Sex y Plea

As I write my ears are filled with the sounds of two wild animals fucking. I think they are cats. Pariahs on the morning prowl. One cat is growling and crying, presumably the female, as the male’s teeth appear to be gripping the loose skin above her neck.

Sexuality: I think of sexuality as an expression of a person’s basest desires. The inclination toward sexual acts is one of the most natural things in the world. Like rain or gravity. Unfortunately, the social stigmas that we have developed over time discourage or discriminate against some desires which under a naturalistic light might appear just as acceptable. Sexuality is not a finite endpoint, its a sliding scale. But social norms dictate that we are only to have one sexual identity and this can be met with complicated responses for some people and quite a simple reaction by others.

That having been said. If you are hanging out with me, and your name is Matt, and the time is last weekend, and we are in a bar trying to hit on girls with lurid dreams of finding ourselves ensnared within their limbs in the sweaty folds of copulation, do not refer to the girls who have come before in your relationship timeline using colorful colloquialisms or Oak-Town EBONics.

Matt: You are heretofore banned from ever using the phrase 'mah bitches'.

And now. On with the blog.

SO we've been talking for a long time you and I. This array of words that I breath forth to fly into the domed echo-chamber of internets where you catch the wind of my dying ideas like disease and breath them back, preserving, improving, restoring me and my feeble expeditures of thought from collapsing all together.

YOU HAVE been my friend and my nurse, my student and my mentor. And though like a madmen my expressions often brush past vanity, truth or yea even secondary conceptualization, still this discourse remains and so as a friend I turn to you now.

UNDER what conditions do I write best? I wish I knew. That way I could reproduce them and produce more. Comrades join arms. How do you write? It's all about the means of production, so what are the social realtions that create creativity?

Marx was a dink.

I NEED TO get in this car of expression and drive. Loneliness is a tired fossil fuel and rage burns away too fast. Anger a rich recipe for more anger but not words and it is words that I seek. I need a charge to whet my fiendish appetite, and the black hells of February so vex'd from me. Just past an arms length reach.

TELL me dear friends. What do you use to start this auto-mobile? The engine that roars into action once and then procedes to move of it's own accord. A topic. A theory. An emotion.

LOCOmotion. I need to feel moved. And when I move I want to take you along. So tell me readers, sit close and whisper there where the mask tucks away behind my ear.
What day doth follow night?