a tale of two men
first an update. the kick from being in the same room with Joanna and Philip got to me within a few days of the show. i WAS glad that i went. their beingnesses sank into me and i started to feel their individual life forces flow through me. it was important that i was there and here is at least part of the symbolic essence i'm grasping. Joanna was a brand new musical discovery to me, yet her sounds echo the wisdom of an age old crone and she is disguised in the body of a whippoorwill of feminine mystique. and across the stage was an age old man who i've listened to the music of for nigh on three decades, yet he has the spirit of a little boy inside of him, eager to play in the dirt and mud of the fields of ecstatic sexual energetic sounds that carry the soul to higher states of consciousness. both of these people are tapped into wavelengths of knowledge and understanding that surpass normal human understanding and they do not let the slights and misdeeds of human frailty draw them back from speaking, singing, composing as bravely and boldly as they dare to.
yeah, it was very important that i was in that room that night. a few days latter i wrote a letter to Joanna. i have a copy of it scanned on my other computer. i'll post it here later.
THE TALE OF TWO MEN
neither of which are me, neither of which do i know, oh yes i am not lying to you.
One man was born with a four foot long penis that weighed more in ego-strength than his entire physical body did. This man's body did not flow blood. It flowed testosterone. All he had to do was imagine that he was in the mood for sex and within hours (sometimes it took days) a woman would appear in a circumstance that would become conducive for his needs to be met. Whether it was an afternoon long romp which upon completion the two would kiss and walk away as strangers, or if it would be a longer engagement where the two could get to know some particulars of routine and elements of personality of the other, but always where sex was the central focal need for both. He was so good, so powerful that he could even rotate through multiple engagements in a week's time having as many as 6 or 10 different woman, all who would walk away as satisfied strangers; depending on the affect of the moon's tidal pull on the surge of his sex drive.
This man thought at one time when he got bored with the shallowness of so many varied lovers that found no attraction to his mind, but only his gargantuan that it would be moralistic to settle down with one woman and did. He bore children with her and lived the life of a householder until the children became grown and began to seek lovers of their own. A resurgence of lust for the wild came upon him, as did for his mate. They became unattractive to each other and sought thrills among strangers. And because of the power of the ego of the man's four foot long penis, despite the fact that he was now in mid-life, women were still drawn to him for the enjoyment of the sex that he could delight them with.
---
There was another man that was born with an invisible penis. That is not entirely true because it is not anatomically possible. Either you have a penis or you don't. But this man felt that his penis was invisible because all through his lifetime women treated him as if he did not have a penis. He knew he had a penis. He could see it. He could hold it. He could make it do things. It was a happy penis when he played with it, but it was a sad penis because it was lonely. The man read stories to the penis about life in the real-man's world about where penis' got to meet sex organs' of the opposite sex (vaginas) but they ended up making the penis depressed and caused him to pretend it was invisible. When the penis figured out that he just wasn't going to get to play those games it decided it had to convince the man to stop thinking about those games too. "No more dreams or imaginations about women friends, okay? Can we agree on this?", the penis pleaded.
Later when the man was in his middle age he found out from a test his doctor ran on his blood stream that all his lifetime long he had suffered from a low sperm count (not enough testosterone) and that if someone had told him about it when he was young(er) he could have been treated for it. It was too late for treatments now because of damaging side effects, plus, the doctor suggested "Why would you care about improving your sex life at this point in time anyway? No one would find yo...." The man and his penis were too sad to listen to the doctor say anymore and left the place in a hurry. They went home and curled up in the darkness of their bed and held a lifeless doll that was their best woman friend that was always there for them. And the penis told him, "This is how you become invisible..."
_______
A BIT OF A DEPRESSIVE RANT NOW
I've fallen into a bit of a physical depression these last few days. My spirit has not fully succumbed to it and intend to not let that happen. I can't. There are too many things i have to do this month. On the cusp of this depression my mind started to wander into darkness and I just want to put down a few of the ideas that brushed by. I guess so that I can have record of having thought them as a tool to fight stronger against letting them manifest. They certainly could manifest. All action proceeds from thought. I just want there to be some record here too, in case it does play out. I've not blogged in a very long time and very few people know anything about what's going on in the depth of my mind. So there is a new photography book out. It contains my best work. A year ago, when my best work to that point in my life was released in two books and only two copies were sold, i decided to go into hiding. No more social networking. No more forcing my work down everyone's throats on the internet. I have been loyal to this attitude. Most of all the new photography in this new book, none of the people in my "old circles" know about. And I don't intend to go around informing them either. This is true and half true. I know the word will get out and that's okay. I'm detaching myself from the whole fanfare of it. I don't care anymore what anyone thinks. If they like it I'll tell them they shouldn't. If anyone asks me what it means or how i did or why i did it i want to say that i won't tell them. well, there are certain people i won't tell. i don't know, i am back at where i was with the whole feelings about becoming a published author. i had the feelings that if i ever got my book published and it became popular and i had to go on book signing tours that i would hire a stand-in to go out in my place with a rehearsed set of answers to give to the reporters and interviewers. because i did not want anyone to know the truth of who i was or why i wrote what i did. why should the mystery of art be broken??? anyway, it's possible that i'll get to do an art show with photographs from this new book. in san francisco. i need to be positive minded about it for the sake of my mother and the sake of the gallery owner and the sake of my models. but i do not want to be friendly or positive to anyone else. especially not to anyone that has treated me falsely in the past. okay, that's enough about that. here is the deeper matter on my mind. if i do get this art show, i've achieved the two main goals i've had since i was a teenager. i've become a writer and a photographer. i remember the dream i had in my mind's eye when i was 15 of wanting to make books of photographs. and i've done it. this is my chance to say "i've achieved what i've come here for." and i fought hard to do it. and i did it the best that i could. i did it with passion. i made something beautiful to be remembered by and it broke my heart. i can't do anything better than this. why should i try? it's a good enough thing to be a one hit wonder with i think. i'm just tired of so many things. i'm tired of wanting things. i'm tired of the pain. i'm tired of being afraid of how bad things will get. i've made my impression on the world. very few people need use of me. and i'm going to die one day anyway. i felt last night at one moment from a strange pain in my leg that perhaps one of those aneurysm type things, or blood clot things that flow up to your brain... i dunno, could happen. weird shit happens all the time that make people drop dead. i don't have a suicidal mentality anymore. i am not depressed in that sort of way. but you've heard stories of people, rare beings who just got to a point in their lives that felt they reached the point of having done all that they came here to do, and they "stopped", "let go", "gave up the ghost". i don't know exactly how that works or happens, but this is what i'm thinking now, that i feel like i'm nearing that sort of juncture. after finishing this art show, it'll feel like an "it's a good time to go" kinda moment. i don't know what the hell i'm talking about.... i told you i was depressed.
THE TALE OF TWO MEN
neither of which are me, neither of which do i know, oh yes i am not lying to you.
One man was born with a four foot long penis that weighed more in ego-strength than his entire physical body did. This man's body did not flow blood. It flowed testosterone. All he had to do was imagine that he was in the mood for sex and within hours (sometimes it took days) a woman would appear in a circumstance that would become conducive for his needs to be met. Whether it was an afternoon long romp which upon completion the two would kiss and walk away as strangers, or if it would be a longer engagement where the two could get to know some particulars of routine and elements of personality of the other, but always where sex was the central focal need for both. He was so good, so powerful that he could even rotate through multiple engagements in a week's time having as many as 6 or 10 different woman, all who would walk away as satisfied strangers; depending on the affect of the moon's tidal pull on the surge of his sex drive.
This man thought at one time when he got bored with the shallowness of so many varied lovers that found no attraction to his mind, but only his gargantuan that it would be moralistic to settle down with one woman and did. He bore children with her and lived the life of a householder until the children became grown and began to seek lovers of their own. A resurgence of lust for the wild came upon him, as did for his mate. They became unattractive to each other and sought thrills among strangers. And because of the power of the ego of the man's four foot long penis, despite the fact that he was now in mid-life, women were still drawn to him for the enjoyment of the sex that he could delight them with.
---
There was another man that was born with an invisible penis. That is not entirely true because it is not anatomically possible. Either you have a penis or you don't. But this man felt that his penis was invisible because all through his lifetime women treated him as if he did not have a penis. He knew he had a penis. He could see it. He could hold it. He could make it do things. It was a happy penis when he played with it, but it was a sad penis because it was lonely. The man read stories to the penis about life in the real-man's world about where penis' got to meet sex organs' of the opposite sex (vaginas) but they ended up making the penis depressed and caused him to pretend it was invisible. When the penis figured out that he just wasn't going to get to play those games it decided it had to convince the man to stop thinking about those games too. "No more dreams or imaginations about women friends, okay? Can we agree on this?", the penis pleaded.
Later when the man was in his middle age he found out from a test his doctor ran on his blood stream that all his lifetime long he had suffered from a low sperm count (not enough testosterone) and that if someone had told him about it when he was young(er) he could have been treated for it. It was too late for treatments now because of damaging side effects, plus, the doctor suggested "Why would you care about improving your sex life at this point in time anyway? No one would find yo...." The man and his penis were too sad to listen to the doctor say anymore and left the place in a hurry. They went home and curled up in the darkness of their bed and held a lifeless doll that was their best woman friend that was always there for them. And the penis told him, "This is how you become invisible..."
_______
A BIT OF A DEPRESSIVE RANT NOW
I've fallen into a bit of a physical depression these last few days. My spirit has not fully succumbed to it and intend to not let that happen. I can't. There are too many things i have to do this month. On the cusp of this depression my mind started to wander into darkness and I just want to put down a few of the ideas that brushed by. I guess so that I can have record of having thought them as a tool to fight stronger against letting them manifest. They certainly could manifest. All action proceeds from thought. I just want there to be some record here too, in case it does play out. I've not blogged in a very long time and very few people know anything about what's going on in the depth of my mind. So there is a new photography book out. It contains my best work. A year ago, when my best work to that point in my life was released in two books and only two copies were sold, i decided to go into hiding. No more social networking. No more forcing my work down everyone's throats on the internet. I have been loyal to this attitude. Most of all the new photography in this new book, none of the people in my "old circles" know about. And I don't intend to go around informing them either. This is true and half true. I know the word will get out and that's okay. I'm detaching myself from the whole fanfare of it. I don't care anymore what anyone thinks. If they like it I'll tell them they shouldn't. If anyone asks me what it means or how i did or why i did it i want to say that i won't tell them. well, there are certain people i won't tell. i don't know, i am back at where i was with the whole feelings about becoming a published author. i had the feelings that if i ever got my book published and it became popular and i had to go on book signing tours that i would hire a stand-in to go out in my place with a rehearsed set of answers to give to the reporters and interviewers. because i did not want anyone to know the truth of who i was or why i wrote what i did. why should the mystery of art be broken??? anyway, it's possible that i'll get to do an art show with photographs from this new book. in san francisco. i need to be positive minded about it for the sake of my mother and the sake of the gallery owner and the sake of my models. but i do not want to be friendly or positive to anyone else. especially not to anyone that has treated me falsely in the past. okay, that's enough about that. here is the deeper matter on my mind. if i do get this art show, i've achieved the two main goals i've had since i was a teenager. i've become a writer and a photographer. i remember the dream i had in my mind's eye when i was 15 of wanting to make books of photographs. and i've done it. this is my chance to say "i've achieved what i've come here for." and i fought hard to do it. and i did it the best that i could. i did it with passion. i made something beautiful to be remembered by and it broke my heart. i can't do anything better than this. why should i try? it's a good enough thing to be a one hit wonder with i think. i'm just tired of so many things. i'm tired of wanting things. i'm tired of the pain. i'm tired of being afraid of how bad things will get. i've made my impression on the world. very few people need use of me. and i'm going to die one day anyway. i felt last night at one moment from a strange pain in my leg that perhaps one of those aneurysm type things, or blood clot things that flow up to your brain... i dunno, could happen. weird shit happens all the time that make people drop dead. i don't have a suicidal mentality anymore. i am not depressed in that sort of way. but you've heard stories of people, rare beings who just got to a point in their lives that felt they reached the point of having done all that they came here to do, and they "stopped", "let go", "gave up the ghost". i don't know exactly how that works or happens, but this is what i'm thinking now, that i feel like i'm nearing that sort of juncture. after finishing this art show, it'll feel like an "it's a good time to go" kinda moment. i don't know what the hell i'm talking about.... i told you i was depressed.
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