Love vs Sex 110

Penny wasn’t a virgin, not when she and Maxwell has first met. She’d had sex with boys in college, a few. But only one at a time. Only boys. And never from behind! She wasn’t a pervert, and she wasn’t a slut. Her boyfriends were mostly Sigma Chis who played at being gentlemen by opening car doors for her. They’d bought icy orchid corsages and had pinned them to her dress with nervous fingers. In her experience every man thought he was a natural dance, and every one thought he was good in bed. The truth was that most men only knew one dance step—usually the pogo—and between the sheets they were like a monkey in a nature film poking at an anthill with a stick.

She’d had intercourse, but she’d never had an orgasm. Not an orgasm-orgasm, not the kind of earth-moving orgasm that made your teeth go numb, the kind she’d always read about in Cosmopolitan.

Beautiful You 

Chuck Palahnuik          2014

Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 42

“So there’s one more thing I wanted to tell you. You don’t mind, do you?”

Tsukuru shook his head.

“It’s the first thing I always say at our new employee training seminars. I gaze around the room, pick one person, and have him stand up. And this is what I say: I have some good news for you, and some bad news. The bad news first. We’re going to have to rip off either your fingernails or your toenails with pliers. I’m sorry, but it’s already decided. It can’t be changed. I pull out a huge, scary pair of pliers from my briefcase and show them to everybody. Slowly, making sure everybody gets a good look. And then I say: Here’s the good news. You have the freedom to choose which it’s going to be—your fingernails, or your toenails. So, which will it be? You have ten seconds to make up your mind. If you’re unable to decide, we’ll rip off both of your fingernails and your toenails. I start the count. At about eight seconds most people say, ‘The toes.’ Okay, I say, toenails it is. I’ll use these pliers to rip them off. But before I do, I’d like you to tell me something. Why did you choose your toes and not your fingers? The person usually says, ‘I don’t know. I think they probably hurt the same. But since I had to choose one, I went with the toes.’ I turn to him and warmly applaud him. And I say, Welcome to the real world.

Tsukuru gazed wordlessly at his old friend’s delicate face.

“Each of us is given the freedom to choose,” Aka said, winking and smiling. “That’s the point of the story.”

Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and his Years of Pilgrimage

H. Murakami          2013

Inevitable Extractions of Certain Selfs and the Occasional Crazy Ass Dream of Awakening – 1

Music flowed into the dreams of her unconsciousness even as those dreams seemed to slip away from almost everything else. Was she singing the music to herself, performing the covers with the fused elements of her own injected intimacy, or was someone else singing the crazy ass lullaby? Someone nearby, but outside of her stuporous slumberworld. She couldn’t tell. The lyrics poured into and out of her mind, one way or the other. They flowed sometimes distinctly separate, sometimes obviously overlapping, and sometimes they choked and spat at and strangled one another, each trying to drown out the other voices, until only they remained.

And I don’t want you and I don’t need you

Don’t bother to resist, or I’ll beat you

It’s not your fault that you’re always wrong

The weak ones are there to justify the strong

The beautiful people, the beautiful people

It’s all relative to the size of your steeple

You can’t see the forest for the trees

You can’t smell you own shit on your knees

There’s no time to discriminate

Hate every mother fucker

That’s in your way

I hurt myself today

To see if I still feel

I focus on the pain

The only thing that’s real

The needle tears a hole

The old familiar sting

Try to kill it all away

But I remember everything

You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you

You let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you

Help me…..I broke apart my insides,

help me…..I’ve got no soul to sell

Help me…..the only thing that works for me, help me get away from myself

I want to fuck you like an animal

I want to feel you from the inside

I want to fuck you like an animal

My whole existence is flawed

You get me closer to god

When you were here before

Couldn’t look you in the eye

You’re just like an angel

Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather

In a beautiful world

I wish I was special

You’re so ficking special

But I’m a creep

I’m a weirdo

What the hell am I doing here?

I don’t belong here

It’s a mystery to me

We have a greed with which we have agreed

You think you have to want more than you need

Until you have it all you won’t be free

Society, you’re a crazy breed

I hope you’re not lonely without me

Hey you, what do you see?

Something beautiful, something free?

Hey you, are you trying to be mean?

If you live with the apes man, it’s hard to be clean

The worms will live in every host

It’s hard to pick which one they eat the most

What have I become     My sweetest friend

Everyone I know goes away     In the end

And you could have it all     My empire of dirt

I will let you down     I will make you hurt

You can have my isolation, you can have the hate that it brings

You can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything

Help me tear down my reason, help me it’s your sex I can smell

Help me you make me perfect, help me become somebody else

I don’t care if it hurts     I wanna have control

I want a perfect body     I want a perfect soul

I want you to notice     When I’m not around

You’re so fucking special     I wish I was special

But I’m a creep     I’m a weirdo     What the hell am I doing here?

I don’t belong here

When you want more than you have     You think you need     And when you think more than you want     Your thoughts begin to bleed     I think I need to find a bigger place     ‘Cause when you have more than you think     You need more space     Society, you’re a crazy breed     I hope you’re not lonely without me     Society, crazy indeed     I hope you’re not lonely without me

 The horrible people, the horrible people   It’s as anatomic as the size of your steeple     Capitalism has made it this way, Old fashioned fascism will take it away

I wear this crown of thorns   Upon my liar’s chair   Full of broken thoughts   I cannot repair   Beneath the stains of time  The feelings disappear  You are someone else  I am still right here  What have I become  My sweetest friend  Everyone I know goes away In the end  And you could have it all My empire of dirt I will let you down I will make you hurt

I want to fuck you like an animal I want to feel you from the inside I want to fuck you like an animal My whole existence is flawed You get me closer to god  She’s running out the door She’s running out She run run run… Run… Whatever makes you happy Whatever you want You’re so fucking special I wish I were special But I’m a creep I’m a weirdo What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here I don’t belonghere  There’s those thinking more or less, less is more But if less is more how’re you keeping score?Means for everypoint youmake yourleveldrops Kindalike you’re startingfrom thetop, youcan’t do thatSociety,you’re acrazybreed Ihopeyou’renotlonely withoutmeSociety, crazyindeedIhopeyou’renotlonelywithoutme There’s notimeto discriminateHateevery motherfuckerThat’sin yourway ThebeautifulpeoplethebeautifulpeopleThebeautifulpeoplethebeautifulpeopleIfIcouldstartagainAmillion
milesaway IwouldkeepmyselfIwouldfindawayHelp meIbrokeapartmyinsideshelpmeI’vegotnosoultosellHelp metheonlythingthatworksformehelpmegetawyafrom myselfI’maCreepI’maCreepI’maweirdoweirdoweirdoweirdoIdon’tcareifithurtsSocietyhavemercyonme
Ihopeyou’renot angryifIdisagreeSocietycrazyindeedIhopeyou’renotlonelywithoutme…withoutme…withoutme…IwillletyoudownI willmakeyouhurt…youcanhavemyisolationyoucanhavethehatethatitbringsyoucanhavemyabscenceoffaithyoucanhavemy everything…My whole existence is flawed…My whole existence is flawed…..My whole existence is flawed…..You can have my isolation…isolation…isolation, you can have the hate…hate…..hate…hate that it brings…….I don’t care……care if it hurts…I don’t belong here……belong…belong…..belong here. I don’t belong here……….hope you’re not lonely without me…without me…..without me…I want you to notice..notice……notice… When I’m not around…

A new question, a flickering question came and went in such a manner that it hardly registered at all; had she stumbled and hit her head? Nothing….none of her senses seemed to be registering or functioning beyond whatever was absolutely necessary to grasp the tiniest fleeting glimpses of consciousness or perhaps, delirium. Was her consciousness sloppily crawling on its knees trying to find a point of traction so that it might rise up just a little and attempt a vertiginous step or leap or stance? Or was it diving and digging and drowning, trying to smoother and submerge itself in some form of the obliterating intoxication of incomprehension and an anesthetized awareness? She wasn’t even sure of her own breath. Should she even remotely try to care or to focus…..or just let it all go…and fall, and fall, and fall, until she could fall no further? Would any effort either way carry even the slightest weight or influence? It didn’t seem like it, not at all….it only seemed like something unpreventable and destined was just going to happen…..something was going to continue to happen…something was going to continue happening to her, and it was all beyond her control……and all she could do was experience whatever it was without any reliable sensation or faculty……..or resistance. She might remember whatever it was one day or she might not, but right now, there was such a deadened detachment that nothing mattered. She just wasn’t here. She didn’t really know what that exactly meant or where the fuck she might actually be. She just knew she wasn’t here and that that was her only known. She could care less than less about the rest, about the here. She wasn’t part of it. But then, why the damn ceaseless, half-baked thoughts?

These silly random thoughts and trickles of consciousness which faded in and out, dizzying and disturbing even her surrendering compliance with involuntary inevitability, were irrelevant and inconsequential to everything. It made no sense. No damn sense. No action or outcome could be generated or achieved from her mind’s narcoleptic rambling….none. None. None. So why? Why?…..Why? …..just stop. Please just fucking stop. I… want it to stop. Please…please…please, just stop it. Stop it…all. Why? Why? Why…..the useless thoughts? No more. No more…I don’t care…..I don’t care…just stop the thoughts…shut up…shut up…stop the stupid fucking thoughts. Please, for god’s sake, please…..stop. No more. No more. No more.

And then, the thoughts stopped.

To be continued…..

Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 41

“Religious cults and personal development seminars mainly try to get money from people. To do that, they perform a rather crude form of brainwashing. We’re different. If we did something that questionable, top corporations wouldn’t agree to work with us. Using drastic measures, forcing people to do things—we’re not into any of that. You might get impressive results for a while, but they won’t last. Driving the idea of discipline into people’s heads is important, but the program you use to do it has to be totally scientific, practical, and sophisticated. It has to be something society can accept. And the results need to be long lasting . We’re not aiming at producing zombies. We want to create a workforce that does what their company tells them to do, yet still believes they’re independent thinkers.”

“That’s a pretty cynical worldview,” Tsukuru said.

“I suppose you could see it that way.”

“I can’t imagine that everyone who attends your seminars allows themselves to be disciplined like that.”

“No, of course not. There are quite a few people who reject the program. You can divide them into two groups. The first is antisocial. In English you’d call them ‘outcasts.’ They just can’t accept any form of constructive criticism, no matter what it is. They reject any kind of group discipline. It’s a waste of time to deal with people like that, so we ask them to withdraw. The other group is comprised of people who actually think on their own. Those it’s best to leave alone. Don’t fool with them. Every systems needs elite people like them. If things go well, they’ll eventually be in leadership positions. In the middle between those two groups, are those who take orders from above and just do what they’re told. That’s the vast majority of people. By my rough estimate, 85 percent of the total. I developed this business to target the 85 percent.”


Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and his Years of Pilgrimage

Haruki Murakami          2013

Love vs Sex 109

Tsukuru hesitated but then spoke. “There’s something I need to correct about what I told you the other day.”

As she walked along Sara shot him a look, her curiosity piqued. “What’s that?”

“I’ve had relationships with several women, but nothing ever really came of any of them, for various reasons. I told you it wasn’t all my fault.”

“I remember.”

“During these last ten years, I’ve gone out with three or four women. All of them were fairly long-term, serious relationships. I wasn’t just playing around. And the reason none of them worked out was because of me. Not because there was any problem with any of the women.”

“And what was the problem?”

“It was a little different depending on the person,” Tsukuru said. “But one common factor was that I wasn’t seriously attracted to any of them. I mean, I liked them, and enjoyed our time together. I have a lot of good memories. But I never felt—swept away, overpowered by desire for any of them.”

Sara was silent for a while. “So for ten years,” she finally said, “you had fairly long-term, serious relationships with women that you weren’t all that attracted to.”

“That’s about right.”

“That doesn’t strike me as very rational.”

“I’d have to agree.”

“Maybe you didn’t want to get married, or get tied down?”

Tsukuru shook his head. “No, I don’t think that was it. I’m the sort of person who craves stability.”

“But still there was something holding you back psychologically?”

“Maybe so.”

“You could only have a relationship with women you didn’t have to totally open up to.”

“I might have been afraid that if I really loved someone and needed her, one day she might suddenly disappear without a word, and I’d be left all alone.”

“So consciously or unconsciously you always kept a distance between yourself and the women you dated. Or else you chose women you could keep that distance from. So you wouldn’t get hurt. Does that sound about right?”

Tsukuru didn’t reply, his silence an affirmation. At the same time, though, he knew that wasn’t what was at the heart of the problem.

Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and his Years of Pilgrimage

H. Murakami          2013

The Kingdom of a White Knight and a Dark Lord – 3

All things……all things shimmering…was that what she now saw with her own two eyes or was it just a lucid dream originating from some previously unknown subconscious crevice within her mind as she listened to the continuing conversation that undulated back and forth between those two odd characters? It seemed like they talked about everything…everything, and one subject melded and merged into another, then another…….and another, and another, and another, seemingly without end. Did they know everything or nothing? Was there any point to all of their words and grumbling and laughter? She wasn’t sure how happenstance conversation could come so easily out of nowhere, but it did for them. The topic of their given attentions seemed like it might just pool from the pitter-pattering drops of the rain or sparkle and glimmer with ignition from a randomly radiant tickle of the sun’s illuminating warmth…..or swirl and drift and flutter and drop in the waves of inertia created by the delicate acrobatic maneuvers of a whimsical butterfly. From masochistic and sadistic vegetarians to black holes and supernovas to the Cherokee Nation’s contribution to America’s fight in WWII to the phases of the moon, from the Civil war to the Civil Right movement to drones to mustard gas to the guillotine to hot wax to safe-words, from the Russian Revolution to the Industrial Revolution to British Imperialism and General George S Patton, from love to licentiousness to suicide to murder to crucifixion to hoarding to Alexandria and the Ptolemy’s, from literature to visual and auditory art to silence and cacophony, from aborigines to midgets to Siamese Twins to potheads to crackheads to Tibetan monks and Chris McCandless, from Vishnu to Mohammed to Christ to Bin Laden to Buddha and Beelzebub, from democracy to dogma to demagoguery to D-day to Dresden, from Huxley to GaGa to Rand to Obama to Goldwater to Orwell to McCormack to Murakami to Miley, from Sushi to Saki to Stouts to Whiskey to Bourbon to Shiraz to Pinot to Buttery Nipples, from capitalism to cults to cronyism to courage to collapse to cross-checks, from fear and over-dominance to respect and the gravity of stability to Heaven to Hell to purgatory and all the endless cycles of chosen madness, from those seeking excuses to needless guilt to polygyny to monogamy to trying to be a savior to crying the tears of a clown, from terrorists to suicide to abortion to sexual repression to contraception to rape to circumcision, from the KKK to the Founding Fathers to the Godfather to the formation of Israel to Hiroshima to Robert E Lee to the Boston Tea Party to José Mujica to Ebola and the Statue of Liberty, to skinheads to shit-heads to the Sleeping Sickness to hunting to immigration to masturbation, from snakes to cats to coyotes to roadkill, from women to men to children to friends to life and to death, and on and on and on they went…….but…..but…maybe, it wasn’t really them per se, but more like on and on “it” went? Maybe it wasn’t a choice of the topics of awareness and discussion just between these two crazy kooks, but more like the actual fulmination of the perpetual and eternal bombardment of hyper-awareness in regards to what simply was “it”.

To be continued….

Cribb          2014