streaming consciousness…

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  hardie karges 10:36 am on September 26, 2008 Permalink | Reply
  Tags: history ( 42 ), love, sex ( 39 )   

  Beyond all the silly songs, beyond all the eye contact, 

  the late nights and jockeying for underwear rights, there’s just something unassuming yet overwhelming that drives the entire history of the universe, and the history of organic life especially, and the history of humans particularly. The modern age needs it most acutely, the cuter the better. It’s love, simple and pure, the original entertainment, something to hold you between acts, someone to hold you, on the coldest of nights, in the twilight of life. Old men need it special. It can expand you to unlimited horizons or reduce you to statistics. Sometimes you’ve got to second-guess yourself. What you want is not always what you need. What you want is not always even what you think it is. Just because I need someone there doesn’t mean that I always need her here. I just need the warm wet feeling in the back of my mind.

  Beyond all the bsilly/b songs, beyond all the eye contact, is discussing. Toggle Comments

   

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  hardie karges 12:42 pm on September 24, 2008 Permalink | Reply
  Tags: love, politics ( 32 ), sex ( 39 )   

  No matter how hard the West may squeeze the rest of the world by the balls, 

  individually a single man has no assurance that anyone loves him. The more that the world fragments and splinters, the more that people need simple unequivocal love. This is the Achilles heel of even the cruelest warrior, the need for certainty, the need for absolutes, the need for loyalty, the need for love. Empires of love all crumble and fall without warning nor welcome, just like empires of the map and empires of the soul, systems and constructs looking for reasons to return home to entropy. Still we need it, like we need belief systems and religions, insurance companies and bank accounts. We hedge our bets as fast as we can make them, joining hands with our enemies and rejecting our allies simply by the natural laws of turbulence and motion. We can only unite in something larger than us, the overarching umbrella, the golden parachute. Catch us if you can.
   
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  hardie karges 8:37 am on September 23, 2008 Permalink | Reply
  Tags: Family ( 6 ), love, sex ( 39 )   

  Sex runs in the family. 

  The love you feel for a parent and the love you feel for a spouse is the same, giving new meaning to the term ‘motherfucker’. There’s nothing dirty about it, unless you actually go through with it, of course. Then it’s pathetic and disgusting and punishable by law. Maybe the memory of suckling at mother’s breast is always there, exerting an influence the psychological equivalent of gravity. Most memories do. I know I wish I could forget some things. The love you feel for your wife is the same as the love you feel for your mother, obligation that is, unless of course, one of you breaks it off. My mother disowned me, for murky reasons that would never hold up in a court of law. The punishment hardly fit the crime. She died about six months later. I always thought that I willed that to happen, flattering myself, obviously, to imagine that I have that kind of power. Now I realize that her failing health is what made her so hateful in the first place. She was always borderline resentful, of what I don’t know, probably my freedom. Almost all the women in my life have been. The approaching end pushed her over. No matter how much she resented my freedom, she acknowledged my responsibility. When her father was senile and unable to care for himself, I got the call to care for him when my own father was unavailable. She knew whom she could trust, even if she was incapable of true love. Love gets lost in the shuffle of a stacked deck, a rigged game, a foregone conclusion. The last words of a dying man or woman are seldom repentant, much less inspiring. They specialize in denial. Death ain’t pretty except for the newborn for whom this world of biology is the dark side with its eternal struggle. The need for closure tends to close everything in its wake regardless of truth or consequence. I love them all, despite it all, someone else’s mothers, someone else’s kids.

   
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  hardie karges 7:48 am on September 22, 2008 Permalink | Reply
  Tags: friendship ( 4 ), love, sex ( 39 )   

  The first stage in domestication of animals 

  
  was probably corralling for subsequent butchery. If the animals show themselves to be manageable, then you consider other possibilities, like sex. Then you consider still other possibilities, like a long-term relationship. Jorge used to refer to sex as “killing the cow”. Jorge never had very many good relationships, or none that I knew about at least. He and I fell out over some perceived slight or oversight. He was right, but didn’t like apologies, not even mine, much less his, so what could I do? Somebody called out my name as I was walking down the street in Guatemala City and there he was, just like old times in Berkeley. You’d think that was a sign, or something. Things like that don’t happen often. We spent a pleasant day around Guat City, but he never came back, as agreed. It still hurts. I hope he’s OK. He was driving VW vans from California to Guatemala after having driven eighteen-wheel trucks for a living in the US. Strange career move, but who knows? The secret to having many good friends is not getting too close to any of them, then things like this don’t happen. He may have had a secret crush on Lupita all that time, and couldn’t see why she was with me. Who knows what really goes on in the hearts and minds of men? I haven’t been to Guatemala since 1995, so that was then or before.

   
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  hardie karges 9:54 am on September 21, 2008 Permalink | Reply
  Tags: love, orgasm, sex ( 39 )   

  Orgasm is an anti-climax. 

  
  That’s why phone sex works so well, or used to, at least. Webcams are replacing it. The pleasure is in the anticipation, not the ejaculation. That’s where the money is, too. Once the wad is shot, then the game is over, suddenly and definitively. Many a phone-based call girl has had the caller hang up abruptly in mid-sentence with no explanation, the voice a bit whipped, beaten, and battered, until it finally fades out altogether, drowned in a little pile of protoplasm puddling up on the paunch. Foreplay is much more important, that open-ended expectation of what’s to come, the feeling that anything could happen, though only one thing actually will. The ultimate outcome is a virtual certainty. The trick for the girl is to keep you on line as long as possible, excited enough to keep your interest up, so to speak, but not so excited that the gig’s over prematurely. This can also work in person. Many a beer gets sold in Thailand this way. Of course, even better than sex, orgasm included, is the real thing, falling in love. You can’t buy that falling feeling, though it can be induced falsely. To know that it’s fake would kill it. Nevertheless, if you can achieve it without getting trapped in it, then you’re way ahead of the curve, because that falling feeling literally symbolizes something overwhelming, something theoretically beyond control, something that ultimately leads to more than just evolution of the species. Evolution is simple; just keep fucking. Love is more than that; love is about divinity. To achieve peak emotion is the ultimate pleasure of humanity. To control it is the master’s touch.

   
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  hardie karges 7:54 am on September 20, 2008 Permalink | Reply
  Tags: love, sex ( 39 )   

  I want love without all the bullshit, 

  all the food fights, all the sleepless nights, and that eternal wet spot that follows me around the bed. Ugliness loves beauty the way sin loves purity, but still love’s better than all that, more than just desire for what you don’t have. Love can move mountains; love can stop rivers; love can change the course of history. Pure innocent puppy love is better than all the blow-jobs in the world. I love the initial eye contact, the shy smiles, the late nights, and the long confessions. Time can change all that. Take that pure innocent exhilarating love and whip it up into funny shapes, then bake at four hundred degrees for a year or until hard to the touch. Remove from oven and place on rack. Allow to cool, and then beat it up into grotesque faces, beat it down in a thousand places, beat it with hammers and anvils until you can’t hear yourself think, until it is only a pale reflection of its original glow, a woolly tumorous mass. Kill it systematically until it lies bleeding and gasping for air. Now that it’s fit for public consumption, we can get on with our lives. Now that no one can feel anything anymore, either bad or good, we’re ready for a real relationship, complete with real estate, revenge of the automatons, starring all unknown actors. What happened to the pure innocent love of youth, the pure innocent rebirth at old age? Where did we go wrong as a society that we value the things that kill us and suppress the very things that thrill us? All revolutions go too far. Roll back the clock and pull back the covers. We can never go home again, but maybe we can get halfway.

   
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  hardie karges 12:58 pm on September 19, 2008 Permalink | Reply
  Tags: gravity ( 3 ), love, sex ( 39 )   

  You need to fall in love once every five years 

  just for the Heaven of it, the pure ethereal Heaven, just to make sure that you can still feel that feeling like it’s supposed to feel. Faces lure the drifting soul like liquor on the shelf, lining passageways on the halls of memory, mirrors on the walls of home. Just the illusion of love can pick you up by the back of your neck and put you somewhere you’ve never been, no matter how many times you’ve done it before, then draw you slowly toward it like a tractor beam from a sci-fi movie, slow and steady. Love can make you do things you’d never do otherwise, things that would make people think that you’re “out of your mind”. That’s exactly the truth, of course. The trick is to change that love, that blind insane force, whatever it is, into something useful. You can use love like a gravity slingshot to propel you from planet to planet like George of the Jungle swinging though the trees until he smashes into one finally, just like clockwork. If you can let that love inspire you, propel you, gaining speed, then at the last moment fire your rockets just enough to change your trajectory and go into orbit without crashing, then you’ve accomplished something you wouldn’t have otherwise.

   
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  hardie karges 8:41 am on September 18, 2008 Permalink | Reply
  Tags: EVOLUTION ( 21 ), love, sex ( 39 )   

  Sex sells like hotcakes to hungry men, and women too, 

  
  packaged many different ways for maximum market penetration. If it keeps knocking on the back door and the side exits, waking you up in the middle of the night, then that makes it more exciting and longer-lasting. ‘Wham bam’ (‘boom boom’ in Asia) barely scratches the surface of sex’s economic potential, and it’s all perfectly legal. You’ll never see a female singer anymore who’s not absolutely stunning, especially in country music. ‘Em boys know what sells. Movies are a little better, but not much. Many a beautiful woman gets steady work while many a great actress doesn’t, because of you know what, yes, IT, the black hole from which not even light can escape. The apologists will say that it’s beauty, not sex, that’s up for grabs. Yeah, right, people call 1-900 for the beauty of cultural interface, not for the illusion of intimacy strong enough to achieve hydraulic genital peristalsis. Mai bpen rai. It’s all for evolution, the faster the better. Let’s get to wherever we’re going as a species. Let’s get there tonight, baby.

   
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  hardie karges 8:28 am on September 15, 2008 Permalink | Reply
  Tags: love, reproduction ( 3 ), sex ( 39 )   

  The praying mantis gives head like no other, 

  
  the hapless male giving new meaning to the term ‘self-sacrifice’. For those of you who don’t know, the female nibbles the male’s head off as a nutritional supplement, while it’s in the throes of orgasm and can hardly defend itself. This is one disadvantage of the missionary position. I once saw a show on BBC where a lady scientist was jerking off a pig. I feel better now. In case you don’t already know, they have penises that look like a corkscrew. Why Nature selected for that, God only knows. Anyway, the nice lady explained that the really runny liquid comes out first to have a head start for the prize Easter egg, while the viscosity thickens until finally the last portion is almost like wax, which plugs up the channel. That’s so that the sprinters don’t change their minds and back out. And that’s exactly the way it came out, she steadily pumping away on the poor creature’s forlorn member, he not complaining a bit. It was better than the horsie scene when Emanuelle went to America, which reminds one of just how bad porno movie-scripts can be. And that was the high-class porn, with a real story and everything. I never saw the donkey shows in TJ, so I can’t compare it with that.

   
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  hardie karges 12:37 pm on September 14, 2008 Permalink | Reply
  Tags: love, mother   

  I look for my mother in the eyes of Bangkok whores and go-go girls, 

  
  Romanian peasants and market women, Moroccan virgins and fortune-tellers, Peruvian sellers of potions and outrageous notions. I look for love in the eyes of strangers passing on northbound trains, I long gone south for the winter. I look for comfort beneath the blankets of experience and succor within the wrappers of confection. I look for my mother in the nickel ads and yellow pages, the department of lost and found. But she’s not there. She never was. She was at odds with the world, so she got even with me. She turned her back on her own flesh and blood. She created her own reality; I created mine. We agreed to disagree without pardon nor pause. She betrayed me with her words; she killed me with her sentences. She punished me with convictions and tortured me with her cross and sword. In the end it killed her, not me. Death becomes her. All flesh rots and turns to shit, just as all words escape into thin air, without shape nor form, sound nor smell, sin raiz ni razon, sin semilla ni sensacion. Hopefully we’ll meet again in a much better world.