Oh yeah, that (supplemental)
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When I started this blog, I intended to add new entries only on weekdays. I am breaking that rule for this special supplemental.
It appears that some of my new readers have taken offense to some of the things I have written, and I would first of all, encourage those readers, from time to time, but always in a respectful matter, to question my logic (or tone, or content or anything at all). If you are offended by something I've written or implied, or feel that my jumps in reasoning are not logical, tell me so, and I promise right here and now, no subject will ever be taboo, except of course my intelectual capacity, or my moral viewpoint. Feel free to suggest that I may not have considered everything in one of my post, that in my haste to write my thoughts, I may have overlooked something central and important, or conversely, that I have misinterpreted something. But don't say I didn't think about it at all. I do try to think about my posts carefully, and I will respond to your objections in a respectful and careful manner as well. However, if you are inflammatory or insulting, I'll collect you're fucking head.
Now, to address some of the concerns which have been filtered through the vines, I must first explain my intention in writing a blog. Practically, this was a concession I made because I read someone else's blog, and I thought it was only fair to allow that person the same access to me. But my blog is a confessional blog, in the tradition of confessional writing that extends all the way back to Augustine's confessions, and is continued in the poetry of Robert Lowell and Sylvia Plath, the feminist confessional writings like those of Alice Walker, and the "new man" confessional work like that of Nick Hornsby.
A major feature of this form of writing is that it contains very personal, intimate, sometimes shocking information about the author, often implicating himself or herself in something he or she is angry about. Often times the subject matter is taboo, so that in early confessional poetry, sexual desire, promiscuity, and anti-governmental feelings were often present, while in "new man" confessional work, women are often described as objects of desire.
If you read these latter works too superficially, you may see them as condoning that view of women, when actually, it is not. It is simply acknowledging that it does happens, and not only that, but that the author himself (since I am speaking of the "new man" stuff here, written exclusively by males) is guilty of this. And not guilty in a celebratory way, but in a self deprecating way. A way in which the author feels pathetic, stupid, and wrong for viewing women in that way, and sometimes struggles against it.
It is in this spirit that I said that I imagined fucking Trixie's brains out, or imagined her in just a pair of high heels hoes sucking my cock into oblivion. Not because I think women, including Trixie, as holes to cum in, but because I lusted after her and it affected the way I related to her. I did not act on this lust, and felt guilty, because I felt that I, in some way, contributed to her fucked-up-ness of needing sexual interaction to escape the emptiness of her life. I tried to be her friend, not another booty call. Even though I continued to lust, and continued to be jealous of her booty calls, I did not act, and felt moderately guilty about having those feelings to begin with.
I say moderately, because I think sexual desire is a legitimate feeling, and it is not always accompanied by an emotional attatchment. You can argue about whether that kind of sex is healthy or not, but the fact is, people lust. I lust. And I'm not going to hide that here. I also sometimes feel guilty about lusting, and I won't hide that either.
This is my confessional blog, and if I confess something that offends you, there's a good chance it might offend me too. But it exists none the less, so I am going to write it for you to read.
When I started this blog, I intended to add new entries only on weekdays. I am breaking that rule for this special supplemental.
It appears that some of my new readers have taken offense to some of the things I have written, and I would first of all, encourage those readers, from time to time, but always in a respectful matter, to question my logic (or tone, or content or anything at all). If you are offended by something I've written or implied, or feel that my jumps in reasoning are not logical, tell me so, and I promise right here and now, no subject will ever be taboo, except of course my intelectual capacity, or my moral viewpoint. Feel free to suggest that I may not have considered everything in one of my post, that in my haste to write my thoughts, I may have overlooked something central and important, or conversely, that I have misinterpreted something. But don't say I didn't think about it at all. I do try to think about my posts carefully, and I will respond to your objections in a respectful and careful manner as well. However, if you are inflammatory or insulting, I'll collect you're fucking head.
Now, to address some of the concerns which have been filtered through the vines, I must first explain my intention in writing a blog. Practically, this was a concession I made because I read someone else's blog, and I thought it was only fair to allow that person the same access to me. But my blog is a confessional blog, in the tradition of confessional writing that extends all the way back to Augustine's confessions, and is continued in the poetry of Robert Lowell and Sylvia Plath, the feminist confessional writings like those of Alice Walker, and the "new man" confessional work like that of Nick Hornsby.
A major feature of this form of writing is that it contains very personal, intimate, sometimes shocking information about the author, often implicating himself or herself in something he or she is angry about. Often times the subject matter is taboo, so that in early confessional poetry, sexual desire, promiscuity, and anti-governmental feelings were often present, while in "new man" confessional work, women are often described as objects of desire.
If you read these latter works too superficially, you may see them as condoning that view of women, when actually, it is not. It is simply acknowledging that it does happens, and not only that, but that the author himself (since I am speaking of the "new man" stuff here, written exclusively by males) is guilty of this. And not guilty in a celebratory way, but in a self deprecating way. A way in which the author feels pathetic, stupid, and wrong for viewing women in that way, and sometimes struggles against it.
It is in this spirit that I said that I imagined fucking Trixie's brains out, or imagined her in just a pair of high heels hoes sucking my cock into oblivion. Not because I think women, including Trixie, as holes to cum in, but because I lusted after her and it affected the way I related to her. I did not act on this lust, and felt guilty, because I felt that I, in some way, contributed to her fucked-up-ness of needing sexual interaction to escape the emptiness of her life. I tried to be her friend, not another booty call. Even though I continued to lust, and continued to be jealous of her booty calls, I did not act, and felt moderately guilty about having those feelings to begin with.
I say moderately, because I think sexual desire is a legitimate feeling, and it is not always accompanied by an emotional attatchment. You can argue about whether that kind of sex is healthy or not, but the fact is, people lust. I lust. And I'm not going to hide that here. I also sometimes feel guilty about lusting, and I won't hide that either.
This is my confessional blog, and if I confess something that offends you, there's a good chance it might offend me too. But it exists none the less, so I am going to write it for you to read.
posted by deadwriter at 5:33 p.m.
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