I guess it's, like, okaaayyyy.

So, I was thinking like, "hey, sex is really cool and it feels completely amazing." And then I thought some more and said, " well, maybe sex is just kinda . . . . . eh."

Sex is eh. It's not like Purgatory, it's definitely more good than bad. But, well, not that much more . . . not like it's made out to be.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a nymphomaniac who can't get pleasure from sex (for all of you who thought nymphomania was just having a lot of sex, tsk tsk tsk, bad dog), it's just that it's more like the pleasure of taking a good shit (not beer or jalepeno shit) than "the-most-life-altering-thing-you'll-ever-experience-and-if-you-do-it-outside-of-certain-guidlines-then-you'll-suffer-forever-in-eternal-'damnation'".

Sorry, I don't mean to insult anyone's beliefs. I also belief that waiting to sex-it-up till yer marries is a perfectly legitimate and ripe way of being. I'm just talking about the way that we relate to this particular one of our own bodily functions.

Speaking of which . . . can anyone tell me why any of our bodily functions would be inherently evil or sin producing? This concept makes no sense to me, and I must admit, infuriates me as well. I'm not just referring to Christianity here. For instance, early Hindu's (around Buddha's time) used to emaciate themselves. I don't believe that they consciously thought "eating is inherently bad" but they seems to have an avertive attitude toward food, so much so that they became unhealthy.


I'm going to cut this short with a poignant observation: whenever I start discussing views like this (mostly how we relate to ourselves and our bodies) I always realize that nothing seems to have inherent value and that there seems to be some sort of harmony or for the greco-lover in you, a golden-mean-of-moderation that is seen when the thing itself (sex, hunger, dissappointment) is used well/healthfully.

The things I observe seem to conflict with what people tell me (i.e. no thing having inherent value, good or bad).

Put that in your pipe and smoke it.


I said Smoke IT!

Justoria

So, while I'm in the blogging community, I've noticed that many of the pages that I read by other bloggers have no anonymous or cryptic authors to their comments.

Considering the relatively large amount of "anonymous" posters that I have, I'm officially declaring this page a new country, Justoria. Much like a new america (but without the radical discontinuity), I advertise that anyone with a past-in-need-of-forgetting or with a shameful name (Richard Proctor . . . . . come on!) is welcome in this new electronic country.
Where pasts are abandoned and futures flourish like alliterations like anti-gravity apples apprehending an accosting ascent! Booya!

In other words, since you'll never tell me who you are, my curiosity has evaporated like the smoke in my car and so many orphans' dreams. (anybody see The Venture Bros. last night? Dr. Venture's Wish-Machine runs on forgotten soul of an orphan. Damn liberals are always pushing there alternative fuels! Tree Huggin Hippies!)

Welcome to Justoria, Population: monkey.

A Saturday Afternoon Haiku

Neodinium Flatulance

Headphones, They taunt me

Only treble, no bass found.

Best-Buy-killing-spree.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

A brief and spontaneous (keep that in mind when judging me) list of things I'm thankful for:

Not in any particular order . . .

1 Cake - the band and the dessert

2 Seat Heaters, especially ones that I get to use.

3 Trip Hop

4 Scotland

5 The electric guitar

6 ATV 2

7 The Wheel (literally, the invention of the wheel. Preeeety cool.)

8 Plastic (just think about it)

9 Twang (as in, that music doesn't have enough damn twang, Bobo!)

10 Irish Red Beard (brrrrr)


Always remember, no matter how much you suck, somebody can always suck more than you. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Snot Rancid

If you love bluegrass like me do . . . Listen to the Yonder Mountain String Band . Mmmm, mmm, good.

Something about bluegrassy country fiddling goodness that makes my heart quake and my phallus protrude.

Again, thank you for letting me provide you with such interesting visual imagery.

A brief CD review

Moby : Ambient ------> get it, listen to it.

I nice blend of ambient chill with free use of dissonance. Tasteful use of minimalism. Does not demand attention, but provokes interest if given attention.
Exceptionally geared toward "light"-drug use. Some tracks harder to listen to, but I think it gives the album a bit of a challenge while you listen to the gold Moby was mining. I highly recommend it. It gets 3/5 possible fuzzy llamas: *n^, *n^, *n^.

Saturday night poetry

I drive down a very dark Highway 1. No light pollution.

Pines on either side.

No cars.

Just white of my own headlights.

and I have the distinct feeling,

a sort of questioning-belief like . . .

Maybe this road will not end, and there will be no place to turn off. And it wouldn't surprise me for some reason.

I have the distinct experience :

A profound vacancy . . .

An old house with no furniture, no pictures, no walls, no stairs . . . empty

Just gentle vaporescent brush strokes.

Like memories, but no see.

Like a dream, but can't remember.

So many ideas.

I tire of talking about them.

Even mentioning Helpful theories,

Useful observations,

observations Profound . . .

The house and I are twins at the head,

lungs,

hip.

What is most disappointing

is not that I see vacancy, profound loneliness all around . . .

but that we Seem unable to join each other where we are.

Instead?

Ok. Not Ok.

Normal. Weird and unrelatable.

stoic-'happiness'. Rich feeling and ensuing alienation.

Through everything I understand that

What I say, the word-paintings tell how

I

see My

world.

Instead of fighting so hard and

Pretending

to be objective and

know-it-all.

I embrace my foolishness

dependence

unquestioned beliefs

moments of imbalance . . .

I honor these things even

though I can't shake the

feeling

that they Are forbidden.

I respect them and I am with them.

I embrace my prison,

for I have not been able to escape,

this whole time.

Denial of dependence . . .

Denial of self-imprisonment . . .

Will not

Open

the doors.

The doors are locked

only with our

Desire

to escape.

Gassho.

a googleplex

You can only have so much heaviness at a time. So, as the last post (and many previous) have been all but light reading, I'd like to post some mindful mindlessness.

I'm in California now, visiting my sister, until Nov. 13. It's harvest time out here in Mendocino. If you know anything about that, well, then you know that I'm having quite an interesting time out here, literally right on the ocean. I can wake up, walk about 1/8 mile, and say hello to the waves crashing against stubborn boulders and shoreline.

I wouldn't mind living out here, not in the least. It hasn't yet hit me that I'm so far away from Toledo, to which I've become extremely accustomed to in the past 6 months. Ahh perspective, perspective. I tire of the drama of my sister, as I find that it's not so far from the same drama I experience in Toledo.

Sometimes when you venture far away, and far away from all of your distractions, you realize that there is a profound sort of lonliness in your activities. Those things that I really enjoy, but that require worthwhile effort, I avoid.

I have many images, idealizations, in my head . . . but I am none of these.

I feel talked down to, and I think that I tend to be talked down to wherever I go. Perhaps my body language illicits this?

Do you all ever wonder if your experience of life has a whole lot to do with how others perceive you and that you can't help but give them this perception?
I feel this way a whole damn lot.

Like I said, I'll be back the 13th, at which point you can expect more writing, I'm sure. Until then, I'm with sis, in Mendo, getting high, mountain biking, and gaping at the ocean.

Love me from afar.