i love that they're real. they seem spanish to me, not just because of the dark skin, beige aereolae, and dark circles around the one's eyes. nah, it's because of the ongoing intense solar passion. no one else is in the room and that one married girl (those rings go on left fingers, right?), you can tell she's been waiting to eat the other one out with every moment of her being.
this is how i have "orgasms" and why i wrinkle my forehead when people can COUNT orgasms they have with people. with another person, they're in waves and all over, even though i've tried to keep them contained in a playpen in the backyard.
but the "g" spot, fuck grafenberg--we're just hearing the trick a man figured out while trying to please a woman and as usual we follow who came SECOND.
cripes!
it was there long before he planted a flag in it and claimed that he was here in america first. and all these trying to cut out the clit like the africans, when it's EVERYWHERE. how do you contain the nerves? but manifest destiny spreads to women's bodies, so i hate to ever refer to that spot as the grafenberg or g spot. fuck you.
colonize my people, my land, my father, and me, our reproductive systems, and now my fucking pussy's joy.
but i've gotta PAY outta pocket for health insurance.
anyhow, it's all connected. mind, pussy, cock, hand, life, happiness, peace...
and so it makes sense that when all cylinders are firing, it's ALL an orgasm.
that's what i got after how james fucked me. there is no "lie." everything is true, and in conflict.
it's hard to be faced with the novelty and perfection of "newness" and have it compete against "solidity."
so i get that.
but i get that i am solid regardless of another's shakiness. in fact, i think we NEED to run through more airports screaming for LIFE and COMMON SENSE to prevail.
i think it's good to rebel against being managed and contained like a line item.
something in a playpen in the back yard when you're still in your forties.
fuck.
if reincarnation is true, then maybe i've been here a zillion times, and the old lady voice i heard in my head when i was 8, telling me to not "forget" this time what being here was all about. and have fun. go all the way.
i didn't know what it meant, and it evolves. but it has been my north star on never forgetting the terror of being young and surprised.
when you really look and listen, you've never really been where you are before. you are closing yourself off to the inspiration all around you, and you've wasted your time on screens, chaos, and phone calls.
that's fine. it just makes it hell for those who DON'T.
anyhow, the women in the video? their passion is amazingly quiet because for whatever familial set up they all have, it HAS to be. i get it. i'm not so different. i get what it is to live for the calmness and stability of the bigger family.
and that's holy, too. this is a beautiful example of how there are so many different levels of passions and needs and what people can SEE!
oh my god, i'm in awe that this video was even MADE. just like latinas, they're used to being viewed, objectified, sexualized. a little wasted lately in the expansive powers of our fierce, strong femininity and sexuality.
but with the casual flick of one who's used to being viewed at all times, they close off and go into their own worlds. they don't see us. or the men, video taping them (husbands?). there are three that you can glance in the mirror and that is soooo hot. 3 fat guys who've got NO idea what they're actually watching.
and it's an underground gift to me when its billed probably as "amateur lesbians with natural bush." ick. how can you foist your cock up to such dreck? talk about jerking off on the corpse you just shot. sheesh.
humans are not fashion. bodies are eternal.
it's like watching not just fire crackle, but human fire crackle. and they know, deep down, on some level, that they're living in a whole other flatter world than these women.
these women are mystical, powerful, voracious, gorgeous, alive, passionate. their orgasms are the ENTIRE thing. look at her!
fuck. that's how i have sex. that's how i want to LIVE. constantly in some state of awe, and never quite sure when the orgasm subsides and another slowly, or quickly, begins to build.
that, maybe IS the orgasm behind the orgasm. the big death behind the french little death.
maybe that is why i can have at myself so much right now.
i feel opened up in my little "tron" world. and i have myself. my strength and heart.
and i'm SOLID, even if the world seems not.
i've got everything i need.
and yet this is where i feel like i've teetered over into syd barret insanity (to you all), or heaven forfend--a FLAKE---because i still don't care about finding "work" or running to handle money issues.
i feel like i cracked over to some other side where i don't give a fuck... but in a good way.
i love james so much. the letters have already begun from him, and i want to be strong and do the right thing and hold him off for his own good. but with my sexual heart opened up so much, i have to be strong about what i want to go toward in my life.
fuck. i'm so ordinary! so fucking NORMAL!
eek!
because while i'll always imagine fucking damn near everyone i meet, and wonder what people look like nude or getting a blow job or a finger up their asses or on their backs getting rimmed or eaten out, because even though i want to fuck the world and twirl around in silver bracelets and big hair...
i just want one man. one man that i can serve and be for. for the rest of my life. as long as we are always living where we are each number one to ourselves and each other.
there would only be ONE safe word. it would be secret. and it would be the one where we promise to agree on the line.
what do i mean? i don't quite know, yet. i don't even fucking know who i am anymore now that my own myths are gone and i'm finding out i'm even MORE magical behind my own made up secret stories about who i was.
i stopped hating everything i was or did or had done. i was precious and a sweetheart.
so james. so's everyone.
and that makes me feel selfless in a way. like i have no skin. we are no different. and that FEELS better than feeling "victimized" (gross!) or like the world is bad and flat.
i've made the world flat myself in not taking the time to see and listen, worship the orishas in plain sight...
i didn't get that sometimes honesty really is about the art of artifice. that's art, though, right?
fuck... i DID it. i lived life according to my truest beliefs and obsessions, even when i wasn't paying attention.
it's time to put down art to go for the big game. the biggest game of all. being alone, private. away from the eyes of the 3 men taking blunt photographs in the blank guest room.
do you see how the small talk the cameramen partake in is so inane? like the level of "poo poo pee pee ca ca." and fucking holy love and fucking and the longest orgasms in the world are happening right in front of them!
and that is why i love latina women. because we learn how to live all in cheap sequins in front and pretend we're dime store goddesses to distract from the reality that we can kick a guy's ass and eat out another woman in front of her husband, and have everyone feel as connected as thanksgiving dinner.
the white culture will try to sell you amway or a timeshare or fuck, and jerk off to such a woman in private and take a shower afterwards as if it were a gay fantasy.
regardless of whether they're spanish, latino, arab, whatEVER, this is a family picture. i think this video is even about family. a really clever way of making something happen so that everyone can be happy. there will be, or was, a lot of drama and pain to ensue because when you have such an underground love, you can't wake up and have breakfast together ever.
and that is why this video is more dramatic and passionate and heartbreaking and real--and therefore hot--than anything hollytown, or even japan, has put out.
slow down. look around more. there's more fascinating life here on earth than constantly looking out at outer space for egg heads.
i wondered if i was a sex addict. my life is burning all around me, and i'm jerking off as the titanic sinks.
but it's THE energy thing! i got it!
it's creavity, life. as long as i'm in love with humans and can jerk off to them, there will be hope of a tomorrow, etcetera blah blah blah.
but it's true.
even though nothing i'm saying about james and love ALWAYS makes sense in my head at the time, i shrug and ignore it and just go jerk off.
sometimes even i need a break from thinking all the time.
and it's good james is out of here because i'd also save the "yeah, i'm mad, move out later, fuck me NOW" and that's not really "clear" if you know what i mean.
but i don't care about money and art or some shitty job now, anyhow, so i'll just hope that none of those other board of director "people" inside me will sleep while i jerk my life away.
talk about magical thinking. the shmata salesman inside me is smacking his forehead and throwing his hands up in the air like he really DOES care.
the "me" that's running things is like, "fuck it. i gave more than my best. fuck it. i'm gonna relax and have a good time for a change."
i feel like i've worked worked worked my whole life. why? to feel secure like no one could control me. but then i'd be confronted with money vs. art, and art won out and here i am jerking off and sounding like a flake.
i sure don't feel like a flake.
everything's so HARD. doing this right fucking thing so you don't put back magic in play that snaps back at you.
i love james so much. i'm glad i learned how to serve one man and see if i had it to love like i wanted to love, regardless of what anyone else thought.
so i feel like i've traveled all around the world and come back to what everyone else already came to:
it's a cool idea to try this intense thing with one person.
but i don't wanna do it the way most people do it, like with shackles, chains, and promises.
i wanna do it like i'm still there for james.
as long as i'm not involved, he can always try to come back. but he has to know himself.
and now he has to woo me back so that he can take the time to see if this is what he wants.
that's what wooing is about.
because i can feel the MOMENT the twinkle from the eye is gone.
for me to avoid a mundane life and live in magic, is to always fight for the twinkle.
that's why i'm glad i can jerk off even after a lot of tears or after just watching charles laughton in "witness for the prosecution."
god, his timing and delivery is so FUCKING spot on tight GOOD. it's incredibly TIMELESS.
how can you NOT jerk off after that?
anyhow, i'd give you some points in the video that i love, but study and discover the tongue fucking move vs. the one where you can see how her tongue has just found that GROOVE with the right level of open swelling as she licks right up on the raw clit.
they're wide open. it's all there. and the oblivious fucking cameras that always think they're seeing everything, is so hot.
because that's even what it feels like writing my guts out on HERE. like who's looking? i have to not care. i have to hope that at some point you will cease to even see ME, and only see YOURSELF.
this IS art! see how my not doing art turns on itself? that's all our lives. nothing is toxic or a waste if you use it anew with fresh eyes and a struggle for scabless understanding.
i sound so preachy i can't stand it. the shmata salesman and the little girl inside me. they think this preachy side is like my father taking me around giving me lectures on when to do things with my energy, and when not to because it was wrong against the other person in the long run...
and if it's wrong against THEM, then it's against me. because if i stab the guy in the eye with a fork, i have to lead a blind man around the rest of my life.
i love james so much. you can't imagine. he did lay down his rake and claim me as his own. i must now also belong to him beyond any tiny little earthly vow, and i must let him go and be there if he ever needs me, no matter what.
the sex thing, no. now i'm all monogamous.
i never was a multi-dick girl, anyhow. i couldn't even see how girls could jump from one boyfriend to the other to avoid the pain. you need time to air out the chocha from one man, and "0" things back out to neutral so that you can give the NEW man a fighting chance to even make HIS impression on you.
you can't be ushering men in like comic acts and expect to ever see anything except your soul in the bottom of a distraction.
it's all chaotic scratchy radio interference i think if you have too many "people" on or in you--mind or body.
anyhow, i'll be there for james for my entire life.
we never let our men go mad.
if we get to have all the emotions and open doors, paid dinners, and equal pay,
we need to give our men the place to go mad so they may find THEMSELVES on the other side.
yeah. this is what i saw in brad wyman and charlie sheen. huge wasted mystical masculinity, left to become a parody of itself so that we may feel safe in categorizing them like cartoons.
no. brad wyman. i don't fucking KNOW the man and he was a catalyst to a lot of what i've opened up to. let me write an entire fucking book ("the girl must die") in sobbing emails to him when hollytown's under water and everyone's fighting for their lives.
and i'm thinking of sleeping with wealthy men for the young girls who cut off shark fins and throw 'em back in the water? eek!
i'm still catching up but never will because the stories are true, and then again they're NOT.
no one's evil on purpose. but it's time to fucking face reality and realize ignorance isn't any excuse for breaking THE BASIC LAWS.
anyhow, our advance guard men need to go mad and find themselves as we do.
they have so few models for losing it. mid life crises? cars and pussy?
come ON!
watch this video and remember what you used to believe about the power of love and connection before the beige fog took over.
this is real.
i fuck this way, too. i can only tell the space between the orgasms when i'm fucking MYSELF, and i try to count so i can TALK and have something to SAY if i'm ASKED because this is the kind of shit people seem to CARE about...
did you come?
huh?
i'm STILL coming.
and if i can't find a way to come like you come, i'll find yet another way.
i swear. the small girl inside me is still cringing and so's the shmata salesman.
letting go and being free is a lot like doing angel dust and thinking you can fly with a towel superhero cape, and trusting that the pool's full below.
i still don't know. but maintain i can't lose either way, really.
e
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