perfectionist with a god complex
i`m just wrapping up my day at the office.
i ended up jumping in to assist in a project late this evening. and i`m about as finished as i`m going to be for the night.
two weeks and two days before my first late night. wasn`t so bad.
details tomorrow.
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george carlin
last night i sat on my tiny balcony and looked at the full moon. it was a joy to behold and a thought struck me, everyone i know, everyone i care about saw the same moon at some point last night.
even if they didn`t have the time to appreciate it, we`re all together on this planet and for that moment, i realised how insignificant i am in the grand scheme of things. all my problems, all my fears on the scale of things are tiny. there are people with greater problems than mine. a lot of them life threatening.
i have people that love and care for me, i`m alive, in good health, i have a job that i really like, i can afford to eat everyday, i have a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in at night. looking up in the sky last night i was truly grateful to be alive.
all my current problems are temporary and they shall pass. i have love and happiness in my life and i`m going to hold on to them for as long as i can.
a friend and i were discussing callipygian vs steatopygia this weekend and eventually drifted to the topic of race which included this incredibly appalling story
“The historical Sarah Baartman created a sensation when she appeared in London, beginning in 1810. Raised among the Khoikhoi people of southern Africa, she possessed the enlarged backside and sexual organs that her people prized as an ideal of feminine beauty. As a young woman she had caught the attention of a British ship`s doctor named Dunlop, who deceived her into following him to England, where he displayed her, in the most degrading conditions, as a sideshow curiosity. People came to gawk, grope and leer, and the intellectuals of the day found in her confirmation of their theories of European superiority.
After her death in 1816, Baartman`s exploitation continued. Her remains were put on display at a Paris museum, and only last year were they returned to South Africa for a dignified burial. In the interim, observers continued to speculate, like those academics in the amphitheater, about the meaning of the Hottentot Venus. She became a potent emblem to be deployed in discussions of race, sex, even international relations. When Baartman`s body was finally returned to her homeland, the South African president, Thabo Mbeki, made her role as cultural symbol explicit, saying, “The story of Sarah Baartman is the story of the African people.“”
what`s saddening about this is that even now, even in the caribbean, the stereotype still exists.
i only have one question: WHY?
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tonight is full moon and i can feel it in my very soul. it also explain why i`ve been so completely stimulated over the last week.
but as much kittens that have died for the cause, it`s just an outlet. i long for vic. it is a tangible need.
i`ve found my equal in all things in vic. even over the miles and the months, there is a tie that binds us. part telepathy, part couvade, part biofeedback, it`s just there, we know, we can sense it.
i need to see, touch, hear, smell vic, it`s been too long. i`m not just talking about sexual needs. i`m a tactile person and there is a completeness to having vic in my presence.
it`s about being a unit. i feel like a piece of me is missing.
it`s sunday and i haven`t got fuck all to do all day. i`m loathe to say i`m bored, but that would pretty much sum it up. i have no desire to flick mindlessly through the channels. i could walk to the office and while the hours online, but i don`t want to start the precedent of being in the office every weekend.
i have some shirts that need ironing but without iron or ironing board there`s no way that`s getting done. there is really nothing for me to do around here. i had breakfast and i cooked and had lunch, had a post lunch nap and bath.
all this sitting around idly has me thinking about church. i`m not a regular churchgoer, i think i can be pleasantly described as a hatch, match, dispatch churchgoer and even then i`m picky about those that i do attend. for the thoroughly confused; hatch, match, dispatch translate to baptisms, weddings and funerals.
i`m a lapsed catholic which i suppose makes me the worse sort religious cynic. i honestly believe everyone has a right to their beliefs but my issues start when your religion starts to encroach on my freedoms and is used as a basis for intolerance.
i wasn`t always like this. i was baptised catholic, even though my mother was a methodist, what it meant is that every weekend i was in church twice, i would go to mass on a saturday and then off to service with my mother on a sunday, so i was pretty much covered on all bases. i went to a parochial school and by the time i was nine i was an altar boy, i made my first communion with the boys in my class. i went to another parochial school for my high school education and was pretty much a good catholic boy, well with the exception of ducking the mandatory religious knowledge class in my first semester at school and the pornography club i was running by my third year in school [another story for another day]. i was still an altar boy, i did mass at least three times a week. i even had thoughts of becoming a priest. i hadn`t had any run-ins with the child-molesters the church is famous for breeding and i still said the apostle`s creed and believed it wholeheartedly.
all that changed in my final year of high school. in my caribbean history class i started to question the church`s track record in the new world, you know; the magna carta, forced conversions, genocide, slavery, then as i read more, the inquisition, their stance during world war II, you get the picture and then my parish started hitting on me, culminating with my expulsion from the confirmation class because i spurned his advances.
i started to question, first i just questioned catholicism, but i started noticing the same levels of hypocrisy and double standards were part and parcel of religion. then i started doing research on christianity and that opened a whole new can of worms. i`m going to raise a point here that most people either don`t know or chose to ignore; until the advent commercial printing, the bible was hand-copied by a select few priest and even then distribution was limited. so no matter what version of christianity you practise today, the bible you use is based on a version originally approved by emperor constantine and amended as seen fit by various popes up til the reformation.
another amusing fact [especially in light of various christian organisations, decrying halloween as a satanic/pagan ritual] is that all the major christian high holy days or holidays are actually just conversions of pagan festivals. beltane became easter, the winter solstice became christmas. makes you think doesn`t.
but before i come off as biased, i feel the same about all religions. religion is a construct. go back far enough and you`ll find some power-brokers, politician, king, elder, whatever, telling people how and what to believe. it helps keeps the masses in control and always to the exclusion of someone.
all this doesn`t mean i don`t believe in a force greater than myself, i believe. i just don`t need someone telling me how to believe. and yes i am a hypocrite. my children are baptised and attend church regularly. why you ask? so they get can get the same platform i had, when the time comes, they too will question or maybe they wont, but they would not have been deprived on an opportunity.
here are this year`s short list and winner for the bad sex in fiction award.
i had planned on going home cause i wasn`t functioning at work, but down came the rains and as much i like it, i was in no mood to walk home in it.
it`s been on my mind all week and my body hasn`t been backward in making its needs be known. [official kitty count from sunday to today: 36]
i`ve been thinking a lot about how i got to this point and what drives me sexually.
growing up i know my mother had boyfriends, but i think there was a point where she may have believed she was setting a bad example so she stopped or at least i was no longer aware of them.
but sex was never a mystery for me, my mother was open and upfront about it and there were a couple books around the house and they were never hidden away and for a period of time, i pored over those books, learning everything i could. between man`s body, woman`s body, then sensuous woman and some other 70`s sex tome whose name escapes me at the moment, i learned the joys of my body, solo. i think those books helped shape me sexual.
i`m comfortable in my sexuality, the things i haven`t done are pretty much in the not interested column and even then i don`t think i`m in a position to judge, except for pedophiles. any motherfucker that puts their hand on my children, will die by my hand.
anything two consenting adults chose to do [primarily in the privacy of their own household] is fine by me.
i have a theory [told you, i have a lot of these things, too much time on my hands i guess] that there are three stages to natural sexual development:
solo; experimenting and learning about self, same sex; experimenting and giving pleasure to a body you`re familiar with and then finally the opposite sex. a lot of people skip a step, more power to them. i`ve experienced all three steps, not necessarily in the order i explained and i`ve learned a couple of things which i carry with me still.
1. learn what does it for you and share it with your partner, sex isn`t supposed to be a guessing game.
2. you are what you eat, how you taste men and women is dictated by what you consume [do the research, i did]
3. no means hell no, maybe means no and yes can still mean no. even if you`re both naked on the bed in flagrante delecto and they say stop, you fucking well stop.
4. forcing someone`s head up and down during a blowjob, never polite, no matter how many movies you saw it in. it`s impolite and uncomfortable.
5. sex is supposed to be fun. it`s nothing to be ashamed of and it`s not a competition. enjoy it.
6. communication. it`s the most important part of any sexual relationship. even before the clothes come off.
i love to feel and see vic`s skin against mine. it`s an amazing thing, she`s smooth and soft and our bodies intertwined is not jarring but complementary.
she likes to trace the patterns of my tattoos and i love her hands and her mouth against my skin. we share the same worshipful attitude with each other. the gentle caresses, kisses, touching.
showers are another form of worship, luxuriating in the water, playing, laughing. vic`s skin flushed with the heat, pressed against mine, water streaming over us.
there are moments when i just sit and look at her, drinking in her beauty. imprinting the image of her in my brain.
one of the things i miss is just lying or sitting next to vic, the feel of her skin next to mine, it`s comforting, arousing, joyous, a complete feeling.
i long to experience that feeling everyday.