yet more on tpop
It just makes me want to say "yes, I eroticize violence," shrug, and be done with it all. When exactly did that become a problem?
Because, well, if we're not defining it narrowly, yes, I suppose I do.
I've experienced some nasty shit in my life, and yes, some of that has made it into my fantasies. They're bloody because, well, so has my life been. And I'm getting sick of denying it really, for "political" reasons.
I still maintain that I am, and would be, orientationally sadomasochistic even without all that. I was interested long before any of this even happened, and I can get others who knew me as a kid to corroborate that. But getting torn open did give me some blueprints... and I'm getting sick of not thinking about that, of thinking of every fantasy but the ones that do look "too much" like what happened to me so I don't give quarter.
Fuck not giving quarter to idiots who don't know what to do with it anyway.
The human body, and what it can survive, is *interesting.* It's fascinating how it responds, what it does, how it heals, what it does when it heals. You learn to look at it. You learn to marvel at it.
And it's like I was saying to sushis today: sometimes, you survive shit by learning to laugh at it. Maybe not rape, which is the only experience these people understand. But medical shit like mine? If it weren't funny I wouldn't have survived. If there weren't something interesting about it, attractive about it, amusing about it... why would I have bothered to live in the first place?
Appropriate: lyrics from the only Ani song I ever did like (okay, there are two):
Buildings and bridges
are made to bend in the wind
to withstand the world,
that's what it takes
All that steel and stone
is no match for the air, my friend
what doesn't bend breaks
what doesn't bend breaks
we are made to bleed
and scab and heal and bleed again
and turn every scar into a joke
we are made to fight
and fuck and talk and fight again
and sit around and laugh until we choke
sit around and laugh until we choke
Are you calling me a pervert? Well, what doesn't bend breaks.
I want sex to explode into my life with blood and grunts and screams and noise, and I want to know someone can still feel me there long after I'm gone...
Because, well, if we're not defining it narrowly, yes, I suppose I do.
I've experienced some nasty shit in my life, and yes, some of that has made it into my fantasies. They're bloody because, well, so has my life been. And I'm getting sick of denying it really, for "political" reasons.
I still maintain that I am, and would be, orientationally sadomasochistic even without all that. I was interested long before any of this even happened, and I can get others who knew me as a kid to corroborate that. But getting torn open did give me some blueprints... and I'm getting sick of not thinking about that, of thinking of every fantasy but the ones that do look "too much" like what happened to me so I don't give quarter.
Fuck not giving quarter to idiots who don't know what to do with it anyway.
The human body, and what it can survive, is *interesting.* It's fascinating how it responds, what it does, how it heals, what it does when it heals. You learn to look at it. You learn to marvel at it.
And it's like I was saying to sushis today: sometimes, you survive shit by learning to laugh at it. Maybe not rape, which is the only experience these people understand. But medical shit like mine? If it weren't funny I wouldn't have survived. If there weren't something interesting about it, attractive about it, amusing about it... why would I have bothered to live in the first place?
Appropriate: lyrics from the only Ani song I ever did like (okay, there are two):
Buildings and bridges
are made to bend in the wind
to withstand the world,
that's what it takes
All that steel and stone
is no match for the air, my friend
what doesn't bend breaks
what doesn't bend breaks
we are made to bleed
and scab and heal and bleed again
and turn every scar into a joke
we are made to fight
and fuck and talk and fight again
and sit around and laugh until we choke
sit around and laugh until we choke
Are you calling me a pervert? Well, what doesn't bend breaks.
I want sex to explode into my life with blood and grunts and screams and noise, and I want to know someone can still feel me there long after I'm gone...