Vulgarity

I’m going to go nuts. There’s just so much to do I don’t know how some people do it. That is, I don’t know how some people either accomplish everything they want to in their lives while still preserving their sanity and working out an hour a day and having sex for a large part of the night. Or, how some people just choose to ignore everything they have to do and do nothing. Doesn’t it bug you?

I met Kevin to test out some new lights he bought yesterday, and we got my maid to watch. I wasn’t doing anything really, just poncing around with my iPod and fooling about with my March fairy rag doll. I’ll post something up in a moment. She thought it was vaguely funny.

Shelly (this girl I’d met through Greg, whom I was romantic with for a short period of time, whom she was vaguely interested in for a short period of time in another era well before I turned legal) invited me to a party last night. We had a decent amount of forgettable wine, and flirted with each other. Flirting with girls is so different, I swear. You kinda always know guys aren’t going to slap you if you start grabbing their ass, but you never know with girls. I can’t imagine being a guy and not being able to squeeze the ass of just about any member of the opposite sex.

This friend of hers popped up from behind her seat at some point in time, looking like Joker without the makeup and talking about erotic poems and lesbian love. He talked in a completely psychotic voice, and there was no doubt that he was a pervert. Which also made him pretty damn interesting. I told him if he’d cough up an erotic poem on the spot, Shelly and I would do whatever that was in it. I wish I could remember it, it was pretty good for something off the top of his head. Kissing Shelly was just amazing. It’s just that I don’t kiss all that many girls, and it’s much harder to get a girl to like me. Her date for the night was looking with the queerest expression on his face, looking at the both of us.

Last night, Richard looked through one of the many little journals I carry around to record every worthy idea I have and I realized how filled with naked women the entire book was. There were all these little sketches of female stick figures making out with each other frame by frame, and a short description of what they were up to below each scene. I told him no one ever made me so aware of the fact that I was really quite the pervert.

I’ve not gotten bored of the sex yet, but Alice was protesting all night because she was getting bored and irritated with being overworked. So we’re leaving her alone for a while now. When we were chilling out this morning, I told him how strange I felt with him. Like, I was actually excited to be beside him, for no reason at all. And the thing is, it doesn’t feel like an infatuation, I’ve dated so many people, I should know how an infatuation would feel like. You see, the thing about him that makes him different from other guys that have really liked me is that he doesn’t seem to demand anything emotionally, at all. He probably does, but I think maybe because I like him so much I’m giving him more then he would have settled for anyway.

He’s had a difficult time and his stories always move me and I want to give and give and give. And that was kinda what I wanted to do with Martine, only he couldn’t do the one thing I wanted him to do. And that was just to fucking take and make me happy by making me feel like I was doing something nice. But of course you can’t force people to love you. And there’s love like a burden, from the people you don’t want love from, and affection and care and all things nice from people you do want.

I don’t know how I feel towards him, but I know it feels right. I wish I could explain it, may be I’ll try. He likes me for the crazy person I am, loves the excitement I’ve turned his nights into, appreciates the crazy people I go out with. Wants to shag me all the time but doesn’t particularly care about his orgasms (okay, I’m probably kidding to myself here. Of course he does, all people care about their orgasms, only difference is he never tries to wear me down or ever makes me feel obliged to help him get it. And you have no idea how shitty some of the sex I’ve had in the last few months have been because the guys were all so hung up on their fucking orgasms. It’s just that… It never occurred to me that it was alright a guy didn’t get his orgasm. I have a problem saying no to the boy-friends that seem like they’d die from being bilbolized)

I’m very happy with him and I hope it stays this way for awhile yet. It’s just so difficult to find someone right. When I talk to him about his previous loves and things, I always wonder why they weren’t particularly into him, sexually. Because it’s not often I have sex that’ll bring me down to tears and I have that with him (when Alice is not exhausted and numbed from our brutality). And we’ve come to the conclusion (at least I have anyway) that people have this aura about them that makes different people compatible with each other in different ways. And it’s easy to find someone that matches your criteria for all sorts of stupid things, like income bracket, good-looks, funny factor bla, bla and bla. But it’s not easy to find someone you can completely click with in that I could hang around you all day with my face in your crotch kinda click. There’s absolutely no reason for it, I swear.

***

As for the recent stupid scandal involving Xia Xue’s recent post (for those of you that keep up with her blog), all I have to say is this. With no insult to her, because she’s emailed me a couple of times and has come off smart, nice and un-antagonistic when away from the public… observations of her blog.

However, this is what I think of her post (mind you, not her) on that whole thing at the Blog con.

Firstly, it’s terribly ironic because that post itself is undeniably vulgar; It’s certainly more vulgar then my breasts. Secondly, I didn’t do it to get more attention, I did it because I was fucking bored. If you have to know what I did, I pulled off my top in a PRIVATE function room with no more then 10 ADULTS all of whom have already seen my breasts. It was FUNNY, and they laughed, and it probably was something for them to remember the otherwise terribly uneventful after con party by.

However, I don’t have any problems with XX’s vulgarity. It unhinges me because I can’t stand eroticism and sensuality being reduced to the crude forms she occasionally describes it in. But it’s just like Terry Richardson. It’s crude, but it’s human too, and it’s all part of our existence. It’s time we stopped trying to deny how we really look like when we have sex, or when we’re fucking mad or really tickled to the bone. Pure human emotions are all kinda vulgar. Look at all the glam models in the magazines. They look gorgeous, but they look DEAD.

Putting naked girls into hauntingly beautiful photographs is one kinda art a great deal of people can stomach, and even appreciate and fall in love with. And it’s not that it’s not real. But it will ever only be one facet of that girl. That same girl wouldn’t be as beautiful at the crux of an orgasm, but that’s real too isn’t it. And art should cover everything. It’s sickening when girls demand to have the lights turned off before sex because they feel like they’ll never look as sensual as the stuff you see in Playboy, or whatever.

You see, that’s real life imitating art.

Art should be about life.

You know the idiots that are always complaining about people painting and taking photographs and making films about people having sex and then publishing them as using ‘art’ as nothing more then an excuse for their perversions?

And that stupid Ravi Zacharias that can’t stop going on about how life is now starting to imitate art and we are generally leading more vulgar lives through our vulgar imaginations. People have always been innately vulgar. It’s a good thing that we have self-control and consideration also innately in us. But vulgarity is a part of all of us, and there’s nothing wrong with it as long as you’re not hurting anyone with it. Come on, don’t tell me it isn’t a turn on to say ‘You’re such a slut, your bad little girl is so wet you slut, you licentious cunt’ etc. etc. It turns me on anyway. But hell, it is different if I say that to my girlfriend in bed, and to her when we’re having an argument in the middle of the street.

Anyway.

Look at yourself the next time you have an orgasm, by yourself or with your boyfriend or a stack of porn movies or in a field of sheep; whatever. You probably don’t look one bit as pretty as the ‘art’, you pervert.

*wink*

xoxox