Porno Made Easy

Pornography is easy, it requires no creativity at all, and it consumes forty seven times it's own weight in excess imagination. You might say that has to be the worst bastardization of the old commercial ever set down, but no, it really isn't, it's actually pretty close to literal true.

It's my philosophy to seek three angles of approach to understanding any given subject of the human condition. I've found three is a good number to illuminate most things, not so overdrawn as to be burdensome, not so limited as to leave large regions of shadow. The three I use are a thing's function in a life, it's meaning and it's value to the life. Pornography is actually an ideal example of what happens when there is serious conflict to be found within and between those parameters.

What is CCW?

SCREW BUSH!  
SCREW CHENEY TWICE! 
USE SOMETHING WOODEN!

I am sure hoping that about now you're saying to yourself "Ok, think we know how you feel about the last administration, so just what does CCW mean?" What it means is that 'nos is dog ass puking sick and tired of having his vocabulary corrupted to serve the enemies cause. I am tired of everyone and his woofin' dog, from the man on the street to the news anchor on the television station using a word that was the enemies first and most effective assault on my land, of every free land on planet Earth. You know what word I'm talking about, you do, oh yea baby, I'm talking about the big T, TERRORISM … and you know what the proper response to that word should be, if you want to put an end to the misery and manipulation and needless bloodshed? The proper response to that word is very, very simple. You say BULLSHIT!

The Hunter Passing

One of my better efforts, if I do say so myself, and an accidental sonnet, I wasn't counting lines or rhymes...

We must never forget there is no bottom to the depths the human animal will sink when evil has killed the soul, we must never relax our vigilance, we must never let down our guard.  Never again.

The Sanctuary of Art

Irisha in Blue

For two years I watched the lass, for the last six months I watched her get up before the Russian dawn to do her show, for six months I watched as her performances came to carry more and more of the passion that drove the other half of her life, her passion for law and justice.  Soon enough those of us with eyes and a heart came to understand what we witnessed: she was putting all of the pain and misery and human suffering she was being exposed to in her study of law into her act, letting it have a silent voice for the world to see, giving herself an outlet to balance her heart and clear her mind before heading out for the new day to resume her studies. 

She'd begin with the bright lights on, chat for a bit, jokes and pretty things, she delighted in Disney cartoons.  Then the talk would shift to the lessons of her studies, thoughts on what she'd learned, she'd recall them all to her mind before she'd dim the lights to nada and set about converting them, translating them into her art. 

There was a streetlight outside her window, she took to taking manual control of her camera, soon enough any third frame of the illusions she produced were works of art worthy of hanging on the wall of your study, the feminine shape in highlight and shadow set almost into abstractions that somehow still carried the essence of the feminine forms of courage. 

It almost seemed as if she were saying to the world "no, I'll not take a mate until my children can grow up free of fear," and folks, I have faith that by now somewhere in Russia there is a young lawyer I'd not like to face in a courtroom, a charming innocent smile and a mind that misses nothing of what passes her sight, and little of what simply passes thinking itself unseen.  In the years I watched her grow she went from a girl where my first thought was "no sweetheart, no, I don't see enough of a hard shell to protect yourself in this, you shouldn't be here," to a charming young woman, self contained and confident to by the end a full Lady at the great age of twenty two and a newly commisioned dreamweaver.  An impressive human being by anyone's standards. 

What is pictured was a signature pose of hers to close her show, as she is pictured she's halfway or so into the pose, she'd fold herself until in the shadows she came to seem the beautiful flower she truly is awaiting the first light of dawn to open and greet the new day. 

The Well: Friday night at Jelly's

It wasn’t a bad little pad, for being sterile as a hospital. I’ve bunked in worse. It did have a couple of things going for it. It was second floor, and the stairs were a fair distance away down an outside walk that rang like a drum, pretty much an alarm system of sorts. I had the only apartment with a view of the entrance from the road. From the table in the kitchen the comings and goings were visible. Beyond that, a steel door with a good deadbolt and a queen size bed that felt like a slab stolen from the undertaker. Ten minutes and I was ready to lock the door and never go back.

How Did We Get... Here???

I am not a scholar, but perhaps that is a good thing. If I were a scholar I would be compelled to answer the question of how we arrived here in the conflicting and confusing events of today with reasoning drawn from what the scholars know of our history, the events that shaped the lives of our ancestors carried forward to shape the events of our lives as well. It is a fact that to many facts of history may obscure the most critical facts of all: the motives which produce the events seen in the present. Such is the limitation of the scholar. The years of devoted study needed to understand the fullness of history is what makes one a scholar of the subject, and no, I am not such a scholar. I make no claim whatsoever in that direction, but again, perhaps that is not such a bad thing.


Where I am no scholar of history it does not take a scholar to recognize that neither are the scoundrels who disgrace the legacy of Abraham Lincoln, using and misusing poorly understood history to deceive the ignorant into supporting their efforts to equally disgrace the United States of America in the eyes of the world. If those men were in any way scholars, if they had any inkling of the truths of history they would recognize their own intentions as nothing more than yet another beginning for the cycles of tyranny the founding fathers rejected and revolted against at the start of the nation, the same tyranny condemned and contested by the righteous long before the days of Caesar Augustus. It does not take a scholar to understand that the motives of tyranny have not changed with the years, and in fact for all of man's technological advancements neither have the methods changed all that much.

Glance

The girls know, of course they know.  It's a full mystery and a wonder that they say as little as they do.  Well, a mystery from some perspectives anyway ...

White Knights

The thing about being a white knight is that you collect damsels in distress.

After a while the thing you start to notice about damsels in distress is that for every one who was truly a victim of some evil intent there were nine who were co-conspirators in their own misfortunes.

Another thing about being a white knight is you are always supposed to tell the truth as you see it.

Which, when you factor in the other nine damsels in distress explains one other odd fact about white knights.  They never, ever, take their armor off.

The Anti-Porn Series

I will say, here in the beginning, that I truly hate pornography. The true evil of pornography is that it tells the lie that the deed makes the life, rather than the truth which is the life must enable the deed or the deed is just a hollow and meaningless charade.

There are so many forms of pornography in our world: power porn, pistol porn, money porn, on and on ad nauseam, and of course the form most folks think of in association with that word which is sexual porn.

Of course, there as above my definition runs far, far beyond the sexual in and for itself. My definition concerns any and all things where sexuality and sensuality are presented not as the servant of love, but rather as its' master.

I have no problem at all with looking at naked people doing interesting things, hey, if you're young and athletic and the two of you feel like hooking a knee apiece through the chandelier, grabbing the china cabinet with a hand apiece while still managing to do something interesting in the middle? I'll take a look, might even learn something. Just don't show me sexuality degraded into brutality in the name of love, shallow ego trips promoting self deceiving forms of cruelty. In my life I've seen what happens to people when those attitudes gain traction, I've seen what it does to lives. It isn't pretty.

I've also seen how sex and sexuality has been misused by the various social entities... governments, religions... as the fulcrum for levers to compel folks to accept their more often than not irrational beliefs. I'll name no names because I'm sure you have your own list of those. Common to both, the pornographer and the manipulator is one thing they absolutely must have for their tactic to succeed: ignorance of the difference between love... the bond between hearts and lives... and the sex and sexuality intended to serve as support and sanctuary between those whose lives are fused as they undertake the labor of love which is the consequence of sex: rearing the children who will continue the human race.

The AntiPorn series of stories are written to contest that ignorance, they are to the best of my ability stories where sex and sexuality are central to the theme and plot set to illustrate the difference between sex and love, to show those two huge facets of the human condition from a perspective to recognize each for what it really is.

[this post edited and revised Sep 2016]

The Well: Miss M

We took the truck back to town for the last day of class, left our gear and the Mustang parked at Tina and Shelly’s place. We wanted the Mustang kept as far out of sight as possible. The truck’s only unique in the engine compartment, lots of them on the road, but cherry fast back Mustangs are rare. It was getting obvious we might need an very fast unknown machine in the near future.


“You know,” I said as we hit highway speed, “I wonder if Jim was saying more than just heads up.”

Dee cocked her head. “I’ve been wondering that as well.”

“He’s definitely ex military. A fair number of pj’s are special forces re-upping, they get one whale of a bonus for being trained. You say he was using a laser pointer?”

“Yes, he’d been playing with his new toy all day. Driving several of us nuts.”

“Did he ever tag anyone but the teacher?”

Dee thought back, and said “No, no he didn’t. He’d put it on papers, books, pretty much anything else, but the teacher was the only person.”

“That says something, Dee. You have heard of lasing a target, haven’t you?”

“What? Not really.”

“Smart bombs. Several kinds find their target by looking for laser light. The special forces boys sneak in, and when they hear the birds paint the target with a laser. If Jim ever did that job he wouldn’t paint anything but a target, be like pointing a gun for him.”

“Oh, oh boy. In that case then he’d made one of their operatives, he was trying to give warning. He was talking loud enough several tables heard him, not just me.”

A few minutes later I cranked the truck around a corner, put us right into the rising sun. “I did get the feeling from Cambell this seminar is actually just the handshake before the fight.”

Dee squinted, and said “Yah think?”

Tour

I thought about telling this fellows story in pictures, but that would be an awful lot of pictures to paint.  And then I thought of just writing it down, but no, I'm not Andre Norton.  But still, I sometimes wonder how branch-in-breeze fared when he got home to tell of what he'd found.  Sometimes I really do wonder what the Captain said when they put us on the tour...

The Well: Strange Sanctuary

A lot of people get killed in the kitchen by assuming it’s their house. I didn’t let Dee make that mistake, I drew going in her front door, and cleared the house. It didn’t take her half a shake to understand, she was port arms beside the drapes, watching the street as I left the living room. We were the only people home. I snagged the tablet for grocery lists, we weren’t saying anything out loud.