My Life has become a research project.
Archive for the ‘autobiographical’ Category
My Life has become a research project.
Since a young age I've been skeptical of all of the mysticism of Christianity, despite that I was raised in the church and have always been a relatively spiritual person.
I grew up analyzing what I was hearing in the context of logic, history, and science. I came to the conclusion that a lot of what conservative Christians believe is pretty crazy, but that Jesus guy? He was right about a lot of stuff. As I continued to study history and politics I became appalled that such radically conservative sectors of American society held up as their idol a man who was, essentially, a radical socialist hippie.
You might say I'm a radical socialist hippie myself, so I'm not opposed to people paying attention to Jesus's teachings.
A lot of conservative preachers talk about how "there is no way to salvation but through Jesus," and I'm beginning to think that maybe they're right.
Sort of.
I'm angered by the hopeless ignorance of the scientific method that accompanies conservative Christian beliefs, however if we — as a world — don't start "loving our neighbors" and "turning the other cheek" — core teachings of Jesus and many other philosophers — we really might be utterly screwed. We can argue on and on and on about the dogma regarding Jesus (and I suspect a lot of it is false), but I fear that if we don't "accept Jesus" and his teachings about compassion and giving that we may indeed be doomed to destroy ourselves.
Who is this girl
and how did she come into my life?
I don’t know, but when I’m in my lowest low I can feel her skin against me. In the lowest of my valleys, in the darkest of my times it’s like She’s God to me… holding me close and letting me know I’m loved. In the darkest shadows with nothing else there, she’s there. Who is she? And how did she make it here? I don’t know, but I don’t know where I’d be without her.
How did I come to love her? Who is this girl, and how did I come to love her?
I don’t know, and sometimes I feel bad for chasing after her, but I was struck and pulled… somehow she got a hook in me and she was beautiful, and I didn’t know who she was but I wanted to know… I wanted to look into her and know her.
God, who is she?
But I look into her now and I know her. We’re both scared now and sometimes, but sometimes… aside from the pain and our foolish careless bumbling youth, I see her… I see her… I told her she was beautiful in the dark and she said, “but it’s dark!” and I hushed her and said, “shhh… I see you. And you are beautiful…”
God, who is she?
I love her so much and sometimes I wonder if I keep on asking myself these questions because I’ll never really have the answers, I’ll never really have the words to describe her, the words to explain who she is, deep down. I’m learning to write volumes on it now, in my head, but it’s because I know her, and I want to know her, and for some god-unknown mysterious reason she is the direction of the universe I want to know everything about.
Wow…
Why?
The video below is of me two months ago.
It was one of my lowest moments, but I revisited that fire yesterday, and two days before that.
It's as if I'm in rehab, and in order to heal I must push through all the pain I've ever felt. Like a body that has been injured and then atrophied from lack of use… the parts of me that let me be happy before have been injured and atrophied, and now it's time for rehab — and the pain of stretching and using those parts again… The worst part is the pain of not being able to do what I used to be able to do. Like a runner who can't come anywhere close to the speeds he did before his injury, I'm lamenting that I can't reach the highs that I did before all this.
It will come, in time…
Right now, I'm working very hard not to be ashamed of what I can do, even though it's not as much or as good as I imagine myself doing.
I love dogs, and I always have. It has always seemed that I get along better with animals than I do with people.
I was a very, very shy child. I didn't want to talk to anyone, and I was camera shy. But I was friends with all of the dogs in our neighborhood. I was lucky enough to grow up somewhere that didn't have fences — and people's dogs were trained to stay close to home. So when I would walk or ride my bike through the neighborhood I would befriend the dogs. I had no problems inviting them to come say "hello" to me, even though I would have never invited such a greeting from another human.
The picture above was taken when I was twelve years old; I was in Barcelona. Or, "Bar-th-elona," as the natives said — everyone in Spain has a lisp. Or at least everyone in Barcelona does.
I was really lucky to get to go — my father believed strongly in the virtues of traveling, and the summer after sixth grade I spent a month in Europe: in Spain, Switzerland, and France.
I didn't make any human friends on the trip, but the basset hound in Barcelona was happy to receive my affections.
Original Composition
January 2012
I am an artist. I have been for a long time.
I have started drawing on the covers of hardback books; the first I have completed, other than the covers of personal journals, is the one below: the back of the book “The Dream Giver.”
I am starting on the front cover tomorrow.
When it has been completed, I would like to loan the book to anyone who would appreciate the story and would appreciate my art.
I would like to move on to painting murals in the near future. If you or any person or organization you know would be interested in a custom piece of art, please let me know.
Fucking is rough, and sensual. It involves being deep inside someone and tasteing their sweat and hearing their groans like the primal forces of animal reproduction.
Fucking is a searing, non-thinking state of mind and heavy breathing and the use of muscles and voice and teeth and hands, it is the desire to cum, and cum hard. It is the desire to get yours and to bring them tearing along with you.
It is the desire to ride cock and fuck deep, fucking is the desire to feel nothing but the moving of your bodies and the tension, the delectable, wild, coursing, searing tension that drives you to move against them, to pull them into you and to press into them as deep and as hard as you can.
Fucking is the state of mind where motions and spaces that would ordinarily be painful drive you to a fiery, eyes-narrowed place that knows no pain, only tension and pleasure. Fucking is the tumbling dark intensity of our bodies that makes us feel like ancient shamans or magicians calling on the seminal forces of this universe to create. Fucking is the combination of destruction and creation; fucking breeds and spills power; fucking is the sort of magic that makes us feel alive.
Fucking is the feeling that we have power over our lives and our pain and our ecstasy. Fucking is an expression of the power we have been endowed in every cell in our bodies.
Fucking is not for the weak or heart or meek of mind.
Fucking, at it’s best, is an exaltation of being human.