I was talking about the ubiquity of porn, or at least hypersexual images one is exposed to  in everyday life now without making any effort, or even when trying to avoid such images.  This led to further discussion about how effortless it is to view any actual porn movie you want for free immediately, which led to further discussion of how valuable such pornographic access would be to a virgin who is looking seriously into changing that status.  Which of course led to discussion of how goddamn difficult it was to attempt to educate oneself on exactly what to do when The Time Comes.  And yes, of course, the argument that virgins getting of what loving, meaningful sex is supposed to be like it fraught with peril and disinformation.  No argument there.  However, I posited, the alternative, which is what I had to deal with, was not much better.  We had jack shit.  The sex ed we all went through in school was clinical enough to pointless and helpful only if you wanted to know the completely unsexy biology of how babies are made and disease is contracted (which, I remember thinking in the class at 11 years old, were pretty much the same thing…both best avoided, so so much for sex ed).  I had a couple friends of course, but they had no more idea of what the hell was going on than I did.  I mean, we knew the most basic mechanics of what was supposed to happen, but none of us had seen an actual functioning vagina, up close and personal, live in concert.  How the hell do you prepare for that.  What if I freak out?  And even if I don’t freak out, I’d really like a better idea of what I’m doing…it just seems like your first time is a big moment, and not the best time for OJT.  It was just a whole thing.
So not having ready access to porn, we were left to try to extrapolate whatever information we could from any source that seemed even remotely promising.  One significant source for me ended up being the song “Dance Hall Days” by Wang Chung.  Sure, it seems like a pretty silly source of sexual inspiration now, but back then, we were grasping at straws.  And why wouldn’t Wang Chung be sex experts?  I knew what a Wang was, and I guess I just optimistically assumed that “Chung” was Mandarin for “”advice” or something similar.  Fortunately, when the time came, things went swimmingly, and I ended up not relying on any of my “research” and was just in awe of how naturally things seemed to happen.  It was a wonderful experience for both of us, which, as I’ve learned from talking to pretty much everybody since, is a very rare thing.  Most people’s first time seems to fall somewhere between disastrous and permanently traumatizing.  And had I heeded the advice of Wang Chung, my first time would have not only not have been wonderful, but would likely resulted in criminal charges.  Have you ever actually listened to the lyrics of this song?  Holy shit.  “Take your baby by the hand.”  Okay, cool.  We’ve held hands, and she seems to like it.  I sure do.  Alright…we’re off to a good start.  What’s next?  “And make her do a high handstand.”  Hmmm.  I mean, I guess.  She was in an aerobics class at the time, so I suppose a handstand wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility, but what then?  She’s doing a handstand and I’m just, what, standing there like an idiot?  Am I still clothed, or was I supposed to nude up before I took her by the hand.  This is shit I needed to know.  “And take your baby by the heel.”  Okay.  Can do.  Not sure what the hell else I’m going to do…she’s doing a handstand that I made her do.  Does she still have her shoes on?  I’m so confused.  “And do the next thing that you feel.”  If this was the scenario, with the headstand happening instead of, i don’t know, kissing or something, I suspect I next thing that I’d feel would be an extremely humiliating confusion and cluelessness accompanied by the overwhelming urge to run out of the room without explanation and disappear forever.  Then comes an absolutely bewildering chorus that doesn’t seem to apply to the situation under discussion, so let’s just cut to the next verse.  “Take your baby by the hair.”  Is she still doing the handstand?  Am I still wearing clothes?  “And pull her close and there, there, there.”  Okay, so that was part of my original plan, but my original plan did not include making her doing a handstand and then messing around with her airborne heels.  When do I get to take off my pants?  I figured she would have something to do with that, but her hands are right now pretty occupied with holding her in this ridiculous position so she doesn’t break her neck.  God.  What next?  Help me out, here, Wang. “And take your baby by the ears…”  Okay, now we’re talking.  I mean, probably a bit forward, but this is at least tangentially in the same proverbial ball park (heh) as what I’d been guessing would happen.  Okay, got her by the ears.  Now what?  “And play upon her darkest fears.”  For fuck’s sake, Wang Chung!  I really love this girl.  She’s nice!  And at some point very soon, probably within the next minute, love me deeply though she may, she is going to protest all this jackassery and just leave.  Which won’t be particularly dramatic since she is still fully clothed,  This is not going well at all.  But I already drank Wang Chung’s Kool-Aid: I’m committed.  On we go.  “Take your baby by the wrist.”  Okay, I’m just gonna lose the clothes and get her back on her feet.  Maybe we should even get in the bed or something.  “And in her mouth an amethyst.”  Oh come on!  I don’t even have a condom…I was supposed to bring precious gems?  I’m guessing she’s confused and not a little pissed off about that headstand nonsense that just happened.

Yeah…I’m glad things happened the way they did.

Also, holy shit I’m old.

N.P.: “Pride” – Syntax

Someone who knows me about as well as anyone these days convinced me to binge watch the Netflix Original YOU.  I was initially dubious, but I ended up being quite impressed.  It’s based on the novel YOU by Caroline Kepnes, which I have not yet read, so I don’t know how much of the great writing is directly hers, or what was contributed by the two scriptwriters, but yeah…well done.
So after I watched the entire series in one sitting, I was discussing it with the Recommendette, who said, “Yeah…he really reminded me of you…he’s just so….”
I think the word you’re looking for is…
“…ruthless.”
So close.

N.P.: “Make Me Feel” – Janelle Monáe

She: But you keep a sword in your bedroom.
Me: You say that like it’s a weird thing.
She: It is a weird thing!
Me: What’s weird about it? Where do you keep your sword?
She: …. [drinks deeply of Jameson’s Irish Whisky]
Me: The cleaver in the kitchen doesn’t seem to bother you much.
She: We’re not talking about your kitchen.
Me: Perhaps we should. Perhaps you’d be more comfortable there.
She: Maybe. Less swords.
Me: Fewer.
She: What?
Me: Fewer swords. There are fewer swords in my kitchen than in my bedroom, but vastly more cleavers.
She: There will be fewer women in your bedroom, but more proper grammar.
Me: It’s actually more of a usage issue than a grammatical one. If we’re being technical.
She: Has anyone ever just lit you on fire? Just like here, now, in front of a herd of witnesses, just doused you with Jamie’s and set light to you?
Me: Nobody’s ever cared enough. Until now.

N.P.: “Ready To Die” – Andrew W.K.

There is a non-zero chance that I am getting sick.  Maybe not.  Felt kind of funky all day, and then a little weird this evening, but it’s not getting any worse.  Gonna swig some NyQuil just in case.  Mondays are such a pain in the ass.  After the revolution, I may ban them.

N.P.: “Skinflowers” – The Young Gods

Single-lane highways drive me nuts.  They are fascist.  They put the slowest driver on the road in the position to control the entire world behind him.  I’d say these slow-assed people composed at least 80% of my “People I Almost Murdered This Week” list.  And it’s always some jackass with Oregon plates and one of those insipid “Coexist” stickers.  There should always be at least two lanes.  Anything less is unAmerican and sadistic.
You know what else is unAmerican, these goddamn roundabouts that are popping up around The Creek.  “Traffic Circles.”  Cluster Fucks.  And the more annoying of the denizens around here have taken to getting together on the weekends and decorating these eyesores.  I may have to take up desecrating these things in the night as a new hobby.  Create some incredibly reprehensibly lewd and blasphemous tableaux that the town’s children will have to be driven around in the morning on the way to school.

N.P.: “Wrong Number” – The Cure

Nothing to see here, dear reader.  Just sitting here, sipping desk whiskey, typing away, wondering what the hell happened to the rain I ordered.

N.P.: “Destroyer” – The Kinks

Another lively Friday night in Hotel California, dear reader.  That rotten charwoman has adopted a particularly moronic dog.  As moronic as the dog may be, however, I think it’s ultimately smarter than her.  She is asking the dog questions and apparently expecting an actual verbal response from the dog, in either English or Spanish.  When the dog doesn’t respond appropriate, or you know, at all, she asks the question again, as if perhaps the dog simply didn’t hear her the first time.  When there is no response the second time, she gets increasingly angry and asks the question again.  It’s weird and awful to have to listen to.  I guess the weirdest part is that they are not yes-or-no-questions, but rather questions that solicit explanations or an expression of preferences, or whatever.  It’s just bizarre.
When she is not attempting to engage it in active conversation, this thing runs around humping everything.  At this point I’m stuck in this smoky room for the time being because I don’t feel like being sexually assaulted by an overly dim canid.  I told her she needs to get the thing fixed as soon as, but she says she can’t afford it.  I told her I’d do it for $20.  Her response was not positive, so I offered to do it for free.  That was two days ago.  She hasn’t spoken to me since.  But she sure can’t stop speaking to this fucking dog.
How am I supposed to write the most important book in the world with this idiotic and oddly nasal cacophony going on in the hallway just outside the door?
Ugh.
I’m pretty sure she stole this dog.

N.P.: “Psycho Killer” – One Bad Son

Okay, dear reader…back to the discussion we were having earlier this week, before the bacchanalian rumpus of last night.  And regrettably, this may have to be on the brief side, as I am still rather exhausted from last night.   First, the briefest recap of my assumptions:
There is no god.
Humans are animals  Remarkably advanced animals, but animals nonetheless.
It is impossible for (and therefore completely unrealistic to expect) an animal to go against its nature.
I should probably attempt to tie this weirdness together before we progress.  So here goes.
Humans, in general, have a psychological need for belief in some kind of higher power.  Such belief keeps one from having to do any real heavy lifting when it comes to the existential questions that any thinking and intelligent person is faced with pretty much every day of their lives.  Why are we here?  What is the meaning of life?  Why do I have the life I have, and why am I on the path that I’m on?  Or why does there seem to be no path or order or direction to my life?  And give me one good reason why I should ever get out of bed again.  You can either spend your entire life wrestling tormentedly with each of these and very probably never coming close to any truly satisfying answer, or, you can believe in a god and have instant answers to all of these questions.  Most people are not psychologically equipped to truly grasp an essentially meaningless existence in a universe that is governed only by chaos and chance if it can be said to be governed at all.  When faced with the cold harshness of the pure loneliness and existential dread that rushes in and fills one;s psyche when one begins to even consider such a reality, the vast majority of humans will (and do) panic and run to whatever church/belief system they are most familiar with and take deep and immediate comfort in the warm blanket that is faith and trust in a higher power.
I’ve noticed that even atheists or people who do not file any kind of organized belief system “believe” in conspiracy theories or secret societies and other secular entities that are godlike in their power and mystery (i.e., “worshiping” the Illuminati instead of Yahweh…it’s exactly the same thing).
I think that the tendency to believe there is any kind of dichotomy between Nature and Humans typically occurs comorbidly with a belief (perhaps even subconscious one) in some sort of omnipotent god that created humans.  The common thread between virtually all religions with a creator god is the belief that that god thinks humans are special or sacred or blessed and are superior to animals.  Before science, it was considered common sense that the earth was the center of not only our solar system but indeed all of creation.  When Copernicus came along, and Galileo after him, proving the theory of a heliocentric universe, society had a bit of a collective nervous breakdown, which is understandable: proving that people’s reality as well as the most basic precepts and tenets of whatever religion they had chosen to govern their lives  is essentially wrong and based on nonsense really pisses people off and they tend to find it easier to silence the voices who are discrediting their cherished beliefs than it is to attempt to successfully incorporate an entirely new belief system and admit they’ve been philosophically wrong about everything their entire uneducated lives.

Okay…that was a lot, and I’m worried I’m going to lose you in all this, particularly if I go on tonight whilst exhausted.   So I’ll leave it here for now.

N.P.: “Deus in Absentia” – Ghost

Today, beloved reader, I got victorious news about a war of attrition I’ve been engaged in for a year or so, which victory patently demanded a lewd goat dance and raucous celebration.   Which is, of course, what I did this evening.  I really had no choice.  Temporal laws being what they are, tonight’s rumpus has left me with minimal time to put words on pages, so I’m just going to do a quick bit on each project and get horizontal and dream sweet dreams of enemies’ heads on spikes.
Kidding, of course, cherished reader.  I’m rereading Dracula this week and it’s been causing my mind to wander darkly.  Don’t mind me.

N.P.: “Jailbreak” – AC/DC