Blog of the Day Award, and other things

I can't believe its been nearly ten days since I last posted. Obviously, I've been really busy.

The big news for today is that I just heard from Bill Austin that my site has won a Blog of the Day Award (BOTDA)! Very cool and unforseen. I even get to use this button:
.


What else? Lets see... My friend S was just visiting--he is an airline steward and has had Friday night to Saturday afternoon layovers this month. On his most recent overnight I took him to the Samurai exhibit at the Asian Art Museum here in town. We ate pho and I showed him photos from the Japan trip in April. It has been a few years since he was there last and he now he really wants to go back.

My companion, M, is working like a fiend on a start-up project. I cleared the dining table of its settings so he could use it as an additional desk -- he's got 4 computers running right now, with MacOS, Linux, Windows Vista and Windows 7 beta. There are lots of routers, wires, and packaging all over the place--its madness. A madness I do my best to cope with while leaving it alone--quite an effort, I assure you.

I'm in talks with a friend, The Sayer of RedWordSaid.com who does his own erotic audio files for women -- we're trying to figure out how to expand awareness of our work and the unique niches we fill. I'm advertising on Google, looking at doing ads on FetLife.com (a captive audience of Kinksters!) and trying to figure out how to re-design my sites with DreamWeaver and make banners with PhotoShop.

M, being an internet guru, has given me some tips and suggestions -- like offering my high-quality erotic vignettes on iTunes for .99 each to get more traffic and sales. So I'll probably set something up with CDBaby, a music distribution company local to my favorite town (Portland, OR) which has been hit hard by the recession. Hopefully, selling short vignettes on iTunes will help drive traffic to the sites where my full-length, high-quality, kinky and creative erotic audio stories are available for sale, like SilkenErotica.com and AudioSensual.com.

I'm podcasting 3x a month on the 5th, 15th and 25th--just put a new episode out today, in fact, and recording and doing the production on audio is actually a rather time-consuming labor of love. Currently, the AudioSensual podcast is averaging about 7,000 downloads a week from 1500 unique IPs. I passed the 100,000 downloads mark at the end of May, in just 14 weeks. That still blows my mind.

I've been writing, too -- submitted stories to 2 anthologies this month, and have two more July 1 deadlines I want to meet, one of them for an anthology featuring erotica based in San Francisco.

I'm also heading out of town tomorrow. I'll spend a week in the Sierra Nevada's up near Mammoth Lakes, writing, fishing, and hanging out with family. I'm hoping to get some excellent photos taken. I get home on the 2nd of July and then on Sunday the 5th I'll be hopping a plane to Vegas -- M decided he wanted to see Bill Maher and so we'll be staying for a few days and catching Chris Angel's show, too.

Hopefully I'll find the time to post something naughty in the next week.

Pushed

(My photo of ceramic artwork by Sher Grotts)
"Enough!" he said, and still I pushed. Not out of perversity, but because I am a woman. It is our nature to push. If it was not, no one would be ejected from the womb.

His eyes flashed darkly and his face tightened. He did not want me arousing him, and he was angry that I had. He needed to focus.

He needed to focus and I'd let him. I'd helped him. He brought his work home all week, and all week I moved around quietly, served dinner up at his desk instead of the dining table, brought him tea made just-so, massaged his shoulders and neck. I urged him to bed earlier than usual, and every night I snuggled up to him, skin-on-skin, and felt the profound rightness of it, of our bodies spooned together, and willed my body not to react to the wonderful scent of him filling my nostrils. Every night I wanted the feel of him over me, on me, in me, and every night I settled for pressing my lips, open-mouthed, to the skin of his chest, breathing I love you into him, holding that space of safety so he could sleep deeply and well.

And every morning in the shower I used the wand to pleasure myself, the pulsating water vibrating my clit bringing me to delicious orgasm, day after day. A week of that and I was quivering with need. Snuggling satisfied the skin-hunger but not the desire for bliss. I wanted more. I wanted to scale the heights of him and throw myself off the edge, to break the surface tension of our separateness and mingle freely in spirit, to know that flashing eternal moment of enlightenment that is orgasmic bliss.

And so I pushed him, woman that I am. I pushed him, and man that he is, he feinted and took hold of me, and bound me. Bound me to my sybian and tormented me with idle movements of his fingers upon the control box, his back to me, ignoring me. I gasped and moaned as artfully as I could, begging him to let me cum, but every time I reached the edge, he adjusted the vibration and the crest receeded. Again and again. I pushed myself against the phallus, eyes clenched tight, focussing on the sensation that eluded me. I can cum almost by wishing it, but so great was my frustration that I could not.

How long I hung in this state I do not know. But at some point he was there, naked and standing over me, his cock erect and his hands guiding my mouth onto him. And oh! I nearly swooned from the heat of him, from the taste of him, from the scent rising from his balls. My hands rose to embrace him and I drew him into my mouth as far as I could, and I sucked and licked as the intensity of the sybian increased until my body could not bear it any longer. I came with such intensity I threw my head back and screamed my pleasure, and his cock jerked and shot me with hot streamers of cum that burned as they slid down my breasts.

He leaned forward, leaned his hands on my shoulders, leaning his weight into me, pushing me deeper onto the sybian. He pushed me down, held me down on it, and the intensity of the vibration set me off again, and I came between breaths, convulsing silently until my body's air-hunger forced my lungs to inflate and then I became some symphonic instrument, part human, part machine, and I sang--oh how I sang--accompanied by the sybian's insistent buzzing.

I pushed him away from me and slid off the sybian. My legs did not work, but it did not matter. I curled myself up and shivered and twitched through the orgasmic aftershocks, pushed beyond endurance. Pushed.

(The audio version of this and other erotic stories can be found at my AudioSensual Podcast, audiosensual.blogspot.com)

Change in Podcast Host

For those who follow my podcast, I am announcing a change in my podfeed to Feedburner, and a change in my podcast host. Originally, I had my podcast at MyPodcast.com, but the site owners are not supporting it anymore--they aren't making any money off of it. Fortunately, they have other going concerns, so they are willing to keep the service up and running. But it is in serious need of a hardware upgrade. It can take upwards of 20 minutes for a podcast episode to pull up, the rss feeds tend to break, and most of the people who had iTunes accounts have found themselves dropped for technical reasons (unreliable feed).

It occured to me that I own all these internet Domains and have all this unused disk space and bandwidth, so why not look into generating my own rss feed for a podcast? After uploading the 20 epidsodes currently out there to my AudioSensual.com domain, I looked at software options for podcasting / syndication. I realized that Blogger already makes that possible if the media files are somewhere on the internet, and since I am a longtime user of Blogger, it makes sense to remain with a familiar platform.

Because iTunes does not have a process for allowing re-submission of rejected podcasts, I am changing the name of my podcast to AudioSensual, and trying one more time to submit, hoping mine was rejected due to technical issues instead of prudery (it is impossible to get the 'why' of the rejection from their support staff. I've tried). There are far more explicit podcasts out there than mine.

You can find my podcast at audiosensual.blogspot.com and on iTunes (yay!).

I have updated the rss feed / subscribe link on this page, as well.

Awakening Podcast posted

Every 10 days or so I post a reading of one of my erotic vignettes to my Silkenvoice AudioSensual Podcast page.
On the 5th I added Awakening to the list of recordings. At 2 minutes long, it is short, sweet, and sensual. Enjoy!

Love, by Pablo Neruda

(artwork by: SynfullyDigital Designs)

I've added a recording of Pablo Neruda's poem "Love" to YouTube.
I've also made some recent updates to my Silkenvoice podcast page. I have erotica episodes scheduled to post there every 10 days through February--next one will be January 15th.

Attention Please I (erotic audio preview)

It is my intention to give voice to the sensual immediacy of life. I consider myself a thoughtful, provocative, and creative writer and narrator of erotic stories.

Today I am sharing a preview of my erotic audio story "Attention Please I". The complete text of this highly-rated story is available at Literotica.com

Summary:
This is the first of a two-part tale about the consequences to one woman for her attention-seeking behavior. This woman wants her lover's attention now--even though he is on the phone. He's made it clear that he doesn't want to be disturbed, so she sits on the edge of his desk and teases him by masturbating herself. When he finishes his call, he gives her what she so richly deserves--bent over his desk. Attention Please I has a short, but well-described build up, a very hot seduction, and a steamy finale.
This is a story that men, women, and couples will enjoy. For adult listeners only.
Length (11:56)

If you like what you hear, you can purchase the full version for $3.00 at Lulu.com or at Payloadz.com


via Paypal.

Podcast Banned from iTunes?

Interesting. I checked my mail today and found the following email from iTunesabuse@apple.com

Dear Podcast Owner

The following podcast has not been included in the iTunes podcast directory.

Name: Silkenvoice Podcast
Feed URL: http://silkenvoice.mypodcast.com/rss.xml

Submissions may not be included in the directory for a variety of reasons. For more information, please see the podcast technical specification at http://www.apple.com/itunes/podcasts/techspecs.html.


Sincerely,

The iTunes Store Team

Very odd. I've done some reading and I expect it is because of sexual content, but I'm really not that explicit in my podcasts. There does not seem to be a lot out there regarding getting a feed re-instated or re-submitted. I've tried to submit it again and I get: podcast has already been submitted. Anyone out there know how to get ahold of Apple to appeal, or how to get this fixed?

Silken.

Missing breakfast

[Listen to the podcast here]

I awakened missing his scent filling my nose, missing the feel of his skin under my fingertips. I miss the sounds he makes and the way his body moves under my hands. I love the way he softens when he's been with me a while, the way the social armour starts showing more and more gaps until eventually he sheds it and the only thing standing between us is our skin. I love the way he is a sponge, soaking up the love that radiates from me, from every pore, and that leaks from me, sometimes in the form of tears, but more often as wetness. My love is warm and slippery, and when he is near it escapes me. When he is near I feel myself swelling like a ripe fruit whose skin can no longer contain its juices. I want him to put his mouth to those places where my skin is split and leaking, and suck me dry. In my dreams he bites into me like I am a piece of fruit and I squirt, my juices filling his mouth and drenching his face. I miss the love we share between us, the love that grows and glows and makes me ache so sweetly, makes me ache the way my mouth does before that first taste of him in the morning, breaking my fast.

[Edit: I uploaded the audio for this and fixed the RSS feed for the podcast]

New podcast featuring sybian recording

I took a ride on my sybian, recorded it, and used it as the background for a podcast of the blog entry "She's got a sybian to ride." Do let me know what you think.

My podcasts are now available on iTunes. You can find them here.

I recorded another ride on my sybian, this one without voiceover--unless you consider gasps and moans and whimpers to be "voiceover." This recording is available for purchase here at Lulu.com.

The sexual is political

I am standing up to be counted, and I'm telling the world: "This is my voice. There are many like it. But this one is mine." (Inspired by "This Is My Voice"--Shane Koyczan's performance poem on politics.)

Humanity is a political body. And we seem to politicize everything that touches our lives, because every aspect of our lives that involves social interaction/relations also involves the acquisition and/or application of power via social/societal influence. In understanding this, I understand that politics is innate and thus deeply personal. Each person wants to be Right, and wants others to recognize that Rightness, and thus begins the application of influence in order to attain acknowledgment of that Rightness, which translates directly into power via the "mandate from heaven" archetype. Proof of this is easily observed in any schoolyard.

Sexual relations and all that it touches is deeply political because it is deeply personal. While two or a handful of people may arrive at an agreement regarding matters of sexuality, it is truly impossible for a large social body to achieve a consensus regarding issues of gender and sexuality, because it is impossible to establish a transparent, democratic dialogue. Dialogue itself is the primary battlefield for power relations, a venue for attempting to influence others (to control/modify their perceptions) in order to gain access to their power and thus wield power over them. The current Campaign 2008 here in the States is an illustrative example of this in action.

In general, I avoid discussing politics of the interpersonal and cultural types, for a variety of reasons. But the politics of gender and sexuality, seeing as they directly affect my personal life, often cause the Libertarian in me to rise up during elections, saying "keep your laws off my person." So here I am, looking into the eye of the hurricane-in-a-teacup that Campaign 2008 is, and wishing I could read tea leaves. But augury is not my talent. There is no guarantee that any person elected will have the ability or intention to follow through with the things they've promised. Thus, I rarely vote for a person, but rather, against specific ideologies. Every person in politics thinks his/her ideology is Right and is looking for the majority mandate that will empower them to act upon that ideology "for the greater good."

Ours is an imperfect world. And mine is an imperfect country. Don't get me wrong, I love my country. But mine is an imperfect country. Mine is a country in which worker productivity has increased dramatically in the past two decades and yet the profits of that productivity have been passed on to corporate executives in the form of $100 million compensation packages while their employees earn less in today's dollars than they did two decades ago. Mine is a country in which women comprise the majority of the workforce and heads of households and yet they still earn considerably less than their male counterparts. Mine is a country in which most women exchanging sex for money are criminals, but women marrying a man for economic security (hah!) are not. Mine is a country in which you have the right to starve and be jailed for panhandling if you beg for food or money. Mine is a country in which most of the Christians seem to have forgotten Christ's mandates to love one another and to give aid to the less fortunate. Mine is a country in which we have the right to bear arms and yet few who are terminally ill have the right to die with dignity and ease unless they want to use a gun to blow their brains out. Mine is a country in which corporations have all the rights of individuals, even to the point of buying votes, and none of the responsibilities. Mine is a country in which some would have us guarantee fetus' right to life without thought to guaranteeing the quality of that life.

People come to me. They say, "Kay, you are a smart woman. I respect your clarity of thinking. I'd like to know how you will vote, and why?"

To them, I say:
Anyone who upholds or favors the implementation of laws that interfere with my ability to do what I want with my body, or with my partner behind closed doors, or who would interfere with other's rights to live free and happy lives, will be voted against, no matter how good their rhetoric is, no matter how kind or fiercely protective they seem. The sexual is political, and this unchaste unmarried woman will never spread her legs to a man or woman who promises to deposit a little godliness in her womb in exchange for her power and amenability. Never. Never fucking ever.

(podcast: listen here)

WWKD?

[Listen to the podcast here]

So, if there is anything I really despise, it is sexual blackmail.

Recently I overheard a conversation between two women with whom I am acquainted, a conversation that ended with:
"....and he forgot to take out the garbage two weeks in a row! So that's it. No sex for a week."
I shook my head.
I said. "Oh, I'd handle that very differently."
She said "Oh?"
I said "Yes," and then waited.
She took the bait. She said, "What would Kay do?"
I grinned and said, "I'd tell him we were going to have sex morning and night every day for two weeks."
"That's not a punishment!" she exclaimed.
"Really?" I said and arched an eyebrow. "I didn't say he could cum."
That shocked her speechless. Hee hee.

(edit: This entry was referenced by Figleaf in his Real Adult Sex blog)

Enter Silken's Web--An Induction by Kisses

(photo courtesy of spiderreview.com)

This sensual hypnosis session (25m:25s) is notable for its unique induction. The technique used for guiding relaxation is imagining soft, warm kisses working down the body from head to toes. Once in trance, listeners are invited to "enter Silken's web" and experience Silkenvoice's stories as if he or she is really there. Post-hypnotic suggestions are that listeners feel warm and loved upon awakening. Also available at this Lulu webpage.

He loves her

He loves her. He loves her, and denying it is like denying air to his lungs: the longer he denies it, the more wretched he feels. He is surprised by the depth of his feelings for her, by the sheer visceral-ness of it, even knowing her for years.

He wants her. It seems like he's always wanted her, wanted her since the moment she smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with intelligence and humor, and gave him her name in a voice that could melt glaciers. He'd felt a stir in his groin, and as he watched her lips move as she spoke, he'd thought "Butter melts in that mouth, but my cock won't."

She already had a partner, he learned, and normally he would have let it go at that, but damn if she wasn't unforgettable. So he stayed in touch. And so did she. Every once in a while she'd call or email and invite him to accompany her somewhere. And somehow, he always found the time, because time spent with her was magical.

He loves her, he wants her, and now he has her, and he's a bit scared, because he's not tiring of her, even after a couple of years. She hasn't bored him yet. Sometimes he thinks she might even be smarter than he is, and he likes that. She hasn't pushed him into any emotional corners. She doesn't make him talk when he doesn't want to. And she gives great head. He'd never really understood why so many guys were so enthralled by getting their cocks sucked--until she'd put her mouth on him. And then he knew.

She sucks cock like an epicure eats a gourmet meal. She approaches fellatio with the same reverence a penitent approaches an altar. And with his manhood in her mouth he knows what it is to be desired and accepted. The sounds she makes as she opens her mouth wide enough to stuff him inside. Her fingertips massaging his balls. Her tongue lashing the underside of his cock until he knows what torture is, and he finds himself begging for more. And he feels powerful, with this woman on his knees before him, this incredible woman on her knees worshiping his cock, worshiping him. It is a rush like one he's never known with anyone else and he doesn't want to lose it, to lose her.

He wants her all to himself and when she comes to him, he does everything he can to imprint himself on her, to mark her as his. He knows there are others in her life, others she loves, and he wants to be different, special. There is no one else for him, has not been for quite some time. He knows what he wants. He knows how to work for what he wants. And he knows how to get what he wants.

When she comes to him he makes sure her needs are met. He fills every hole with his dick and his fingers and still he wants more. He wants to find a way to wedge himself so deep into her that there is no knowing where he ends and she begins, until those magnificent orgasms roll through them both on a regular basis and she is mindless with the pleasure of it every moment. He loves her mind, but he loves pushing her to the point where her mind shuts off and she's pure animal, wild with lust. Lust for him.

Afterwards, he loves the way she smells. Loves the scent of both their juices mixed together like some pheromonal aphrodisiac that has been shaken and stirred and is best served hot and sweaty. He loves the way she smells between her breasts, and the way her nipples stand up and say hello whenever he is near. He loves the way she moves her body with his, and the way she vocalizes her passion. And he loves the way he feels with her, the sense of peace he feels after he has conquered her, after he has been on her and in her and through her. He wears her scent on his skin like clothing and is loathe to shower because as soon as he does, he misses her.

He misses her and some part of him thinks it is a weakness, to love a woman like this, with a depth approaching his first love, the woman she says he never quite got over. And maybe she is right but what she doesn't know is that when he is with her, when he is in the presence of the love they share, there is no one else and never has been. Its just them: 100% real, 100% awesome.

(podcast: listen here)

I missed you

I love you too much.
I see you too little.
And I miss you.

I miss you so much
I could wear a blue suit with a capital M on the front
M for miss
M for much
M for mind
as in I must be out of mine

M for midnight
the hour I lay in wait for you
wait for your voice in my head
walking down the corridors of my mind
pushing buttons
opening doors
making me laugh
making me cry

Oh yes,
M for my love
I miss you
I miss you like the ocean misses the shore as soon as its ebbed away
even knowing it will still be there the waves rush forward to kiss the sand
again and again
saying "I missed you"

I missed you.

(podcast: listen here)

She loves him

She loves him. She knows it as well as she knows that he loves her. He's proved it countless times without his intending to or her asking him to. It has caught them both by surprise, this love, and neither of them seems quite sure what to do.

She had doubted it would ever come to her, this feeling. Oh she's loved others, but never with giddiness and longing, with aching in places she did not know love could make her ache. She understands at last the concept of "lovesickness" which previously has been so foreign to her, understands that this weakness could easily infect a person's will. Her will.

She is a warrior. Something in her perceives this love as a potential danger and stands poised to sever that which might weaken her, destroy her. No one storms her inner keep, yet she stands guard over it. Her lover raids her treasure room and takes that which is freely given, leaving behind both more of himself and taking with him pieces of her heart. She wishes to submit to her feelings, to him, to the golden experience of loving and being loved, and she does--when they are together. It is when they are apart that the doubts rise, and the warrior, carelessly dismissed, resumes her watch over the treasure trove.

When he comes to her, she does not know how to act. Like any woman she considers playing the emotional games, considers baffling him with changes in mood and behavior, considers punishing him for making him love her in any one of the countless tiny ways that women have in their arsenal of punishments. But she does not. They have loved each other long enough and true enough that when he comes to her she stands naked before him and responds from her heart. Anything less would be unworthy of them both.

When he comes to her, any thoughts of artifice fade like mist before the sun. He is her sun, her moon, her stars--and her crown of thorns. She tells him so. Tells him as he slips into her from behind, his thickness opening her, stretching her, making her flesh sting. He savours her wince, the catch of her breath, and the long low moan of pleasure. She knows this by the slowness of his pace, and by the sound he makes, the sound every woman knows in her primal self, for it is the sound a man makes when he is conquering a woman with the subtle violence of penetration. There will be blood, she thinks, and this thought fills her with satisfaction, the satisfaction of a woman anticipating the feeling of being well-used.

He is a musician and she is his instrument. She feels this as her body lengthens and arches, as her leg flows back to hug his upper thighs and his fingers strum her core. Her body vibrates with it, vibrates against his chest and belly, vibrates under the palm of his hand rocking against the peg of her clit. She hears the smile in his voice as he urges her to climax and she does, voluptuously and without restraint, her voice raised in noisy song.

He moves out of her and presses his slickened hardness against another opening. She moans again, her body moving in supplication to his desire. His push through that forbidden portal draws from them both a gasp, and she knows again what it is to love and to submit all that she is to love. She wonders, as he presses hard against her, as he forces himself into her as deep as he can go, if he knows how he devastates her with each thrust, how even the pain of it is turned upon itself to become pleasure, his pleasure, her pleasure, until the violence of his penetration and her opening to it becomes a doorway to spiritual oneness. His fingers slide between her thighs and again she opens them to him. He strums her again, fine-tuning the sexual energy, and then his fingers dive into her, into that awe-inspiring warm wetness, filling her to the point where pleasure meets pain, and she flings herself into him, battering herself against the fingers and the cock that cleave her, wondering if she dare pass through that portal of intimacy, wondering if he will meet her there, on the other side...

(podcast: listen here)

Reunion

Available in audio / podcast here.

When I see him, I smile self-consciously and say, "Hi."

I have a 'looking-good moment,' one of those moments in which I am conscious of every perceived imperfection in my appearance and I wonder if he can see them, too. Wonder if he sees the lack of grace in my movements, that slight hitch that I still have in my step, the stiffness in my body from pain I am not supposed to medicate away. I wonder if he will notice that I've finally grown a few grey hairs in the weeks since he saw me last. I wonder if he can see how desperately glad I am to see him. I wonder if he can see the toll the troll under the bridge I've crossed again and again this year has taken. And given.
I wonder if...
if....
if he will still love me even though I've been through another metamorphosis and am so changed. And yet the same.

All this goes through my mind in a heartbeat, perhaps two, and then he opens his arms. I walk into them and lean into him, resting my forehead against his shoulder. His arms encircle me and he gives that giggle-laugh of his, his inner 10 year-old laugh, his chick-laugh. And when he laughs the breath I didn't know I was holding flees my lungs. Tears smart in my eyes as he holds me for a moment that stretches, neither of us in a hurry, both of us basking in the comfort of the others body.

He holds me in a way I have not been held in what feels like a long time, holds me with all of him, with his heart. I pull back and look up into his eyes and I see the metta beaming from him, shining on me like a spotlight, and I know...
I know....
I know that he loves me, right now, in this moment, loves me like every person on earth wants to be loved every moment of their lives, and I am content to bask in the feeling of being loved so fully--just for being me.

"Jack" posted to Literotica

The text of the erotic story "Jack" has been posted to Literotica.
The audio version is available at HypnoFantasyFriends.com under KR Silkenvoice. I now have 9 .mp3 files there.

I've also just recorded my first hypnosis file, called "Laugh". It is a G-rated introduction to hypnosis, intended to make you want to laugh whenever you smile. Its a short (15 minute file) which I am making available here. It should be available on HypnoFantasy shortly. The script was written by Bob Brown. Please give it a listen and let me know what you think.

Despair contagion

[audio-post]
There seems to be a contagion of despair... so many people are depressed these days, hurting, self-destructive. So much going on, so much pain swirling around me...


You don't always have to be the one who is strong, says B, from the midst of divorce and financial woes.
You can call any time day or night, says R, who is in despair herself, over her husband's alcoholic binging.
Tell me what is wrong, says MR, who is periodically depressed about being 30, financially well-off, and miles away from being the husband and father he wants to be.
The Dutchman offers me a kiss and a cuddle, but, well, he's in Holland.

I miss CD, still. I miss CW, though I'll see him next weekend, hopefully.

Last night, I cried. I rarely cry. In fact, I hate crying. But I was feeling overwhelmed, and I needed a release, and sexercise, and talking, and writing, they just didn't give me the relief I needed.

You will survive, said MR after I told him a bit of what was weighing me down. You always do.
I don't want to survive, I told him through my tears, I want to thrive. And what is more, I want those I love to thrive, too. Silly me.


Why is it that most people's solution to despair is seeking numbness? Television, drugs, alcohol, suicide? Why don't people see that stepping outside their heads and getting in touch with nature, with what is real, with the moment, is a far better solution, a far better vacation from despair, than those other options.

When I mentioned the contagion of despair, my dutchman said that it was the downside of today's society.

Since I don't watch TV, rarely read the newspaper, or listen to the radio, or see movies, or advertisements, I'm rather out of touch with society. And I think that is a good thing. There is something insidious going on. Why is it that people living in First World countries are in such despair? We are so far away from the real desperation of survival-mode--sitting in our warm, dry homes, watching our TVs, or listening to music cruising down the road in our comfy cars--and yet so many have a cloud of despair following them. I am half-convinced its a synthesis of the media and advertising. I mean, think about it... Those who expose themselves to the media are inundated with all sorts of negative messages in the form of image and sound. And their conscious minds may disregard those messages, but most of that stuff speaks to the subconscious -- especially advertising. So you watch the news, which is full of depressing stuff, and you see an advertisement for something guaranteed to lighten your spirits--for a price. Or you watch a disturbing movie with lots of violence and then can't sleep. Well, it just so happens that you can talk to your doctor about sleep-drug X, which studies show will help you get a full night's sleep, says so on the advertisement. And on and on. Images of violence, desolation, destruction. Sounds and words about the same, repeated, repeated. An endless loop, day after day, year after year, of the same negative crap fed into our brains. Its sick, its twisted. Its insidious. Its killing people. Or so I think, sitting here from my vantage point outside the media box, watching all those people addicted to Reality TV and buying, buying, compulsively consuming, acquiring... why? Trying to fend off that pervasiave feeling of dissatisfaction with something, anything, that might even temporarily alleviate it.

Or maybe I'm just being cynical. Maybe the despair is psychologically contagious and I'm getting it too. Who knows? All I know is I've shed enough tears for a while. Time to go do something that make me feel good and doesn't cost me a cent.

I'm going for a walk.

I am going to look at the primroses and tulips and flowering bushes, listen to the birdsong, and watch the water flow, and get my equilibrium back. The day is still young--there is still potential for it to be a good day.

Who am I, if not all women?

[audio-post]
Who am I,
if not all Women,
silkenvoiced and silkenfleshed?
A lotus-creature whose senses blossom,
unfolding toward annihilation of self,
abandoned to pleasure
and sun-gold enlightenment.
Oh Man, who am I
that you would pluck me like fruit from a vine?
Have you not learned Adam's lesson?
I am succulent and bittersweet, aye,
the apple of God's eye.
Oh Man, you should tremble at the thought
of possessing one such as me,
such as we,
we Women, all,
all of us the fruit you long to eat
whose flesh, numinous and divine,
once swallowed,
dims.
The all-seeing eye grows in Man's belly,
sightless and afire with desire to See.
Oh Man, you wish to bite into the apple of God's eye
to sow your seed in the furrow left by your teeth,
immortalized by progeny,
through me.
Plow as you will, oh Man,
this body is a temple
not a field.
Who am I
if not all Women?
Worship me
I suffered that you might live
now suffer Me.
[audio-post]

On the foundations of sexual psychopathology

[click here for audio / podcast]
I expect that, to the average American, I would seem to be a "sexual deviant", however, I think it is fair to say that my spontaneous, free-flowing eroticsm is but a extension of the way my mind works. I am a divergent thinker, and so I consider myself "sexually divergent" rather than "deviant". But again, that is a question of semantic nuances, I suppose.


Which leads to my next topic.... sexual psychopathology.

My morality, ethics, and sexuality were heavily influenced by two diametrically-opposed lifestyles: the hippie-hedonism of my parent's communal lifestyle, and the fundamentalist Christianity of my missonary evangelist grandparents. Perhaps as a consequence of being caught in the middle of their battle for my mind, body, and soul, I have long been aware of, and fascinated by, how the socio-religious regulation of sexuality is internalized to produce sexual psychopathology. I have long wanted to understand what it is about our society that creates 'child molesters' such as the one I fell prey to when I was 11. What I have learned over the years is that children have always been eroticized, but that the abuse factor is a fairly recent evolution in response to the Church's attempt to bring sexuality and reproduction under its control. It took centuries for them to bring marriage under the umbrella of Its authority, proscribing fornication and adultery, and condemning all non-procreative sexual practices as "unnatural".

The history of sexuality in the West is rather interesting and very convoluted. The Hellenic (Greek) culture tolerated pederastic and male homosexual relations for centuries. It was not uncommon for men and women to reserve feeling of higher 'love' for people of their own gender, or for children. It was understood that sex was required for procreation, but that loving sexuality was fluid in its expression, rather than static. Sex was recognized for the primal and necessary bodily function that it is, rather than being wrapped in and confused with 'love' like it is today. This ended rather quickly with the rise of Christianity--the pleasures of the flesh were directly at odds with the prospect of salvation in the imminent 'last days'.

In my readings, I found it interesting to learn that being a catamite in Hellenic days was not only accepted, but expected by those of honoured houses. It was an honour even, to the family whose boy was chosen. And homosexuality was no more looked down upon then as heterosexuality is now. I also find the evolution of prostitution from something accepted and deemed a necessary, if not always desirable thing, to the apparent abomination that some view it to be today. In fact, a great many things viewed as 'immoral' today were not so before the rise of Christianity.

In the 19th century, Darwin's work began to influence most aspects of Western Thought, and through it, religious views on sexual difference were provided with a biological and eventually an evolutionary logic, which then in turn was used to determine that departures from sanctioned demonstrations of heterosexuality were not only 'sins', but pathological deviations from physiological norms. The emergence of what could be called 'scientific sexology' at the end of the nineteenth century completed these developments by identifying as sexual 'deviants' the prostitutes, masturbators, and perverts whose sexual practices supposedly posed a biological and moral threat to the health of families, nations, and the 'race.' This was the pivotal moment in the modern history of sexuality -- when homosexuality, sadism, masochism, and the other 'perversions' were invented. It was not a simple medical or scientific conspiracy, but a decisive cultural revolution that,
when interwoven with the upwelling of charismatic Christian evangelism during the same era, left pyscho-social marks so deep, indelible, and socially transmissible, that most people in America assume that this 19th century construction is both natural and eternal.

In the end, I think it all comes down to pleasure. Pre-Christian cultures elevated pleasure and happiness as goals to be achieved in daily life. Early Christians, believing that Christ would come again within their lifetime/generation, embraced an ascetic lifestyle that renounced pleasure today in favour of the rigors needed to be worthy of the joys salvation in the afterlife. When it became apparent that Christ was not coming as soon was originally promised, the emphasis shifted to control, to controlling pleasure and pain, marriage and procreation through fear. The eyes of the Heirs of Paul ceased their inward look and turned to those whose lives were free of the oppressive fears of their Christian brethren, and seeing them as threats to the continuation of the Church, sought to bring them under the authority of the Church lest they influence new converts to return to the 'old ways'. Little did the Church elders know that the use of fear to control sexuality would last for thousands of years, and mutate to turn expressions of non-procreative sexuality into an underground phenomenon perpetuated from generation to generation by guilt and oppression. Christianity, and the culture it spawned, has a dark, twisted, and seedy underside. It makes sinners of its subscribers, who, knowing they are powerless to prevent themselves from participating in the cycle of Original Sin, become twisted by fear and the need to exert power and control -- over themselves and others -- in the most deeply personal and private aspect of their lives: their sexuality.

Perhaps, for ha-has, I should begin identifying myself as a Fundamentalist Pre-Christian, and begin dialogue on getting back to sound, healthy, pre-Christian values: de-nuclearization of the 'family' in favour of a return to the community as the basic social unity; the return of sexual worship to temples and other sanctums; rites of fertility and sexual initiation; placing procreation back in the hands of women, who, after all, bear children, and who for millennia, made the decision to bear or expose to the elements children born 'untimely'; viewing masturbation as a healthy and desirable expression of self-love; all as an effort to root out the sexual psychopathology, guilt, and repression rampant in our current society. I can just see their faces now. Wheeeee.