John Mayer: The New Generation of Masturbator

     I have a big, throbbing hard-on for John Mayer.  I have all of his albums.  I know all of his songs.  I hang on his every word.  I love him because he pulls off a rare triad: Goofy-Douche-Sexy.  So imagine my excitement when I saw this month's issue of Rolling Stone with my crush topless on the cover.  
     Reading the article, I came across a quote from him that turned me on a little bit.  Could it be that my guitar god is also an intelsexual?  My admiration may have elevated to terror-alert-level "orange"!

"I am the new generation of masturbator"
"Does this new generation of masturbator masturbate everyday?"
"I don't like that question, because it seeks to make me sound strange if I say 'yes', but of course I do.  I mean, I have masturbated myself out of serious problems in my life.  The phone doesn't pick up because I'm masturbating.  And I have excused myself at the oddest time so as to not make mistakes.  If Tiger Woods only knew when to jerk off.  It has a true market value, like gold bullion.  First of all, I don't jerk off because I'm horny...I do it because I want to take a brain bath." 
     A brain bath?  I never thought of it that way!  There is a refractory period that occurs after a sexual climax.  In that period, everything becomes pure logic.  It makes perfect sense to rub one out before signing contracts, making business deals or accepting that marriage proposal.  With sex out of the equation, its much easier to focus on the facts.
     I think I'll conduct an experiment.  I'm going to masturbate right before going to work and see if it benefits my performance.  Would I be more organized?  How would it affect my people skills?  My mathematic ability?  If I took a little "brain bath" before work, would I still be interested in working?  Let's see.

Text, Sex & Brainstorming

     I don't know what's slower; my reply or my M.P.H.  It occurred to me why legislation decided to make texting while driving an illegal practice; it turns your grammar into shit.  Stopping at a red light, I text to my friend, "I have a bad case of writer's block."
     The sky's a ticking time bomb and I need to get in and out of the laundromat before the storm hits.  Trying to remember whether the 24 hour wash was on Broadway or Franklin, bells and whistles goes off from my lap.  Carefully checking my phone, I read his message, "R U genuinely out of ideas or R U stuck thinking of ways 2 make your non-sexual thoughts erotic 4 your blog?"  What an asshole!
     It's quite challenging, pressing my key pad in a sequence of words and numbers while keeping my eyes on the road.  Suddenly, I hear a car horn blare from behind me as the Honda Accord swerves around my black Mustang.  Deep down, I worry if everyone thinks this way, "That's what U think of my creative process? LMAO!"  Between the lengthening time of my latest blog and a very important deadline approaching, I think I have a spot of performance anxiety.  My creative assembly is down for repairs.
     Quickly, he texts, "Relax.  Whip your cock out, go knuckle deep into your bum & don't stop until UR brilliant again."  Instanly, my very visual imagination began to project what it'll look like to see him masturbate.  He has a hot little body and a nice tool to match.  Making a mental note, I add, "Watch-him-masturbate-while-dressed" to my 'when we meet' list.  Sure, it'll take some Grey Goose and convincing, but I think he'll be up for it.
     Replying at the speed of molasses, I fumble with my phone, "It's hard enough 2 text N drive...I'll crash! LOL"
     "Stop being a pussy and pull that big, black dick out! LMGAO!"
     Conversing with him, I was feeling more clever, "My 1st car WAS a stick shift!"  He always says the weird shit I need to hear to stoke my creativity.  That's why writers need to stick together.
    By the grace of God, I made it to the laundromat in one piece.  Mulling over a few things in my mind, every idea was so mediocre.  Stuffing my comforter and sheets into the machine, his ringtone goes off in my pocket, "WELL?
     Confused, I text, "???"
     "Did U whip it out?"
     "LOL I'm in the laundromat now."
     I could almost here his voice scream as I read, "That's Hot!"  Instantly my head began to fill with crazy images...Bums looking aghast...The two middle-aged hookers whispering to each other and giggling...The twelve-year-old girl crying as her father yells, "Somebody do something!"  I never masturbated with  laundry detergent before, I wonder if it burns?  I'm sure it does.  "LOL I'm such an instigator.  Now do it."
    "I only jerk off in front of attractive audiences"
    "LIAR! I read UR blog!"
    "Just my luck, I'd bust right as the police haul me outta here...wait a minute...That IS kinda hot! LMAO!"
     All night, via text, we entertained ourselves with crazy, rhetorical foolishness.  He became Gay Hitler, supreme dictator of his naked mandingo army.  I read his latest post and imagined being a millionare master with sexual bondservants.  If anyone ever comes down with a case of writer's block, give Cogent Ascending a call!  (Warning: you may experience accidental public masturbation and pesky car accidents.)

Does Everything Have to be About Sex?

"Like allergies, sexual arousal may occur from anything under the sun, including the sun."

Anil Aggrawal (2009)

What other platform...

     What other channel gathers all things of the world, imbuing its participants?  Where else does bliss, agony, sweat, luxury, God and shit roll into one beautiful package?  You can't eat the stars above, but you can make love to them.  You can't find shelter in sound, but you can penetrate and dig deep into a song.  What other atmosphere can "a little death" begat a little life?  Sex stitches this scattered world together into a symphony.

Peering deeply into love, lust and life...

     Your reflection bounces back; your identity, fears and aspirations rise to the surface of your sexuality.  If you look close enough, the way you give head is the way you do everything.  Are you hesitant at first?  Throw caution to the wind?  Are you performing for your partners' pleasure?  Or merely fulfilling a selfish fixation?  Let me're a cute combination of all of the above.  That's why you're beautiful.  That's why sex is beautiful.

     Where else is it so much fun...

     To press a square peg into a round hole...forcing it to fit...
     To role play, where I'm a 6' 4" baby and you're a shortened God...
     To play dress-up while naked, pretending to be who I really am...
     What other platform puts the entire world in my toy chest?

     Only sex.

Hang-Up #3: Ill-written Ads

      I recently had a discussion with the illustrious Toddy English about hooking up on the internet.  Boasting about the great luck we've been having, we began to break down the deciding factors involved when selecting a candidate.  On-line, the pictures always reek of anonymity.  There's hundreds of abbreviations and acronyms, of which I barely understand.  Other than the stats, freaky-beautiful-endowed, what inspires us to click the 'reply' button?
     The very top of our list is being a good writer; a personally written paragraph is the perfect place to paint a portrait.  Not necessarily the vocabulary.  Primarily, I look for well-organized thoughts.  Intense, in-depth descriptions help.  ALSO, I AM INSTANTLY TURNED OFF BY ADS WRITTEN IN ALL CAPS LIKE THIS.  If I've clicked on your profile or ad, there's no need to get my attention because you already have it. 
     My school of thought: If you can't order your words, how can I trust your mouth with this precious cargo?  If its hard for you to get your intentions across, how much harder would it be to make good on your misspelled promises?  If you can't take the time to clearly write one paragraph, what else are you going to rush through?  If I answer your ad, what would that tell you about me for responding?

Here's an honest-to-God, unabridged Craig's List Ad:




Partialism: Musicians' Sexy-Ugly O-Faces

John Mayer

He's in zone

Certain chords just make him....mmmm
His face scrunches up, I bet his toes curl
He is in pain because it sounds so good

Orgasmic Grooves
Beautiful Agony
As if his instrument is an extension his sex organ

I'm aroused just watching you peform
Even the made expressions from sex pale in comparison
Eyes shut tight...
Mouth twisted and frowned
Your head sways wildly
I can only imagine the intensity

Keith Jarrett - Jazz Pianist
Carlos Santana

Gokkun: Ejaculate or Elixer?

     Saturday night, I found myself laying naked on the king sized bed of a fully-dressed stranger.  Massaging my body for the second hour straight, his soft, skillful hands weaved the illusion that my skin was immaculate.  The way his hungry mouth feasted on my feet and toes made me moan aloud.  I'll travel far for this feeling.

I was Thanksgiving dinner.

     Kissing and sucking on every last morsel of my body, my arousal was primed.  His organized pattern of touch paired with his chaotic fits of passion gave my nervous system much to talk about.  I felt hypnotized.  I couldn't move.  I couldn't stop whimpering.  I couldn't stop shaking.  The way he would slam his face and tongue into my opened ass...I just hope the neighbors weren't light sleepers.
     I pulled at his tightly fastened belt, "When are you going to join me?"  Sweetly swatting my hand away, he returned to his haven between my thighs.  Spreading my legs apart, he began to bob and swirl his head as he inhaled my dick to completion.  Opening his jaws wide, I could feel the muscles in his throat grip the tip.  Messy, the way I like it, he pulled his mouth off letting his drool rain heavy.  Gripping my dick at the base, he began to smear our concoction all over his face.  He was consumed. Completely entranced.
     In the brief moment his mouth was free to speak, he said, "It's all about you and your pleasure.  I'm just glad to make you feel good."  Pumping his fist up and down, he started to forcefully suck at just the head.  My hips started to move.  I began to feel that tension.  Filling my loins, I felt the energy building.  Grunting, my seven-day load shot into his mouth, down his neck and onto my thigh.  He wouldn't stop sucking.  I couldn't stop grunting.

Hungrily, he lapped up every drop from my thigh
He used his fingers to greedily consume his pearl necklace 
Barely breathing, he gulped down my seed
I suppose he likes his milk fresh

     Normally the climax marks the end of the night, but his undressing proved it just the beginning, "Enjoy that strong erection while you still can, young man.  Once you get older..."  Taking off his pants, I got a chance to finally see his cock; it was a nice size but it was flaccid.  "I just get so frustrated," wrapping his hand around my still erect penis, "I have to pay fifteen dollars a pill to get this!"  Sucking my dick again, he managed to make me come again after a short while.  In a similar fashion, he gobbled up every drop.
     I came a total of four times that night.  He wasn't interested in any reciprocation.  He just wanted to give me pleasure.  For hours on end, he rotated from full body massages to body worship to oral. Milked completely dry...
     I felt so drained driving home.  Starting to think about his erectile dysfunction; I wondered if he was consuming me to regain some of his virility.  After all, you are what you eat.  Jumping on my computer, I found some interesting facts...

Semen is primarily composed of water, but has been shown to contain trace amounts of virtually every nutrient.  It has somewhat higher amounts of commonly deficient minerals such as potassium, magnesium and selenium...Hence the food energy found in the typical ejaculation...
In some cultures, semen is attributed with special properties of masculinity. Several tribes of Papua New Guinea, including the Sambia and the Etoro, believe that semen provides sexual maturation among the younger men of their tribe. To them, sperm possesses the manly nature of the tribal elders. In order to pass down their authority and powers, younger men of their next generation must fellate their elders and ingest their semen. This fellatio and seminophagia custom commences among prepubescent males and post-pubescents.

Should we all swallow?

Hang Up #2: Homogeneity

     Talking to a friend of mine, also a fellow blogger, we began to discuss the preferences and perspectives of our work.  Being writers, we often have to take our audience into consideration.  On the issue of race, it came up how I never hook up with black men.  While feeling that I am making myself equally available, my friend had a different take. 
     Wording his next statement carefully, "I think most black people perceive you to be...too white acting.  You might be black on the outside with a dick to match, but, even to me, you can come off...umm...'white boyish'."
     In a rare moment, I was shocked, "Are you serious?"
     He elaborates, "Well, you're up there in San Francisco, with those white men...It's understandable."

     If an African-American man doesn't act in the typically black fashion; does that make him white or something else?  I believe there are far more than two influences to draw from.  Between black and white, there is a great deal of gray matter.  I long to be what never was.  I'm beyond being Anglophobic or a (sub)urbanite...I'm xenocentric.

It's a shame there are still conversations like this in 2010.

     For the record: I am the first of my kind.  I come from a culture so freshly spawned there hasn't been a name created yet.  When a label's created, I will have it tattooed to my ass.  Musical assignments and dress codes are TBD.  I may sound a bit haughty, but shouldn't this be true for every individual?  Shouldn't each person design their own identity?

It's sickening that everyone wants to be so homogenized.

Black freedom isn't as oxymoronic as it sounds...

The above art is from the collection of artist Francoise Nielly
The eyes are a beautiful reflection of life
Her broad strokes of neon over black features
It speaks to me for obvious reasons :

"Rectangles & Squares" by Brian Biedul

Get me out of here!
The world is driving along with me in the fucking trunk!
Hoping that someone who cares' within earshot
I continue to SCREAM
Keep kicking and banging my elbows

Get me out of here!!!

I'm trapped in this fucking economy!
This dumb ass machine's forcing me to count beans!
 My priceless contributions add up to WORTHLESS!

I'm locked in this bullshit body!

I'm bigger than black!
I'm too crooked to be straight!
I'm too fertile to be gay!
I'm too versatile to be singular!

Get me out of here!!!

     Artist, Brian Biedul, hit the nail on the head with this collection.  I feel like this everyday, all day!  Painting the human form pressing against the confines of the canvas' edges; he captures the tension and stress.  He conveys the fervor and frustration in great detail.  God!  This is why I love art!  Whenever I run across someone's work that perfectly translates my feelings into an reminds me that I'm not the only one.
     Looking at his collection reminds me why we press against the unmovable.  Because it's beautiful.  Because it makes us brilliant.  The struggle strengthens us.  It builds us up so we can experience freedom FULLY.

Here's a question: 
Who's more free?
The free man born without shackles?


The freed slave who has studied his bondage, 
thus mastering his freedom? 

Open to Interpretation

    When I write fiction, I make sure to exclude as many details as possible.  Obscurity breeds the opportunity for the reader's imagination to roam.  You may know the character's name.  I may release the information that he or she is considered to be attractive.  But who am I to define what's beautiful?  Speaking for myself, I prefer to paint my own personal picture.

Have you ever watched a movie based off a book you've read?  
Only to be grossed out by the actor playing your favorite character?

     Furthermore, when writing erotica; I try not to elaborate too far on the action.  Who am I to describe the indescribable neural signals that results from sex?  When that warm, wet sensation envelopes; who can fully depict the sparks shooting up our spines?  When it comes to sex and sensuality; it is truly "different strokes for different folks".  Why write about their eye contact during oral, when some people hate that?  Why go on and on about his fist full of blonde hair, when some people prefer brunettes or Afros?

In my book, the best art is open to interpretation.

Heteroflexible: Straight Guys 4 Gay Eyes

People are getting comfortable
Things are really starting to merge
I've just seen something that blurs the lines even further 

     Jake Cruise, creator of Cocksure Men, has developed a new site called "Straight Guys 4 Gay Eyes".  The premise is to shoot heterosexual pornography where the men are the center of attention.  The beauty of this direction is that it adds a new dimension to straight porn that I've always wanted to see.  This connects perfectly with my celebration theory...

The men are undressed slowly as the women massage their bodies.  
They're worshiping the feet of men with tongue baths.
The women are giving men generous rim jobs. 

     The film is shot to focus mainly on the men's body; his muscles, cock and performance. With that in mind, they have casted the cream of the crop in male performers.  You may recognize them from your favorite gay flicks; Arpad Miklos, Zeb Atlas & Johnny Castle to name a few.  (That's right; they're straight-for-pay...The irony!)
     The true beauty of this venture is that it makes it easier for straight men to better understand gay sex.  In my book, no straight man in his right mind would turn down this kind of treatment.  These guys are praised like royalty!  It really shows the contact and intimacy that takes place in homosexual relations outside of anal sex.  The pleasure and attention that doesn't really exist for men in normal exchanges with women.

Mr. Cruise may turn some guys out with this one:

Pomosexuality: The Omega Label

The term Pomosexual describes a person who avoids sexual orientation labels such as heterosexual and homosexual.
Where are they?

Dominant Bottoms who devour both tops and other bottoms...
Servant Tops who submit to their masters...
Lesbians who have a thing for turning out men...
     Reading article after article about roles and preferences, I've come to realize that I am simply label aversive.  Is it the artist in me? Is it my love for avant-guardian sex?  It could even be my love for jazz music that gives me this need to challenge our sexual boundaries.  (Miles was a freaky man.)
     Being a versatile bisexual, I have this drive to convince everyone that they are also flexible.  I get a rush from feeling a bottom take the top for the first time.  Convincing an adamant top to let me penetrate him gives me goosebumps.  Selfish, I know, but I love the freshness that comes along with steering off the beaten path.

There's something about breaking barriers together.   

     I am convinced that we often mistake inexperience with preference, thus sticking to our forte.  In my mind, there's a little bottom in every top.  He's waiting for the right person to be patient and intuitive enough to deflower him.  My theory also includes that there's a vicious side to each bottom that longs to take down a giant and break his back!

As for women:
I'm not the best auditory learner
Thus, she should demonstrate how she prefer her pleasure
Now, wouldn't that be interesting?

     We have so much to learn from each other.  Wouldn't we become better lovers if we've received loved from all angles?  There'd be less aimless jackhammering if he knew how it felt to be pummeled.  Pillow princesses would be more active if they know how boring it was to be passive.  A whole new dimension could be gained.

To be a pomosexual,
Is to be determined to walk away from a sexual experience changed.
To develop a new perspectives by combatting
So-called preferences and phobias.

Pomosexuality is an attempt to achieve evolution via sex.

The above art is from "Playgirl" featuring Justino Esteves
I really like the gorgeous gamut of sexuality expressed in this set
See for yourself:

Dacryphilia: My Theory Behind the Tears

     I recently written an article for ka-os|theory, titled "Dacryphilia: When Thugs Cry".  Writing about one of my first experiences watching urban, gay porn; I unexpectedly pulled up memories of a darker brand.  Dead men laying in the street while brothas laughed about unrelated matters.  Attending funerals where black men were unable to express their sadness.  Looking back, I was really surprised by my own callousness.
     Although I do love to see thugs whimper and cry, I don't think people see the deeper connection.  It's a rare opportunity to see the world hardest men become soft before your eyes.  A chance to see what happens when the facade of hyper-masculinity collaspes under pressure. 
Here's a ka-otic|theory:
Does these sexual-emotional releases carry therapuetic value?

Check out my ka-os|theory exclusive article:

Masturbation for the Amish: Noisy Silence

Without my laptop
I didn't know how dependent I've gotten on technology for arousal
Things that rattle...
Instant messengers and cell phones...

Masturbating the other night, it was a bit difficult to remain erect
I've never noticed how active the night was
Midnight traffic...
Clicking high heeled shoes...
Feline conversations...

Opening my window
I wanted to invite the outdoors in
Instead of being annoyed by it

A breeze rolled across my chest and belly, striking my stroking hand
The car passing by sounded a lot like the seashore
Were there always so many crickets?

For a moment, I felt like I was outside
and the dogs were barking at me...

Was I pretending to be an exhibitionist?
Or did Berkeley become a voyeur?
Thrusting my hips, a group of giggling girls walk by
Would it change their mood?
To know what was happening right above their heads

I came at the thought of them seeing me
Imagining eavesdropping on their dismay
My moans were louder than usual
In hopes they would hear...

Masturbation for the Amish: Fantasy Fuck Fest

After showering, I set up my laptop on the side of the bed.
Playing Ragin' Stallion's "Ink Storm" in fast forward,
I take the bottle of peanut oil down from my widow sill.
(Try it, you'll thank George Washington Carver in the morning.)

Watching Logan McCree spread them long, gorgeous, tattooed legs,
I start to masturbate as he gets serviced.
Positioning a towel on my leg,
I cum about three times before closing the laptop and rolling over to sleep...

     Without my laptop, I was to forced to do something that I've haven't done since the discovery of VCRs.  I masturbated to nothing.  It has never occurred to me how much sensory input I take in while pleasuring myself.  There's always a sexy voice moaning over the phone.  There's always some eye candy performing on a screen.  I have a box full of devices that vibrate, twirl and plug.  I couldn't remember the last time I jacked off using only my hands and lube.
     Having to resort to my imagination.  My photographic memory started to replay my favorite scene of Logan's rim job; I even threw in some extra stuff that didn't happen.  Rolling onto his back, he grips the soles of his feet and stretches out until he was doing the splits.  His co-star, Steve Cruz, is especially going to town on his spread eagle platter.  I wish he was as talented in real life as he was in my mind!  Rotating seamlessly from fellatio to annilingus and back again, his mouth and tongue were making a "figure 8".  Overwhelmed with thirst and hunger. it was so messy and sexy!
     Suddenly, there was a knock at the dungeon's door and none other than The Rock walks in.  The duo stops everything and drops to their knees; The Rock unzips to reveal a pretty, golden anaconda dangling between his thighs. This is better than pay-per-view!  My mind was starting to create a fantasy orgy.  I felt like someone rolled the red carpet into my bedroom and I was star gazing.  Licking his lips, LL Cool J was there coaching everyone while kissing their necks and pinching their nipples.  A professionally dressed Anderson Cooper was getting head from Zac Efron; that boy can sure suck a mean dick!

Looking down at my pearl soaked thigh,
 I forgot how fun brainstorming could be!

The above photography is from "Flamingo"
You can view the rest of this photo set:

Feet & Conversation

Man or Woman
Casual or Romantic
Prop your legs upon my lap

     Let me massage your feet while we talk.  I'll maintain eye contact or, at least, try.  It's a service for you.  An indulgence for me.  A wonderful evening for us both.  Would you prefer lotion or oil?  I have some amazing Rose oil.  The scent would harmonize great with our Jasmine tea. 

"How was your day?"
"Oh shit, are you serious?"
"When are you going to quit that job?"

     I'm a recreational reflexology.  My thumbs work wonders as I knead deeply into your soles.  Would you-?  Ah, never mind.  You know, I can tell so much about you just by looking at your feet.  No, nothing bad!  You're just so hard on yourself; you should try harder to have more fun.  I can also see that you have simple pleasures.  And that you'd like to keep it that way. 
     Deeply inhaling the French Rose from your toes.  Feet are like pacifiers to me.  Your laugh is so cute!  You've never had someone kiss your toes before?  Sucking your toes are like h'ord devours in a sensual sense.  However, the funny thing about appetizers are: sometimes you're satisfied before the main course hits the table. 

I'm fine with just talking to you.
Thoroughly massaging and loving your feet.
There's no trap in place; maybe just an erection to bolster your heels.
Let's just say, I have a fetish for interesting conversation.

My Kind of Eye Candy: 'Bondage Warriors'

I am growing increasingly jealous of the Japanese!

     In the September issue of their version of Vogue Hommes; they have a beautiful 30 paged spread that features provocative, bondage fashion.  I have a big boner for bondage gear; leather, metal and sexy restraining devices.  It combines grace with brutality; the essence of masculine beauty.

I've been masturbating repeatedly to these beautiful pics!

Male Evolution: Masculine + Feminine = Consummate?

     A couple days ago, I was having a intense conversation with my friend.  He is an avid collector of closeted, undercover gay men; he loves to find them on Craig's List and Adam4Adam and arrange strange hook-ups to see how far they will go to not get caught.  The topic of this discussion was a DL brother who has managed to steal his heart. 
     He was smitten with a fine black man from Harlem, who was a professional musician with a "heart of gold".  Furious, he couldn't restrain his volume, "Everyone should already know he's gay!  He's far too artistic to be straight!  C'mon, he gets along with women without trying to fuck them!  He's sensitive and emotional!  Just come out the closet already!"  The light bulb flashed over my head; could it be that bisexuals and homosexuals are the next step in evolution?
     He went on and on about the sure fire ways of knowing if a man is straight or gay.  Cleanliness.  Respectfulness.  Articulate.  Sympathetic.  There are a tons of great qualities that serve as red flags.  Furthermore, the women I know wouldn't touch a "perfect" man with a ten foot pole, because it screams "homosexual".  It seems they all have a heart wrenching tale about the "guy who had it all".
     Beyond watching football and loving to shop; there is a great deal more to masculinity and femininity.  The age old symbol, the yin and yang, perfectly displays the complementary characteristics and the balance achieved together.
The dark side is the feminine aspect:


The lighter side is the masculine aspect:


     It is my belief that men and women that are bisexual or homosexual are more available to express the qualities from both sides of the spectrum.  Men allow themselves to be more nurturing and creative and women allow themselves to be more aggressive and firm.  To me, that makes a higher evolved person.  Having access to both The Yin and The Yang will make a person more adaptable, more independent and more understanding of how the world works. 

No wonder why everyone who has had a great impact on the world, turns out to be bi.

Can Anyone Handle A Versatile Bisexual?

Tops cringe at the thought of being penetrated.
Bottoms are determined to take the place of women.
Women are desperately clinging to the idea
that the P still stands for Power.

Why is everyone so attached to their roles?

     It appears that bisexual men are the least desired.  Is it because bisexuality broadens the playing field, thus increasing the chances of infidelity?  Are people threatened by the fact that bisexuals are attracted to both genders, meanwhile most people can only be assigned to one?  Is insecurity the problem, thus no one feels awesome enough to beat out the rest of the world? Yes, yes and YES! (I wish I had something bolder than bold for the last one!)
     I think the answer to this problem lies in people aversion to versatile men.  While everyone's determined to be someone's all-in-all; few are willing to expand beyond their cozy little roles.  The authority rarely wants to submit.  The catcher gets far too lazy to climb up the mound to pitch.  I'm sure it makes life simple to stay in your small sexual cubicle, but what about those that are out the box?  The shaky idea of monogamy is shattered, not by the bisexual glutton, but at the hands of the stubborn, static partner.  That's the God awful truth.
Tops loosen up
Bottoms man-up
Women grow up

In other words, stop being so lame!

Heirophilia: How long, O Lord?

How long, Oh Lord?
How long wilt Thou hide Thy face from me?
How long shall I take counsel in my soul?
(Psalms 13:1-2)

     How can someone so far away see me so clearly?  With nonsensical babbling spilling from my lips, You manage to understand my message.  How is it possible to connect so well with a stranger? 
       Finding warmth in Your Enigmatic Embrace, I fail to find the logic.  I want to see You because You've, somehow, stolen glimpses of me.  The secrets.  The darkness.  The deepest parts of me.
     It causes me great discomfort to know that I know nothing of You.  I wouldn't know Your Face if I saw it.  I wouldn't recognize your scent if the air was filled with it.  Anything apart from your raspy, midnight whisperings would fall far outside of my discernment.  I need to see you.  I need to see those Eyes stare into my soul like I'd imagine.  I need to feel You as You perform the sensual surgery we've discussed.  I need Your Warmth to wrap around me as I penetrate you deeply.
     How is it possible to connect so well with a mystery?  Perhaps, its due to the freedom I feel knowing I may never see you.  Perhaps, it's because I'm honest without the fear of consequence.  Perhaps, it's because I revealed to You all of my ugliness...and You found it beautiful.  With You, I've shed light upon my darkest fantasies.  Through our conversations, we've straightened out my most twisted philosophies.  We've made love over the telephone.  I've had orgasms reading Your Words.  Perhaps, our connection is due to my choice to let you penetrate me so deeply.  Beyond my legs open wide...Beyond the dilation of my darkness...I've allow you to penetrate my mind and soul.    

It is the Glory of God to conceal a matter
But the glory of kings is to search out a matter
As the heavens for height and the earth for depth
So the heart of kings is unsearchable
(Proverbs 25-12)

The above art is from "Illuminati" featuring Arian Levanael.
You can view the rest of this beautiful set:



Related Posts with Thumbnails