BA wrote a really cool post, and by cool, I mean hot.

Hawt, even.

I’ve been kicking myself to start writing again, and with a subject like this…how could I resist.

BA is right.

my thought is that sexual care fits into self care because it is an admission of yourself and the right to live as that self…

There’s a world beyond the sunset…where the playing out of what we need in private doesn’t always have to refer back to the troubled world outside. But the correct answer is not to stop fucking the mean time. “Ain’t this what you revolutionaries are supposed to be dying for?”

A good fuck has rarely cured the world, but since when did we ask that of everything we do? Recently, i think in commentary on Sudy’s awesome video, some folks talked about how the phrase complicity is usually a good sign that we’re doing some good old fashioned self-examination that has the big raging problem of assuming that collective individual action is what’s required. As you know, opposed to just plain collective, break the damn mold action.

Which is why so much of the continual sex wars bullshit is just that. Power intersects with the sex I have. But as R Mildred aptly points out…

Yes, and?

The world and we are dying every day. And practices of self-denial feel like something we can do about it…a tangible, feels good in a feel bad sort of way.

We are a nation on converts and backsliders, dependent on rituals of lapse and redemption.

What BA points to, is the richness of sexual imagination and what it means to actually take it to heart. There is nothing wrong with being the

oral fixated hand on her chocha, big titted bitch in me.

And there’s nothing contradictory about that statement and still being a virgin.

I had a sexual identity long before I had sexual partners. Some parts of that identity have come to expression, others found compromises, some have evolved, some I have hopes for, others I treasure memories of.

The SO and I were at brunch in her hometown, catching up with a friend. Apparently, he asked while i was away from the table…”Does he miss the cock?”

She replied, and incorrectly.

It means nothing. I had and have no plans of leaving her, going outside the relationship, or even directing my imagination in ways that detract from the relationship.

But it means everything. I do miss it. That desire and urge, even if never acted upon, remains with me, helping me to understand who I am in the summation of things.

I desire.

I desire things, people, feelings, comfort, pain, experience, growth, shelter, and new horizons. I desire, and the naming of my desires is important, not a list to be abridged at the whim of others.

I am a person who desires, for desire is that which a person does. A pawn, a stand in, a cardboard cutout…a stereotype….could not do so.

They might have a fixation, or a fetish, the animating purpose of such a caricature, But it is in fact, they that are the fetish, the toy of a lazy imagination.

I am, one who desires, who names what I desire in all the contradiction and complexity that I can muster, knowing that it comes down to this.

Who I am is not what I name myself as. There is no end result, only the striving.

Who am I?

The one who names myself.

This is what i need and i wont accept anything else nor

WILL I LET ANYTHING or anyone try and sell me ANY OTHER VERSION OF IT

PEtit imagine what movement full of people thinking like that loosk

-sly

PS: Links go where they came from, all block quotes are from Black Amazon. Video embed from Ms. Sylvia/M.

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