spirit of selflessness that is expressed not by words but by actions. Thank you for teaching it to me, my beloved friends. Congratulations. My words have never been so inadequate. link post comment

Faggot Is Not a Funny Word [May. 15th, 2011|02:58 am] [ Tags | homophobia, violence ] He waited in the dark of his little, little cell, feeling uncertain. Some dim light shone from the hallway, barely letting him see his hands. Inside the cell he barely knew himself—he didn’t even know his name—but he didn’t want to leave. Who knows what’s outside, he thought, and his fear kept him curled up in his dimly lit cell. It could be even darker outside. It could be even worse than this cell. But it could be glorious as well. It could be warm, with the brilliant sun lighting everything in perfect contrast. I might see for miles in every direction, he thought. I might see my own hand clearly. This thought, this hope, is what eventually led him to stand up and walk to the door. It was open as always, and now, for the first time, he dared to peak out. He saw nothing. He stood in the doorway for a long time, still uncertain, still unwilling to walk out of his cell. After an eternity, he took that first small, blind step into the wider world. And the guards on either side of his cell door grabbed him bodily and threw him against a wall. Saying something he couldn’t understand, and despite his struggles they tied his hands behind his back and forced a hood over his face, and dragged him down the hallway to some other dark room. When the hood came off he was face-down on a table, held down by the two heavy guards. Then the red-hot brand was pressed into his neck. He screamed and tried jerked away, but the guards were too heavy, and the iron just pressed harder into his flesh. He writhed under the two men, trying desperately to get away, feeling his small reserves of strength fleeing from his body. He’d always thought that with this kind of pain his mind would just shut down, cutting off all sensation. It didn’t. He felt everything, every ounce of the pain, and there was no escape. The pain didn’t stop. Even after he fainted, even months later, when he was back in his cell curled up on the floor, he could still feel the searing heat of the hideous letter on his neck. link post comment

OK To Be Gay: A Brief Argument in Favor of Gay Behavior [May. 9th, 2011|08:04 pm] [ Tags | academic, homophobia, logic ] There is no question as to whether homosexuality is normal. The vast majority of humans are heterosexual; that is quite simply the sexual norm. Homosexual sex is definitely a deviation from normal sex, since the norm is defined by what most people do, and most people do not have homosexual sex. What people disagree about is whether this deviation is acceptable or not. The Catholic Church and many religious people staunchly oppose the acceptance of homosexual behavior while others staunchly support it and others fall somewhere between those two extremes. The basis for the Catholic Church’s ban on homosexual behavior is based on two basic principles: that males and females were created by God to be complementary sexes, and that conforming to God’s intentions is the ultimate goal for humanity. From there, it is but one short, logically flawless step to say that homosexual behavior—which is sex between non-complementary sexes and is therefore against God’s intentions—should not be done because it leads away from humanity’s purpose. In order to disprove a conclusion, one must either identify flaws in the logic that leads to the conclusion or disprove the assumptions that the said logic is based on. In this case the former is impossible because the logic is flawless (that is to say, if God created man and woman as complementary and intended them to use sex to procreate, and if conforming to God is humanity’s fundamental purpose, then homosexual behavior is wrong). So the latter approach, disproving the assumptions that the logic is based on, is the only path open to someone arguing that homosexual behavior is acceptable. The first assumption is that men and women are complementary, that they “complete each other,” and that God intended men and women to have sex in order to procreate. This comes from the first two chapters of the Book of Genesis, which say, among other such things, “That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh.” (Gen. 2:24) and, “…Male and female he created them. God blessed them and said to them, ‘Be fruitful and increase in number…’” (Gen. 1:27-28). However, God’s intended sexual relationship model is not in fact one of complementary sexes, but of subservience. In Genesis 2:18, God says, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.” God goes on to take a part of the man and create a woman with it. The man then loves her and feels attached to her not because she is an equal, independent being, but because she was “bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh” (Gen. 2:23). The man then names her “woman” as he named all the animals over which he was given dominion by God—that is, he also has dominion over the woman. So the woman was created to help the man, to be his companion, to complete him not as an equal but as an inferior servant. That is how marriage worked when the Bible was written. A matrimonial union was a relationship between a servant and a master, so that the master could use the servant to make children for him. Now, in a post-feminism nation, it is recognized that women are equal to men. The Catholic Church has taught that men and women are equal before God, and yet also supports an ultimately sexist image of marriage. Reading Genesis, one can see that God did not create man and woman to be complementary; he created woman to complete man, and marriage to bind her to him. The belief that men and women are equal contradicts the image of marriage in Genesis. That God intended humans to procreate is obvious. “Be fruitful and increase in number” leaves very little room for interpretation. And heterosexual sex, particularly penis-in-vagina intercourse, is indeed necessary for procreation. However, there is not a ban on homosexual behavior in this part of the Bible, only encouragement of heterosexual behavior. Humans as a whole have been strictly increasing in number since the species entered the world, despite all the sex gay people have had with each other in that time. Homosexual behavior from a small fraction of the human population in no way threatens humanity’s ability to procreate. Alternatively, there is a ban on homosexual behavior in Leviticus, saying, “Do not have sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman” (Lev. 18:22). Leviticus 20:13 says the same thing, with the addendum that offenders are to be executed. Catholics who use this as an argument against homosexual behavior are hypocrites, for in the very same part of Leviticus are prohibitions against eating red meat (“You must not eat the blood of any creature” (Lev. 17:13)), shaving and cutting hair (“Do not cut the hair at the sides of your head or clip off the edges of your beard” (Lev. 19:27)), tattoos (“Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves” (Lev. 19:28)), and the rather senseless one against disabled people making offerings to God (“None of your descendants who has a defect may come near to offer the food of his God” (Lev. 21:16). These are all part of the “Holiness Code” that makes up a large section of Leviticus and is largely ignored by modern Catholics. Its prohibition against homosexuality should be held in equal standing with its prohibition against eating pork, but many bacon-loving Catholics still reference it in their arguments against homosexuality. This essentially means that they are not opposed to homosexuality because of what the Bible says, but use the Bible as an excuse for being opposed to homosexuality. By picking out Bible verses that support their bigotry and ignoring the ones that expose their own transgressions, they reveal that hatred and fear—not love or a want to conform to God—fuel their opposition to homosexual behavior. The second thing to invalidate is the belief that doing God’s will is the ultimate purpose of being human, which is a rather straightforward logical exercise. Why is obeying God the purpose of being human? The Bible says so, but the Bible was written by God. So humans should obey God simply because God tells them to, and God has the right to demand obedience because God says so. The only other basis for believing that one should obey God is that God can do literally anything, including punishing people who don’t obey him by sending them to hell for an eternity. Admittedly, this would be a rather convincing argument for obedience to God if it could be verified, but the only evidence for God’s power is the Bible, which was, as previously mentioned, written by God. So again, God is to be obeyed only because God says so. It boils down to God being right because God is right, with no other logical support for that belief. The Church claims to oppose homosexual behavior because God does not approve of such behavior, and the Church is God’s mouth on Earth. Yet the Church ignores a vast array of other things that God does not approve of. The Church maintains an inconsistent position when it comes to homosexuality. If it really viewed the Bible as the word of God, it would ban eating pork and getting tattoos and shaving beards and cutting hair. It would teach that women are inferior to men and that pleasing a man is a woman’s purpose. The Church does not teach these things, though. Church members have unfairly chosen homosexuality as a sin, not because of what the Bible teaches, but because of the hatred and fear in their hearts. NOTE: All Bible quotes are from the New International Version. link post comment

Meaning in Permanence [May. 9th, 2011|08:00 pm] [ Tags | loose meter, morality, nihilism ] If I just let go, I imagine that into the abyss above the limitless world I would fall-- Not screaming, not fearing, for I know who I am. That fall, that everlasting descent into darkness. It conquers the world but will not conquer me. For I am central. I am light. I will not fall into space, but matter into me. I will not succumb to dark, but shadow to me. If I could let go, I know that with the full fury of scythed time I would charge-- Not caring, not seeing, for I know what I am. I imagine the limitless world will fall, screaming, fearing, and tearing at the walls of night. I know that scythed time will charge Not caring, not seeing, just tearing at the doors of light. link post comment

If You Want Me [Apr. 10th, 2011|03:27 pm] [ Tags | love, poetry, sam, spoken ] **This one's written to be read aloud, moderate pace for the first verse, slightly faster for the second. The second verse should crescendo bit by bit until line 32, then diminish and slow rapidly so that the last four lines are said softly at the piece's starting pace. The meter and the rhyme scheme are emphasized best that way.** I could not write a song. I hope this is enough. So let me give excuse For writing in the buff. Depressing melodies Are easiest, you know: Just a simple process From high note down to low. But happy ones are hard, With more complex a mask And I could not achieve This more difficult task. Now, on to my main point Without more wasted time. A simple point enough. I just want to say I'm... Now I'm not sure I should Express my secret now. I've kept it under hood, Behind my wrinkled brow For so long it's become More natural than not-- Though doubt be met by some With angry voice and hot Denouncing me and mine As cowards, traitors, more-- But now I draw my line, Pull out my hidden store Of courage, if it's there, To aid me in my choice. This courage, all too rare, May help me find my voice. So finally now today At last I'll have my say: That all I want to do, Is give myself to you. link post comment

The Line Part 2 [Mar. 19th, 2011|03:07 pm] [ Tags | morality, poetry ] In the land of the blind, an eye. In the hand of the heart, a lie. In the light and the dark There's no missing the mark And there's no room for guessing. Decide. link post comment

Through My Own Fault [Mar. 6th, 2011|05:53 pm] [ Tags | abuse, homophobia, nonfiction ] He was cold. He was alone, hurt, tired. The pain was surprising even though it had diminished from the searing thing it had been. The dull ache in his arms and face surprised him. So did the way it blossomed into stinging, burning, horrible pain when he moved. Then there was the pain in his chest, deep down, pushing its way into his throat, making his voice crack. Like the dead weight of a boulder, it pushed him to his knees on the roadside. Like the fury of his lover’s fist, it beat down any hope threatening to rise above the pain. That’s the only reason he told me what happened. When I asked him, he hesitated before he said, “I’m just gonna fucking say it. My boyfriend beat me up.” Who knows how far he had walked? Perhaps miles, all under the weight of bruises and scratches and any clothes he could carry in a gym bag. And thousands of jeering insults. I was hardly surprised when he said, “Sorry, I guess I’m a fucking faggot!” It sounded as if all the hate he’d taken in over the years tried to escape in that one word. The poor kid was shaking, hardly able to talk because he was on the edge of crying. I tried, but I couldn’t do a thing to help him. I wanted to tell him to respect himself, that there was not a damn thing he could have done to deserve what happened to him. But just like every other time I’ve tried, it came out as a mumbled, “Don’t call yourself that, man.” His pain stayed there. His self-loathing stayed as well. My weak push had no effect on his wall. Huddled up with his bag in his lap, he kept apologizing. “Sorry,” he said, again and again. “Sorry.” He’d been broken open and torn apart. He’d been brutalized by the man who was supposed to love and protect him. And all he could say was, “Sorry.” link post comment

7 [Feb. 16th, 2011|10:51 pm] [ Tags | internal, nonfiction ] Two long, black lines curve slightly to the left. He never notices them going, but every time he comes back he sees them, passes over them, and that terror rushes in again. Most people don’t notice the lines—there are many other sets. But he knows them well. They mark the spot where he almost died. He’s thought about the experience so much. He can’t focus on much else. He wants to waste the days in bed. It’s not fear. It’s the weight in his chest. It’s the breathlessness. The absence of a heart beat. He hasn’t held this in. He’s told people. His friends think it’s funny. They laugh and crack jokes and he forces a smile because he knows they’re not really listening. That’s not something friends are serious about, so they hear it all as a joke. They don’t hear his breathless voice trying to reach their ears. His sister reacted the same way. He told her and she said it sounded dirty how he almost got rammed from behind. He said she seemed to have missed the point. He had almost died. She said sorry but couldn’t keep from laughing about the rape joke. His girlfriend sounded distraught. It could have ended differently, she said. She didn’t want to think about it. So they changed the subject and forgot about it. Until he drove over those two black lines again and remembered all too well. He knows his father would skip the important part and give him tips on how to avoid wrecks. It’s his father’s way of showing that he cares for his son. Thing is, his son knows how to avoid wrecks. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. He doesn’t need tips. And he doesn’t need to know people care. He doesn’t need to be told it’s all right, or that he’s alive and that’s what matters. He needs a shoulder to cry on. It was the second most terrifying experience of his life. What he needs is some emotional support. link post comment

As I Sit in the Shade [Feb. 4th, 2011|07:27 pm] [ Tags | honesty, minimalism, poetry ] The cracks on the sidewalk spread out from the sun You lie now in pieces, who used to be one link post comment

For a Chance [Jan. 29th, 2011|12:40 pm] [ Tags | dedication, love, motivation, nonfiction ] The first game I went to was one of the last they played. The teams weren’t quite flawless, but they were damn good. Their speed, their accuracy, and their ability to read each other and work in concert were amazing. But that’s not what really struck me. The source of everything, the dedication it took to get that good, is what struck me. I saw imprinted in every move they made the drive to succeed. It filled me with awe. These guys have nothing else, really. Growing up on the Rez doesn’t give you many advantages. The education is low-tier. The economy is horrible. These guys don’t have a damn thing going for them besides their drive. Each one of them has, for years, pushed himself or herself to the limit and beyond in order to compete with off-Rez schools. They’ve worked and worked, sacrificing themselves so that they can be something, so that they can do something. They’ve given their all to this game, and in return they’ve got a chance. I guess that’s all anyone can expect, in the end—a chance, a possibility, a “maybe.” Maybe we’ll get something out of this, maybe not. And that discourages a lot of people. Most people hold themselves back because the risk of everything falling apart, of everything coming to nothing, is simply too great. But these men and women take that risk. They know what it means to have nothing. They know what it means to risk it all and get nothing back, and still they give it all up, risk everything for that chance. And this is their very last chance. Next year they’ll be out of high school. They’ll scatter like newborn spiders in the wind, and they’ll never be able to try for this again. It was motivating. I love those guys more than almost anything in the world. This one game I attended out of all the rest made me realize that my personal goals can wait. The marathon can wait. My friends can’t. These men and women I love can’t wait because they’ll all be gone in a few months. This is my last chance to show that I love them more than I love myself. So, basically, fuck my marathon, I’m running track. And I’m giving it my all. link post comment

My Problems with Sex Part 3 [Jan. 28th, 2011|11:05 pm] [ Tags | incomplete, sex ] 3. The irrational fear of masturbation. An anonymous poll on scarleteen.com reports that 85% of people masturbate “occasionally or often” while only 5% never masturbate. Another anonymous poll on misterpoll.com also reports high rates of masturbation, consistent between different age groups from 13 to 21. In the same poll, most people said masturbation is “morally neutral” and that they feel positive about and after masturbation. However, on a forum at secrettalk.com, where every post came with a userID, only a few people said they masturbated at all. I was perplexed, to say the least. So I asked my friends if they masturbate. I did not receive a single affirmative answer. Even the guys (and there were more than one) whose pillows looked like solid semen stains said they didn’t masturbate. From everything I’ve heard my friends say, and from everything I’ve told my friends, it would seem that no one ever masturbates. So the facts are obvious: The majority of people masturbate regularly or often, but no one will admit it outside of a totally anonymous setting. Even the partial anonymity of internet forums was not enough for most people to overcome their shame. Why? Because our culture has drilled into our heads that masturbation is abnormal, that it’s for creepy loners who “can’t get any.” No one wants their friends to think of them in that context, so everyone lies about their masturbatory practices. It’s a cycle that shows up in almost every social norm: because it is the norm, people conform to it, and because people conform to it, it becomes the norm. Many people think masturbation is evil. A book written by Mr. Kellogg (yeah, the cereal guy) suggests that in order to prevent masturbation, parents should sew their sons’ foreskins shut and pour pure carbolic acid on their daughters’ clitorises! Now that’s on the Holy Fucking Shit end of the Crazy Spectrum. That’s genital mutilation, which there is no medical reason to have done. If you don’t know why that’s wrong, I suggest you look up Female Genital Mutilation on Wikipedia, and remember: mutilation is the only word for it. Kellogg did write that quite some time ago, so hopefully no one does those things anymore. However, parents still do things like circumcise boys and fill children of both genders with horror stories of what masturbation does. My own father talked shit to me when I was small every time he found me with my hand down my pants. There’s nothing wrong with masturbation. Sure, death grips should be avoided, routines should be varied, and there is such a thing as too much (ten times a day should be the limit). But really, masturbation has multitudinous benefits. For example, masturbation is the much more enjoyable, easier, surefire way to eliminate the risks of sex (with the other option being total abstinence). There is virtually no way to contract an STD or get pregnant while masturbating (unless you steal someone’s dildo, which you should never do). The emotional risk is so low as to be nonexistent, since there’s no pressure to perform, no fear of being violated, no one you feel might judge your appearance, etc. The only emotional risk is that your peers or family will somehow find out and react badly. Masturbation is also an excellent way to explore your sexuality, figure out what things you like and don’t like (what hurts, what kind of kinks you have, etc.), and to become more at home with sex. It allows young people to enter into interpersonal sex with a more developed sexuality, with more experience, and most importantly, more self confidence. One huge thing that masturbation provides is the ability to not have sex. Why do teens have sex? Most often because of the physical sensations. For teens who don’t want to have sex or don’t have a sexual relationship in their life at the moment, but feel the need for those sensations, masturbation is a healthy and hopefully available tool they can use to their advantage. Masturbation has a bad reputation. I’ve heard rumors over the years that it leads to erectile dysfunction, that it makes it impossible for women to orgasm, that it causes premature ejaculation. But as long as you vary your routine, remember to gently caress rather than beat (because that actually can lead to major loss of sensation and an inability to orgasm), and only use toys designed specifically for masturbation (did you hear about that priest who had to go to the ER to get a potato removed from his ass?), nothing bad will come of it. To close this bit out, I’d like to make a statement. I mentioned the cycle of social normality above. The social taboo against masturbation isn’t going to go away until the cycle is broken and a new one is put in place. So, in interest of breaking the cycle: I masturbate. I also live a fulfilling life, socially, athletically, and academically. I do all of that while still reserving a little time, as often as I can, to masturbate. And you can, too. link post comment

My Problems with Sex Part 1 [Jan. 10th, 2011|03:19 pm] [ Tags | incomplete, sex ] This essay is an overview of my personal problems with the sexual culture of America. Particularly, I’m writing about the problems I see in teenage sexuality, based on the behavior I observe in my peers and some light reading I have done. The points aren’t arranged in any significant order, and can mostly be read independently from each other. 1. The pressure to view romantic relationships as “more” than friendships (and indeed as more than any other relationship type). It's a load of bullshit to arrange anyone's relationships into hierarchy, and even more to do so for an entire culture. And yes, this has been done to our entire culture. Think about whether you've read many books, seen many movies, where romantic love is placed in a less important spot than familial or platonic love. There are a few, sure. A couple comedies, like Finding Nemo and Harold and Kumar Go to Whitecastle, a couple action flicks like Equilibrium and V for Vendetta. Now think about the Princess Bride, Little Mermaid, Lion King, Blast from the Past, Clueless, Drive Me Crazy, Die Hard, Grease, To Die For, Snow White, and Birthday Girl, where romantic love is the primary motivation for the protagonists. Then Buffy the Vampire Slayer, where no one, despite having great, supportive, loving friends, is ever happy while single. Now Mr. and Mrs. Smith and similar titles, where the power of romantic love, not any other kind of love, allows our protagonists to do impossible things. Now think about every song you've ever heard. Omit the political ones, the histories, and the comedies, and you're left with relationships. How many are about friendship? Parent-child relationships? Fraternal love? Next to none. How many are about romantic relationships? Almost all. Even the ones about being rich and awesome mention something about romance or sex, but nothing about really good friends. We, as a culture, have been conditioned to revere sex above all other forms of intercourse (while at the same time being conditioned to disdain it as an atrocity, but we'll get to that later). This conditioning is reflected in the art we produce. Right, so what does this all lead to? Well, it leads to people alienating parents and friends in order to spend more time with romantic partners. It leads to young people doing absolutely crazy things, like eloping and running away from home, or having unsafe sex in order to keep a faulty relationship intact. It leads to young women staying with abusive men even when their family and friends are all begging them to leave. Romantic relationships can be more important than some other types. The problems arise when we raise children to believe that that "can" is a "must." Why? Because not everybody is lucky enough to fall in love with healthy, loving, supportive people, and when these less lucky people depend more on romantic relationships than other, healthier relationships, it unsurprisingly leads to worse overall health. link post comment

It's the Truth [Jan. 1st, 2011|03:25 am] [ Tags | abuse, external, morality, violence ] I didn’t do it for hate, but it looked hateful. The blood spattered on the concrete said, “Hate.” The torn clothing and wood splinters from my skateboard said, “Hate.” And loudest of all, the fire in my eyes said, “Hate.” But I did it for love. He would have hurt my woman. He was going to hurt my woman. I had to protect my woman. So I picked up my skateboard and walked over to him. He was expecting it, he knew what I was doing, and yet he left his arms at his sides. I hit him across the face once to knock him down, and then once more when he stayed on his feet. He hit the concrete and his knees began to bleed. He leaned forward, and I hit his exposed back over and over again. The tears streaming from his eyes, the splinters embedded in his skin, the blood soaking into his white t-shirt, all shouted, “Hate!” But I did it for love. What else could I have done? He would have hurt my woman. So I picked up my skateboard and beat him senseless. I didn’t stop. He didn’t fight back. I didn’t stop. I didn’t stop until the police came and made me. I didn’t stop until the bloody, splintered skateboard was torn from my hands. Later, in a six by six cell, I looked at my clean, clean hands and whispered, “Hate?” In the next cell over, he whispered back, “Hate.” And my heart began to scream it, and my mind, and every muscle, bone, and sinew in my body. A chorus of beautiful intentions sang, “Hate.” link post comment

Underneath It All [Dec. 30th, 2010|04:52 pm] [ Tags | loose meter, old poetry, spirituality ] I've seen only a little of the soul. It hides beneath a mask of flesh and bone. If I starved to leave the flesh And I fought to break the bone Would the soul take form? Would it cascade? Would it flow? Would it be solid? Would it float? Would it be worthy? Would it be beautiful And catch the passing eyes of passersby? Would a man or woman, seeing it, be filled with awe By its purity, its strength, its sanctity? Would the soul, unveiled, be worth a life? link post comment

An Inexcusable Monstrosity [Dec. 30th, 2010|04:49 pm] [ Tags | academic, morality ] One of the most common questions that Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein brings to mind is, “Who is the true monster?” Is it Frankenstein’s creature or Frankenstein himself? People tend to answer with Frankenstein. After all, he made the creature and is therefore the cause of all the damage the creature inflicts. The argument is that if Frankenstein did not play God then none of the horrible things that the creature does would happen. But why can Frankenstein’s creature not make his own decisions? The Creature makes decisions—good and bad—throughout the novel, and he makes them on his own. The fact that circumstances out of the Creature’s control influenced his path toward monstrosity is no excuse for that monstrosity. The Creature’s story begins in Frankenstein’s laboratory, where he is built and brought into life. The first thing Frankenstein does upon the birth of his creature is abandon him because he looks so hideous. The Creature ends up in the wilds of Germany, left to fend for himself without any knowledge of the world. At first, he is content to remain by himself, sustained by nature and separated from human beings. By and by, though, he comes into contact with society while innocently searching for food. He is attacked and beaten by an entire village until he escapes and goes into hiding. For quite a time he lives in a little shack attached to the home of several French exiles. He learns to speak and read French quickly by only watching and listening to them in secret, and he comes to love them because of the kindness they show to each other. However, when he finally reveals himself to them, they become hysterical and attack him because of his ugly appearance. This is the turning point in the Creature’s disposition toward mankind. He goes from loving the French exiles to hating them in the course of a moment. “To see their sweet looks directed towards me with affection was the utmost limit of my ambition” (Shelley 120) turns to “I could with pleasure have destroyed the cottage and its inhabitants and have glutted myself with their shrieks and misery” (125). His anger is not just directed toward the French exiles, but toward all mankind, and soon thereafter becomes directed toward his creator, Frankenstein. Then, to exact revenge, the Creature travels to Frankenstein’s hometown of Geneva. He finds and kills Frankenstein’s brother, William, and then frames Justine Moritz, a close friend of Frankenstein’s, so that she is executed for the murder. Afterward, the Creature finds Frankenstein and demands that a female creature be made to be his companion. Frankenstein agrees after some argument and at length begins to work on this second creation. When he is almost finished, however, he decides to destroy it for fear that, if she came to life, she would be even more horrible than the first creation. In response, the Creature kills several more of Frankenstein’s friends and family. The Creature’s actions are those of a true monster, but it can be argued that the Creature is not responsible for his actions, Frankenstein is. Indeed, this is the main argument for choosing Frankenstein as the true monster of ¬Frankenstein. However, it results in a major inconsistency in the logic of any who make that case. Why are the Creature’s actions seen as predetermined, but Frankenstein’s as the result of free will? If determinism rules the Creature, then determinism rules Frankenstein, and no one is to blame for anything that happens in Frankenstein. If Frankenstein has free will, then so must his Creature, which means that they are both responsible for everything they do. The Creature is clearly a monster; none other than a monster could rejoice in murder. He has an absolutist ideology in which the end always justifies the means and he disregards everyone’s feelings but his own. These two characteristics combine to make the Creature a ruthless, manipulative person willing to do anything to attain self-gratification. He murders children and rejoices, saying, “I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with exultation and hellish triumph” (131). He cruelly destroys Frankenstein’s closest friends, none of whom does him any harm except being close to Frankenstein. If this does not make a monster, nothing would. NOTE: All references are to the Bantam Classic reissue, 2003. link post comment

Questions [Dec. 30th, 2010|04:48 pm] [ Tags | morality, old poetry, sonnet ] How much must we bend before we break? How much must we see before we know? How much must we lie before we're fake? How much must we feel before it shows? Why do we still kneel before the throne? Why are we afraid to hold the key? Why are we afraid to claim our own? Why do we not choose our destiny? What is there to do about this mess? What is it that's happened to our lives? What is it that we must still confess? What out there can salvage us but knives? To what extent can we avoid our guilt Before we take the hit and start to wilt? link post comment

Cigarette [Dec. 30th, 2010|04:46 pm] [ Tags | drug abuse, old poetry ] I live for that breath of clean air Breathe deep and hold beauty inside Slowly let clean air creep away But remember the sensation Everlasting and Forever I live for the time with my friends Laugh long and hard, beautiful joy Slowly let laughter fade away But remember the sensation Everlasting and Forever I live for the feel of her hands Caress my neck and warm my heart Slowly let sleep pull her away But remember the sensation Everlasting and Forever link post comment

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