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The advantaged sometimes perceive empathy as a sign of muddle-headed weakness, rather than as a marker of civilization

(which I post here as one of my only public forums, to highlight one of the greatest blights in the US, and one (albeit minor) reason I’m heading back to the land of Oz, where the egalitarian ideal still exists, right?)


totally off topic, but, just because I’m sort of curious about this stuff -

my traffic is way down, and I’m curious if it’s because

a.) people are less interested in what I’m putting out there

b.) the fact that one artist (or perhaps a couple of artists) complained about their work being on…

it turns out that the above curiosity was prescient and the topic is now getting some attention. It’s interesting seeing what is adult and too much for the tumblr community, and the internet, to bear, and what is welcomed with open arms. 

the much loved syntheticpubes is too racy, because, you know, naked ladies, despite, it would seem to me, his careful policy of not showing anything which would earn him an NC-17 rating - no penetration, no erect penises even and a wonderfully tasteful ethos which (I’m sure) involves an enormous amount of time and reflects careful and accurate sourcing and a great knowledge of, and support for, the artistic community

Meanwhile, there are, it would seem, an enormous number of content providers who would usually have prominent warnings and restrictive packaging who are welcomed with open arms by tumblr, because, commerce. We dont want to scare away the people who represent the blue sky for yahoo! do we? We wouldnt want any commercial establishment to think that all the wonderful SEO which tumblr had been providing might go away. If you have money, come on in -

Hustler (with the always family friendly “general reblogged DEBAUCHERY”)

and Penthouse, the last bastion of taste, provoking and stimulating in all the right ways, it would seem…


I want to know how you’ll react. Will you resist until the last moment and then relax into the inevitability? Will you be eagerly giggly until the sharpness of that first sting is more pronounced than anticipated, then look concernedly crestfallen? Are you the one who’s already there, goading (in a good way), ass raised, the opposite of reticent? Do you want to be coerced, to push just hard enough to engender retribution (a dangerous ploy)? do you want to play this game?

god i love the mess of summer. that grains of sand make you aware of your skin and that after a while that abrasion feels invigorating. that moment when i stop treading tenderly on bare feet and just trust and walk, not remembering to assess that initial pressure on soft grass or warm spiky asphalt to see if i can discern broken glass. when icecream drips on arm, it’s ok, because this flesh is made to be sweet and dirty, to be licked clean, to be bare. we spend so much time removing sweat and smell from our body yet now the joy is in embracing it. 

interviewer: You have put yourself in a category of people who like lunatic porn star sex. Do you feel that desire beginning to wane now that you’re in your 60s?

John Waters: No.

(via at 20:45)

here’s what happened

when you’re single the word “hi” seems too full of expectant vulnerability to be uttered.

here’s what happened

we chatted. it was easy. she laughed. the predisposition to change from mere communication to a quest for approbation, a desire to conquer the willing, commenced before it was acknowledged.

here’s what happened

there was a group and then there was just us. the intimacy flowed. we each gained confidence. confident confidants.

here’s what happened

i dont need to feel guilty for making contact. people touch each other. the recoil was not an act of reprehension. quite the opposite.

here’s what happened


i posit that intimacy is not indicated by penetration even though that is is what usually symbolizes unity, but instead by what it is which provides the purchase. While looking down at you, biceps tensed in support, our bodies in contact in only two places, it is actually the other one, the hand pressed down on your wrist which makes me feel closer to you. when behind you, buried (to borrow the cliche) it’s the palm fit to the contour of your waist, pulling your hip, the other hand grabbing your hair, bending your neck to 90 degrees, and the psychological impact they have, which provide the most pleasure. when I’m wrapped around your back, that slow pressing thrust, it is actually the arm around your chest, the flesh of breast and nipple squeezed between fingers, which brings us close.

photos i’d like to take:

she’s sitting on the ground, naked, with her legs spread wide, pulling his head hard toward her crotch. He is trying to find a middle ground between mobility, alleviating the discomfort of craning his neck at 90 degrees as he lies face down, and not wishing to seem to resist the closeness. I want to see, in the tenseness of the muscles of her arms, her fingers locked behind his skull, in the abandon of head back, eyes closed, that even as she is vulnerable and trusting, she is demanding intimacy, and that this trusting vulnerability is an inherent part of the pleasure, even as we can see his tongue pressed against her.

she’s lying on a narrow bed, her ass slightly raised, as he stands beside her. he’s bringing a cane down hard toward her - you can see the strength in the blurred speed of the cane moving, as well as the taut muscles of bicep and chest, the way that the shoulder has moved forward. You can also see in his eye the joy of self acceptance, of pleasure in being able to feel at one with this act, a delighted unrestrained joy in this freedom of a long repressed need for expression. She is looking back over her shoulder toward him, toward the advancing strip of wood, and her eye shows both delight in the pleasure her partner is deriving from her body, his joy, as well as nervousness of the impending impact.

he’s behind her as she lies face down over the edge of the bed. he’s pushing into her ass, but has not traversed the tight muscle, and he’s using whatever purchase he can to achieve his purpose. He is not concerned for her comfort, necessarily, but obviously cant contravene basic physiological constraints.  He has one hand on the nape of her neck, his fingers reaching around toward her throat, both pulling her toward him and supporting his weight, the other hand on her ass, the thumb pulling the skin of the cheek, the fingers again reaching around toward her hip both bringing her to him and supporting himself. You can see in the muscles of his thighs, in the way his torso is leaning forward that he is pushing hard, straining. She’s wincing, but it’s an open mouthed, gasping, wince, trying to find a place between pain and being necessarily relaxed. Her eyes are open, but you can see that she is present in a moment of fantasy that’s playing in her minds eye.

there is a fine line between the feverish trusting exploratory careless strength of being with a newfound lover and the tender but tepid well worn touching of being with a partner. I havent found it yet.

Running on The Default Network
by Boyce