A Remarkable Picture
By Davin Kimble
Sam Daval awoke in the same dingy hotel room and the same sorry state in which he’d gone to sleep. Waking up in a bed was at least a change, different, if not at all refreshing, from the usual hard concrete or dingy bar room floors where he usually found himself on a morning. The pounding behind his eyes told him that the daily hang over was already in full gear, speeding to pure misery, and he reached over blindly seeking out the bottle he knew would be near. His hand bumped the bottle and knocked it over. From the dull ringing thunk and the sloshing liquid sound, he knew that the bottle was less than half full and he cursed himself for spilling even a single drop. As quickly as his aching muscles would allow him he retrieved the precious elixir and gulped the cheap brown fluid inside. Not even the sharp tang of ashes on his tongue stopped him finishing off the bottle. He’d had worse over the last few months.
Collapsing back onto the filthy mattress, Sam allowed himself to drift back into a semi sleep. The booze helped him relax, but it was not near enough to stave off the dreams. Again, he saw the gallery where his work had been displayed. He could clearly hear the quiet awe of the assembled guests all specially invited to see, and hopefully buy, his greatest works. Photography for Sam had always been more that an art, more than capturing a moment in time, for him it had been a passion that surpassed all others. He’d never been married, never been in even a serious relationship. He’d never finished school, never had friends, never played team sports, never had a job, never watched television or bothered to develop anything other than his skills as a photographer. If he read, he read books about photography. If he went out, he went camera in hand. He heard her voice again in his dream, the blonde woman he’d taken home that night, rather, the woman he’d intended on taking home until the accident.
The gallery was full and near to closing when he’d heard her voice and he followed the sound, his eye to the view finder his finger, clicking the mechanism, working the shutter again and again, as he followed her around the room. She did not notice him at first, but by the time she did, Sam knew every detail of her face and body already. He’d studied her intimately through the lens, as if he’d been her most careful and patient lover. She smiled at him through the eye of the lens, and for the first time since hearing her speak, he lowered the camera. Her smile was the most stunning thing he’d ever seen, and he decided then and there that she would be the subject of his next exhibition. He could already see in his mind’s eye the finished product. With that thought, he approached her, and though she was at first wary of his advances, she soon warmed to the idea of modeling for him and not long after they were speeding towards his home in his ’67 Corvette.
Though he’d started since, Sam didn’t drink back then. His impatience came not from his loins but from his camera urging him on. He could see her even then filling its frame, his vision coming to life in the darkroom he’d built with his own hands. He knew she’d sleep with him of course, they all did, but that was merely a bonus that came along with her captured image. He looked to her as he drove, her smile dazzling even with the naked eye, and his foot unconsciously pressed harder on the accelerator. The car, already zipping along the mostly deserted streets, lurched ahead at his urging and slammed into the side of a school bus.
Sam jerked awake at the memory of that piercing roar of metal meeting metal and the screams of children. It had been a bus load of high school kids, on their way home from a band recital at the local performance hall. He’d never seen them, but in that instant he knew who they were. They had been featured in the lifestyles section of the paper where his gallery exhibit had been featured. He remembered mostly because they had taken the front page over his work and he’d been thoroughly infuriated at that. Sam remembered calling his agent then, giving him a thorough reaming over the fact. Of course his agent had no control over where the paper placed a feature but Sam, lacking as he was, cussed his agent thoroughly none the less and he was sure the agent cussed the paper in turn.
The dream slowly faded from his mind but the memories continued. That day changed Sam in the eyes of his adoring public. The woman and three of the children died in that crash and Sam, emerging unscathed, was found snapping away three rolls of film already exhausted by the time the authorities arrived on the scene. He fought for three months to have those photographs returned to him afterwards. His agent begged him to be more cooperative often telling him that it was a miracle that he was not up on charges. Lucky for Sam, the bus driver was found to be negligent in the case, having turned into Sam’s lane, and Sam was hit with only a speeding ticket. But the effects of his behavior afterward were devastating.
The same critics that had made him famous now turned on him with a vengeance, following the lead of reporters, parents and elected officials, who were furious at his lack of remorse over the deaths of four innocent people, three of which had been children with their whole lives ahead of them. In a matter of days, Sam went from being heralded as the greatest photographer of the time, to being lambasted and portrayed as an uncaring, soulless hack. One critic referred to his work as unremarkable.
“Unremarkable.” Sam muttered to himself as he pealed his aching body from the flea ridden mattress. At firs,t the words had meant nothing to him but soon the effect of that one line of text struck him as a smiting from God. His agent dropped him and no other would touch him, his gallery showing went from a major city event to nothing in a matter of days and he could not even pay to have his work displayed. Soon afterward he found some of his best works for sale on E-bay for pennies on the dollar and the biddings were less than remarkable themselves. Soon, the money began to dry up, Sam found an eviction notice in his mailbox, topping a stack of past due bills. Life from there, for Sam, became truly less than remarkable.
Soon after making his way around the darkroom equipment in the hotel room bathroom, and washing the alcohol stink from his skin as best he was able, Sam took up his camera and stepped into the glaring summer sunlight beyond the threshold. The glare brought the pounding in his head back full force, and Sam squinted against the glare and the pain, looking for the signs of an open bar near by. Seeing only a narrow strip of highway before him and a small convenience store at the far end of the hotel parking lot Sam made his way toward the latter. The dust under his feet and the sweat that soaked through his shirt told him that he had landed in some desert town somewhere. How long ago he couldn’t remember, but the cheerful greeting from the girl behind the counter told him that it had been a few days at least.
“Morning Mr. Daval,” the girl said to him as he stepped into the small room. The air inside was frigid, in comparison to the stifling heat outside and Sam shivered.
“Uh, morning…”
“Shirley,” the girl said reminding him in a tone that told him that she’d been reminding him every day. “Too early for me to sell you a bottle,” she continued.
Sam looked her over, noting the large nipples pressing against the thin fabric of her blouse and the gentle pink of her tongue as she worked it over a Popsicle. She was a pretty girl but plain and a bit thin. Sam felt a small twinge in his jeans, for which he was glad, but he only smiled and turned for the medicinal aisle. Finding aspirin there he then turned for the cooler pulling out two cool cokes. Opening one immediately, Sam took three aspirin, chewing them slightly before taking down half of one coke in a single swallow. On his way to the counter, he looked over the pastry and chip selection but the rolling of his gut told him he would never keep anything down; so, he took only the cokes and aspirin.
“Going out to take more pictures?” Shirley asked him as she expertly worked the register.
She pronounced the work Pit-shures and that brought a small smile to Sam’s face. Up close, Shirley was cuter than he’d originally thought but obviously young. The twinge in his jeans insisted that she was old enough but a slight twinge did nothing to convince him he’d be able to please even her; so he set the thought of asking her to his room aside. Besides, it was a pig sty not exactly conducive to seduction. Maybe he’d clean it up some, catch her later.
“Yeah,” he said in reply, “Going to get something remarkable today.”
“That would be great,” she said, as she counted out his change. “You really should check out the old Mills mine. We used to go up there as kids, pretty neat place. I could give you directions, or if you want to I could show you the way later.” She smiled at him then and he had a sudden sharp flash of the blonde smiling at him through the lens finder, her face mostly smashed her soft flesh studded with bits of windshield glass.
“Uh, just the directions for now,” he said stuffing the wadded bills and coins into his pocket.
A small pout creased her pretty lips but she dutifully produced a pen and a scrap of paper and jotted the directions down. Sam took them from her with thanks and headed back out into the stifling heat.
“See you later Mr. Daval.” He heard her say as the door jangled shut behind him.
Sam swallowed the last of his first coke tossing the empty into a nearby trash can and opened the second before heading across the lot to his waiting vehicle. The camera was a comfortable, reassuring weight at his side as he walked, and he drew strength from it. By the time he’d reached the old Chevrolet, he’d begun to feel better, and he could feel the familiar urgency to be snapping away coming over him. He crawled behind the wheel of the car, barely noticing the hot leather of the seats, and glanced down at the scrap of paper Shirley had given him. He noted the phone number at the bottom, and the little smiley face she’d signed it with, the twinge in his pants returned. Maybe he’d call her after all he thought, starting the engine.
While not a Corvette, the old car served him well, and he soon found himself speeding down the two lane black top looking for the turnoff that would lead him out to the old mine. The directions were clear, and though it took more than an hour to reach his destination, Sam had no trouble finding the place. It had obviously been closed for sometime the fencing, while not open to vehicle traffic, had a gap in it large enough for him to squeeze through. Parking the car, Sam followed the dirt track through the gap in the fence, and over to the edge of an open pit mine. In the bottom stood a few rusted out pieces of machinery and some trailers, which had likely been offices when the mine was in business. Sam took a few shots from the lip and then followed the track down into the bottom. As he went he snapped away, changing the roll once as he descended.
Reaching the floor of the mine, Sam suddenly wondered what he was doing out here in the middle of nowhere. The greatest unremarkable photographer of our time, taking pictures of a long abandoned mine with nothing more remarkable than some abandoned pieces of rusted junk to shoot. He should be somewhere else, anywhere else, shooting something that might bring him back into prominence as a photographer. He should be shooting the plain girl behind the counter of the store, or some tropical beach somewhere exotic. The feeling that he shouldn’t be here overwhelmed him for a moment, and his feet had turned to leave before he realized what he was doing. Then he heard the voice.
At first it was faint, something that could have blown in from some distance on the wind, had there been one. He stood still, his head cocked to one side listening, his camera in one hand, the other wiping itself on his jeans. The feeling of needing to be gone from this place came over him again and just as he decided he’d imagined the noise and turned to leave, he heard the voice again.
“Sam,” it said clearly as if standing directly behind him. He turned with a start and had the cameras strap not been around his neck, he would have dropped his most precious possession. He looked around and saw nothing he’d not already seen. The feeling that he should not be here was suddenly joined by the feeling that he was being watched. The feeling was so strong, that he backed away a few steps and tripped over a piece of pipe lying on the ground behind him.
“Sam, help me Sam,” the voice came again, from somewhere near the closest trailer.
“Hello,” Sam said picking himself up from the ground.
Quickly checking over the camera he walked slowly towards the trailer, the camera held out before him like a pistol, lot of good it would do him if there were some danger out here, but he could not release his hold on it. He inched his way to the back of the building and tried to peer inside one of the dusty windows. He could see only faint out lines and hazy shapes beyond the thick layer of grime. Taking a deep breath he continued around the side creeping to the edge of the trailer. Peering around the corner, he saw only the three worn wooden steps leading up to the door. Having been so long in the dry climate, the steps were weathered to hard wood and looked stable enough to hold his weight. Again, the feeling that he should flee washed over him, this time with such force he froze dead his eyes on the door before him. He fully expected to see some horror burst from the trailer, some monster from the nightmares of mad men, intent on devouring much more than his flesh.
“Hello,” Sam called again inching up the stairs, one hand holding the camera out before him the other reaching for the door handle. No answer, just more of that same feeling that he should not be here, that he should be anywhere in the wide world but here.
“I am coming in,” he called, reaching out at the extent of his arm for the door. He pulled, hard, and the door banged open, slamming into the side of the trailer before slamming back into place. In that instant he heard a piercing scream from within, and a stench so horrible assaulted his senses that he fell over backwards off the stairs and onto the hard ground. As he went, he could hear the shutter of his camera clicking away. He felt as if something were on top of him battering at his head and shoulders. The smell covered him like a physical weight, he thrashed about attempting to free himself from both the unseen weight and the pressure of the smell. He flailed, screaming at the top of his lungs, lunging this way and that in his frenzy to escape this unseen horror. The screaming voice he’d heard earlier rang in his ears.
“Sam, Sam, help me Sam! They have me and soon they will have you too!”
Sam screamed again, as darkness overcame him, he could hear clearly over the screaming his cameras shutter doing its work.
“These images are the last photo’s ever taken by the late Sam Daval,” the gallery curator said, leading the small group to the display. “No one really knows what happened to Sam, but these images are what were found in a makeshift darkroom he’d set up in a hotel room in the middle of the desert in Nevada.”
The group crowded up to the photographs, awe obvious on their enraptured features. The curator gave them a moment to look before continuing.
“As you can see, though the scene is a desert it is obviously no where we have ever seen before. I know you are all thinking that they could have been done digitally, but let me assure you, they are all original, pure photographs, developed in a darkroom. From our understanding of the story, Sam took these in daylight hours although they are quite obviously night photos. And, if you look here,” he pointed to one photo in particular, “you can clearly see a figure that appears to be our Sam himself.”
“He looks terrified,” A woman in the back of the group said.
The curator noted the woman’s nipples showed prominently through her thin blouse and the gentle pink of her tongue as she worked it over the rim of her glass. She was a pretty girl but plain and a bit thin.
“Indeed he does Miss…”
“Shirley,” she replied as if she’d told him before. “They are remarkable pictures.” She pronounced the word Pit-shures.
Yes, remarkable indeed.
Friday, August 15, 2008
A Fairly Fairy Tale
A Fairly Fairy Tale
By Davin Kimble
Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a land far, far away there lived a beautiful princess who lived in a tower that was guarded by a vicious man eating Dragon. The dragon thought her the most beautiful being in the world so had captured her and locked her away so that only he might gaze upon her beauty….
“Okay, now stop! I absolutely refuse to sit here and listen to this droll tale yet again. Truly you humans are full of yourselves and I am done letting you get away with it. You want to know what really happened ‘once upon a time, a long time ago’ I am going to tell you.”
The truth is that it was a long time ago, 1250 AD according to your ridiculous calendar; the Year of the Sundering Moon according to our much more accurate one, and it was not that far away. It was on this very planet, which I am sure you have learned by now is not really all that big. The moon is pretty far away, Sweden is not. There did live a princess, quite a few of them actually, and they seemed to wind up imprisoned in this old run down tower that sat above my spacious, and comfortable cave system. Now the story tellers would like you to think that we Dragons take an interest in your pitiful, filthy, short lives. The fact is that you are mostly beneath our notice the only time we even register your existence is when you come tromping through our habitat, something I have noticed you are exceedingly good at. As far as the supposed beauty of this princess I leave that up to your imagination. You all look sort of gross to me, naked and weak, short, slow, vaguely repulsive creatures. The last thing I would want is to have to look after one of you, day after day. I would forget to water you once something interesting caught my attention and you’d die of thirst, or hunger, or something else. One good thing about you, you die easily.
This princess did not end up in the tower by my doing. At the time I was laying my first catch of eggs and I was not really paying much attention to the goings on in the tower above my head. I chose this particular cave system largely because it was isolated and remote. I know what you are thinking; the tower was an over grown, long abandoned relic of the very distant past. I never thought that the humans who lived more than one hundred miles south would find any use for it. It had been built over the entrance to this cavern system in the distant past by some religious group or other that apparently sacrificed many of their own. It took me a whole month to pile the skills and bones neatly away.
One day there was the ruckus of horses and raised voices. One was particularly piercing, and pleading, rising above the others so that I had to hazard a peak. What I saw was robed and hooded men leading a half naked, dirty looking, female into the tower and up the long flight of stairs to the top. Shortly after the men left and there was only the soft sound of sobs from the highest room in the tower. Thinking nothing more of it I returned to my nest and forgot about the subject all together.
That was until I heard the first of the knights tromping around the tower. Foolish man was bellowing and hacking away as if he were in the midst of a battle field surrounded by enemies. I went up to see what all the noise was about and blundered into the fool on his way down into my caverns, rather than up into the tower. Now in any other situation I would have simply allowed the idiot to leave after giving him a good scolding about waking sleeping dragons. But this moron began brandishing his sword, yelling about the princess and how I had better free her or suffer the righteous wrath of god, blah, blah, and blah. My concern was that he’d found the entrance to my cavern system. I had eggs that were near to hatching, and while new born dragons are pretty dangerous by your mediocre standards, they are babies and need protecting. So I did what any concerned mother would do, I promptly swatted the metal maniac into the wall and crushed him until he quit squirming. I had no intention of leaving him there to rot away so I took his body, and arms, up into the surrounding forest, where I made another mistake.
There in the little clearing in front of the tower was a campsite being tended by a boy of likely no more than ten or twelve summers. He was frozen with fear at the sight of me, which was amusing, so, instead of making short work of him as I had his knight friend, I handed over the body of his leader and sent him scurrying off with a mighty roar. I was certain that that would be the end of the intrusions; was I ever wrong. I will say that you… things, can be quite determined when you get something into your heads. In this case it was the lame story that we started with. Apparently I had captured a princess and she needed to be rescued. That would have been simple enough if any of her would be rescuer’s would have simply climbed the stairs and bashed open the door. Instead they decided that the dragon must be destroyed. The pile of human bones I had cleared from my caves did not help matters any, but I did not perceive something as silly as this happening when I cleaned house all those years before. Knight after knight tromped up to the tower and down into my cave. I, of course, crushed, bashed and chomped them all. At one point there was a whole troop of them, yelling and waving their swords around. That time I breathed fire, which in hindsight was another mistake.
Breathing fire is not something we do often. For one, it hurts and it takes a long time to recover from the effects of spitting up stomach acids and bile. The effect is quite marvelous and awe inspiring if I do say so myself, but it led to the belief that I was in league with someone called Satan, who ever that is, and it seemed to revitalize the efforts of the knights to kill me. The princess had long since been rescued and these knights just kept coming, at least one every six months.
At any other time I would have simply flown away in the night and left the fools to their ruined building, but as I said I had young ones to care for. I thought to call on one of my brood mates, he would be my brother, but I decided that this would only make matters worse. My brother is about half a step from certifiably mad. While he would have done a fine job of securing my nest he would also have leveled most of the surrounding country side in the process. I decided to bide my time until my wyrmlings were ready to leave the nest.
Quite a few knights were killed in the intervening time, and I took a nasty cut but all if my young ones remained safe. Eventually we moved on to safer pastures, so to speak, and I raised them to be fine young dragons. I forgot all about that old tower until I came across a story book that mentioned the tale I just told you, a bit skewed for effect I assume. You have heard that one, now you know the truth. One thing I have always despised about your kind, your ability to alter the truth.
By Davin Kimble
Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a land far, far away there lived a beautiful princess who lived in a tower that was guarded by a vicious man eating Dragon. The dragon thought her the most beautiful being in the world so had captured her and locked her away so that only he might gaze upon her beauty….
“Okay, now stop! I absolutely refuse to sit here and listen to this droll tale yet again. Truly you humans are full of yourselves and I am done letting you get away with it. You want to know what really happened ‘once upon a time, a long time ago’ I am going to tell you.”
The truth is that it was a long time ago, 1250 AD according to your ridiculous calendar; the Year of the Sundering Moon according to our much more accurate one, and it was not that far away. It was on this very planet, which I am sure you have learned by now is not really all that big. The moon is pretty far away, Sweden is not. There did live a princess, quite a few of them actually, and they seemed to wind up imprisoned in this old run down tower that sat above my spacious, and comfortable cave system. Now the story tellers would like you to think that we Dragons take an interest in your pitiful, filthy, short lives. The fact is that you are mostly beneath our notice the only time we even register your existence is when you come tromping through our habitat, something I have noticed you are exceedingly good at. As far as the supposed beauty of this princess I leave that up to your imagination. You all look sort of gross to me, naked and weak, short, slow, vaguely repulsive creatures. The last thing I would want is to have to look after one of you, day after day. I would forget to water you once something interesting caught my attention and you’d die of thirst, or hunger, or something else. One good thing about you, you die easily.
This princess did not end up in the tower by my doing. At the time I was laying my first catch of eggs and I was not really paying much attention to the goings on in the tower above my head. I chose this particular cave system largely because it was isolated and remote. I know what you are thinking; the tower was an over grown, long abandoned relic of the very distant past. I never thought that the humans who lived more than one hundred miles south would find any use for it. It had been built over the entrance to this cavern system in the distant past by some religious group or other that apparently sacrificed many of their own. It took me a whole month to pile the skills and bones neatly away.
One day there was the ruckus of horses and raised voices. One was particularly piercing, and pleading, rising above the others so that I had to hazard a peak. What I saw was robed and hooded men leading a half naked, dirty looking, female into the tower and up the long flight of stairs to the top. Shortly after the men left and there was only the soft sound of sobs from the highest room in the tower. Thinking nothing more of it I returned to my nest and forgot about the subject all together.
That was until I heard the first of the knights tromping around the tower. Foolish man was bellowing and hacking away as if he were in the midst of a battle field surrounded by enemies. I went up to see what all the noise was about and blundered into the fool on his way down into my caverns, rather than up into the tower. Now in any other situation I would have simply allowed the idiot to leave after giving him a good scolding about waking sleeping dragons. But this moron began brandishing his sword, yelling about the princess and how I had better free her or suffer the righteous wrath of god, blah, blah, and blah. My concern was that he’d found the entrance to my cavern system. I had eggs that were near to hatching, and while new born dragons are pretty dangerous by your mediocre standards, they are babies and need protecting. So I did what any concerned mother would do, I promptly swatted the metal maniac into the wall and crushed him until he quit squirming. I had no intention of leaving him there to rot away so I took his body, and arms, up into the surrounding forest, where I made another mistake.
There in the little clearing in front of the tower was a campsite being tended by a boy of likely no more than ten or twelve summers. He was frozen with fear at the sight of me, which was amusing, so, instead of making short work of him as I had his knight friend, I handed over the body of his leader and sent him scurrying off with a mighty roar. I was certain that that would be the end of the intrusions; was I ever wrong. I will say that you… things, can be quite determined when you get something into your heads. In this case it was the lame story that we started with. Apparently I had captured a princess and she needed to be rescued. That would have been simple enough if any of her would be rescuer’s would have simply climbed the stairs and bashed open the door. Instead they decided that the dragon must be destroyed. The pile of human bones I had cleared from my caves did not help matters any, but I did not perceive something as silly as this happening when I cleaned house all those years before. Knight after knight tromped up to the tower and down into my cave. I, of course, crushed, bashed and chomped them all. At one point there was a whole troop of them, yelling and waving their swords around. That time I breathed fire, which in hindsight was another mistake.
Breathing fire is not something we do often. For one, it hurts and it takes a long time to recover from the effects of spitting up stomach acids and bile. The effect is quite marvelous and awe inspiring if I do say so myself, but it led to the belief that I was in league with someone called Satan, who ever that is, and it seemed to revitalize the efforts of the knights to kill me. The princess had long since been rescued and these knights just kept coming, at least one every six months.
At any other time I would have simply flown away in the night and left the fools to their ruined building, but as I said I had young ones to care for. I thought to call on one of my brood mates, he would be my brother, but I decided that this would only make matters worse. My brother is about half a step from certifiably mad. While he would have done a fine job of securing my nest he would also have leveled most of the surrounding country side in the process. I decided to bide my time until my wyrmlings were ready to leave the nest.
Quite a few knights were killed in the intervening time, and I took a nasty cut but all if my young ones remained safe. Eventually we moved on to safer pastures, so to speak, and I raised them to be fine young dragons. I forgot all about that old tower until I came across a story book that mentioned the tale I just told you, a bit skewed for effect I assume. You have heard that one, now you know the truth. One thing I have always despised about your kind, your ability to alter the truth.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Carnal Desire
Carnal Desire
The Third Side of the Story
(I hate to have to put a disclaimer on this. I for one have faith in you my dear readers but in the interest of self preservation I must. This is an article about sex. There is adult content in here that relates only to consensual acts between adults. By reading this you agree that you are at least 18 years of age and that you realize that this in no way endorses sexual relations with children, animals or unwilling parties. Use your fucking heads people.)
Recently in our society there has been a great deal of conversation about sex. There are supposed sex experts every where you turn, in book stores, on television, on the radio. From the strictly medical to the down right raunchy there is an avenue for almost every one out there to have their sex questions answered. I find this to be a very big step for a society that is notorious for having a great deal of sexual guilt, and for keeping their sexual feelings bottled up. However, not one of these people truly gets down to the why’s of our carnal natures. Sure there are those who will cite your childhood experiences as reasoning for some of your more deviant sexual behaviors and while our upbringing does play a large part in whom we are as adults there is still a deeper level that is ignored. I believe that this root idea is ignored because it is not easily proven. I believe that it is much too close to the creation vs. scientific argument about how we got here in the first place. What we are designed to do by nature or god, take your pick, is undeniable. I am today going to focus on this, the third argument of Carnal Desire.
Carnality or the nature of the flesh is a topic that has for very long been taboo. Many still blush and stammer when the topic of sex is brought up. Many cannot talk about their sexual desires in public and far worse cannot even discuss sex with the person they are fucking. This guilty complex our society harbors goes back of course into our Christian history. I am sure we all know about the Puritans and early settlers to this country and the detrimental mindset they carried with them in to this new land. I am not going to give a history lesson here but I would like to touch on a few key points.
For many hundreds of years any woman who was overtly sexual, even in the privacy of her bedroom was considered a harlot and there fore undesirable; Undesirable, in actuality, to the point of public ridicule, ostracism and sometimes even death. Men who were overtly sexual however were given a bit of leeway; it was considered lees of a crime, if publicly gaucherie. Men were still conditioned to be chaste and to desire only the chastest of women. Even then however for many men this idea of sexual chastity was not merely a social decision, there was very little morality in it. This was a way for the men to remain in absolute charge of the women. Women were kept illiterate and childlike so that the men, who were mostly pompous and ignorant themselves, could feel powerful in their homes. Taking home a virginal bride and showing her what carnal pleasure was all about usually amounted to slamming your cock into her pumping it around a time or two and putting said cock away. A wonderful experience for the women I am sure. None of this carnal morality stopped in any way the puritan people from visiting their sexual pleasure elsewhere. Prostitution abounded and there was always the widow woman next door.
Unfortunately we have carried a great many of these puritan ideals with us into the 21st century. As sad as it may sound it is a truth that must be faced. Many still harbor the idea that masturbation is not only harmful to you sexually but is also mentally and physically harmful as well. It is believed that any sexual act outside of the most basic of positions is dirty and makes one a whore. Let’s not even consider acts like oral or anal sex, the use or toys, bondage, spanking, foot worship, threesomes, group sex, gang bangs, double penetration, the list goes on and on. Even though more and more of us are finding these things pleasurable and are actually indulging in them too many carry that puritan sense of guilt away from the experience. Let me show you how this affects the act itself and future sexual acts.
Take masturbation. Many of us began masturbating at puberty. It is well known that most children will begin exploring their genitals at around the age of six. For this discussion we will stick to when there is actually a sexual response to that exploration, the first time you realized that this actually felt good. Though the act of masturbation felt really good somewhere in our heads we know at that age that it is a sexual act and so must be hidden. We found time and place to perform the act with the fear of being caught lurking somewhere in the back of our psyche. We may have been caught at some point and told that this was a disgusting act or have heard that said somewhere. Now though on one level you feel that this is a terrible thing to do, and though you try to quit your body compels you to masturbate. You do it now with the added burden of guilt and the increased fear of being caught. This compulsion, fear, guild cycle builds over the years and masturbation becomes something that is not discussed or shared but something to be hidden. We carry that over into our relationships and adult sex lives and then are faced with hiding a part of ourselves from our most intimate partner. Multiply masturbation by what ever other sexual drives one may have and you begin to develop a serious mental problem.
Let’s get right to it. We are sexual beings. We are carnal beings. I don’t usually use definitions in my work but for the sake of clarity I will here define the word carnal.
car·nal (kär n l)adj.
Relating to the physical and especially sexual appetites: carnal desire.
Worldly or earthly; temporal: the carnal world.
Of or relating to the body or flesh; bodily: carnal remains.
Through these three definitions of the word we find one common strain. Carnal relates to the flesh, the body, the material. This means that though there is a sexual association here carnality is not purely sexual in nature there are other things in the world that provide us with carnal satisfaction. A good meal, a great bottle of wine, the scent of the air just before a rain, the feeling of the wind or the sea on your skin; all of these things are carnal in nature and can be just as detrimental to our psyche as sexual compulsion. The same patterns can apply to these things and can often be associated with our sexual appetites. The same cycle of compulsion fear and guilt can be associated with so many of the things we do in relation to our own bodies. Why is that? What the fuck is the problem?
I believe that we have lost touch with something very vital over the centuries. We are as we are for a reason. All of these things that give us pleasure were deemed in appropriate by those who said that the flesh must remain separate from the spirit in order for the spirit to advance into some mystical after life. Yet if divine or natural neither side can argue that we are complex creatures that work just as we are supposed to. This in mind you have to logically follow that these fleshly desires must be part of the program and therefore cannot be bad things. If sex was a terrible chore and had no pay off how many of you would continue to do it for any reason other than procreation? Many of us would not be here. The world would be a very empty place today. But as we all know it is not. It is dangerously over crowded in all actuality. Even the most impoverished people, against all logic, if nothing else, will fuck. Why? Because it fucking feels good, it gives us a hormonal high, a physical rush and for some time gives us reason to just relax.
You can ruin it yourself and make it a miserable undertaking by allowing the cycle of compulsion, fear and guilt to continue. Or you can realize that things are just as they should be and you can kick it up a notch, suck that dick, eat that pussy, buff that clit, choke that chicken, get that ass, pull that hair, tie that bitch up, beat his ass, swallow that cum, bring that third person in, or fourth, or fifth, and you can stop feeling so fucking guilty about it. Some times life is difficult enough, let’s not make sex a big fucking problem too. It is the last thing that the government has absolutely no control over.
The Third Side of the Story
(I hate to have to put a disclaimer on this. I for one have faith in you my dear readers but in the interest of self preservation I must. This is an article about sex. There is adult content in here that relates only to consensual acts between adults. By reading this you agree that you are at least 18 years of age and that you realize that this in no way endorses sexual relations with children, animals or unwilling parties. Use your fucking heads people.)
Recently in our society there has been a great deal of conversation about sex. There are supposed sex experts every where you turn, in book stores, on television, on the radio. From the strictly medical to the down right raunchy there is an avenue for almost every one out there to have their sex questions answered. I find this to be a very big step for a society that is notorious for having a great deal of sexual guilt, and for keeping their sexual feelings bottled up. However, not one of these people truly gets down to the why’s of our carnal natures. Sure there are those who will cite your childhood experiences as reasoning for some of your more deviant sexual behaviors and while our upbringing does play a large part in whom we are as adults there is still a deeper level that is ignored. I believe that this root idea is ignored because it is not easily proven. I believe that it is much too close to the creation vs. scientific argument about how we got here in the first place. What we are designed to do by nature or god, take your pick, is undeniable. I am today going to focus on this, the third argument of Carnal Desire.
Carnality or the nature of the flesh is a topic that has for very long been taboo. Many still blush and stammer when the topic of sex is brought up. Many cannot talk about their sexual desires in public and far worse cannot even discuss sex with the person they are fucking. This guilty complex our society harbors goes back of course into our Christian history. I am sure we all know about the Puritans and early settlers to this country and the detrimental mindset they carried with them in to this new land. I am not going to give a history lesson here but I would like to touch on a few key points.
For many hundreds of years any woman who was overtly sexual, even in the privacy of her bedroom was considered a harlot and there fore undesirable; Undesirable, in actuality, to the point of public ridicule, ostracism and sometimes even death. Men who were overtly sexual however were given a bit of leeway; it was considered lees of a crime, if publicly gaucherie. Men were still conditioned to be chaste and to desire only the chastest of women. Even then however for many men this idea of sexual chastity was not merely a social decision, there was very little morality in it. This was a way for the men to remain in absolute charge of the women. Women were kept illiterate and childlike so that the men, who were mostly pompous and ignorant themselves, could feel powerful in their homes. Taking home a virginal bride and showing her what carnal pleasure was all about usually amounted to slamming your cock into her pumping it around a time or two and putting said cock away. A wonderful experience for the women I am sure. None of this carnal morality stopped in any way the puritan people from visiting their sexual pleasure elsewhere. Prostitution abounded and there was always the widow woman next door.
Unfortunately we have carried a great many of these puritan ideals with us into the 21st century. As sad as it may sound it is a truth that must be faced. Many still harbor the idea that masturbation is not only harmful to you sexually but is also mentally and physically harmful as well. It is believed that any sexual act outside of the most basic of positions is dirty and makes one a whore. Let’s not even consider acts like oral or anal sex, the use or toys, bondage, spanking, foot worship, threesomes, group sex, gang bangs, double penetration, the list goes on and on. Even though more and more of us are finding these things pleasurable and are actually indulging in them too many carry that puritan sense of guilt away from the experience. Let me show you how this affects the act itself and future sexual acts.
Take masturbation. Many of us began masturbating at puberty. It is well known that most children will begin exploring their genitals at around the age of six. For this discussion we will stick to when there is actually a sexual response to that exploration, the first time you realized that this actually felt good. Though the act of masturbation felt really good somewhere in our heads we know at that age that it is a sexual act and so must be hidden. We found time and place to perform the act with the fear of being caught lurking somewhere in the back of our psyche. We may have been caught at some point and told that this was a disgusting act or have heard that said somewhere. Now though on one level you feel that this is a terrible thing to do, and though you try to quit your body compels you to masturbate. You do it now with the added burden of guilt and the increased fear of being caught. This compulsion, fear, guild cycle builds over the years and masturbation becomes something that is not discussed or shared but something to be hidden. We carry that over into our relationships and adult sex lives and then are faced with hiding a part of ourselves from our most intimate partner. Multiply masturbation by what ever other sexual drives one may have and you begin to develop a serious mental problem.
Let’s get right to it. We are sexual beings. We are carnal beings. I don’t usually use definitions in my work but for the sake of clarity I will here define the word carnal.
car·nal (kär n l)adj.
Relating to the physical and especially sexual appetites: carnal desire.
Worldly or earthly; temporal: the carnal world.
Of or relating to the body or flesh; bodily: carnal remains.
Through these three definitions of the word we find one common strain. Carnal relates to the flesh, the body, the material. This means that though there is a sexual association here carnality is not purely sexual in nature there are other things in the world that provide us with carnal satisfaction. A good meal, a great bottle of wine, the scent of the air just before a rain, the feeling of the wind or the sea on your skin; all of these things are carnal in nature and can be just as detrimental to our psyche as sexual compulsion. The same patterns can apply to these things and can often be associated with our sexual appetites. The same cycle of compulsion fear and guilt can be associated with so many of the things we do in relation to our own bodies. Why is that? What the fuck is the problem?
I believe that we have lost touch with something very vital over the centuries. We are as we are for a reason. All of these things that give us pleasure were deemed in appropriate by those who said that the flesh must remain separate from the spirit in order for the spirit to advance into some mystical after life. Yet if divine or natural neither side can argue that we are complex creatures that work just as we are supposed to. This in mind you have to logically follow that these fleshly desires must be part of the program and therefore cannot be bad things. If sex was a terrible chore and had no pay off how many of you would continue to do it for any reason other than procreation? Many of us would not be here. The world would be a very empty place today. But as we all know it is not. It is dangerously over crowded in all actuality. Even the most impoverished people, against all logic, if nothing else, will fuck. Why? Because it fucking feels good, it gives us a hormonal high, a physical rush and for some time gives us reason to just relax.
You can ruin it yourself and make it a miserable undertaking by allowing the cycle of compulsion, fear and guilt to continue. Or you can realize that things are just as they should be and you can kick it up a notch, suck that dick, eat that pussy, buff that clit, choke that chicken, get that ass, pull that hair, tie that bitch up, beat his ass, swallow that cum, bring that third person in, or fourth, or fifth, and you can stop feeling so fucking guilty about it. Some times life is difficult enough, let’s not make sex a big fucking problem too. It is the last thing that the government has absolutely no control over.
Davin Kimble has sent you an invitation
Hey , it's Davin Kimble.
ArtBistro is free to join. When you sign up, you'll automatically be added as my friend on my personal profile page, so it will be easy for us to stay in touch, join here:
http://artbistro.com/register?invitation_code=LnYtgV65n2ejHcNqF2l9EpSN
* Designers have found better jobs through ArtBistro.
* Artists have sold work and been selected for gallery exhibitions through ArtBistro.
As an ArtBistro member, you have access to:
* Portfolios: Load and discuss your portfolios online
* Daily News: Art and Design headlines and news
* Training: News and discussions on the latest software training and technologies
* Careers: Thousands of art and design jobs and career networking
* Community: Discuss the latest news and become part of a community of visual artists with similar interests and backgrounds
* Education: $38 million in scholarships, thousands of career-advancing programs
* Tools: Read and review the latest visual art tools
* Entertainment: Not-to-be-missed art videos and games
* Create your own private or public groups
I hope to see you around ArtBistro soon!
Davin Kimble
---------------------------
Please do not reply to this message.
This message was sent to davinkwriter.thekimbleviewpoint@blogger.com from a member of ArtBistro.
If you would like to block emails sent from ArtBistro in the future, please unsubscribe here: http://www.artbistro.com/unsubscribe_all?email_list_id=1
Please view our privacy policy if you have further questions: http://www.artbistro.com/privacy
ArtBistro.com - A Monster Company
875 Sansome St. Ste 100. San Francisco, CA 94111 copyright 2008 All rights reserved.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Cultural Norms
Cultural Norms
Culture, Subculture and necessary separation
Over the years my view point on life and the world has gone through a few very deep paradigm shifts and some more subtle changes in general thinking. However one thing that has remained firmly consistent is the belief that if one should choose to separate him self from any cultural norm that separation must be complete. I have met many people who belong to one sub cultural group or another yet still find them selves compelled to hold fast to some idealized cultural belief such as the belief that man should be strictly monogamous. This seems to be a thread through out many sub cultures in America. No matter how outrageous the cultural norm in any group there is always a steady pairing off and degeneration into the petty jealousies that arise from the monogamous ideal. More so is a trend toward religious separation from the main stream and a moral separation. As a religious example; in the Wicca community there is a religious shift from the modern patriarchal mono deific belief systems into what is claimed as an ancient, more natural poly deific matriarchal system. It would seem that this idea would allow for a whole new way of viewing and approaching the world we live in. Yet, this group, afraid of being viewed as “evil” or in league with Satanist, Pagans, or any other relevant religious minority, relent to social pressure and spend, what in my opinion is a great deal of wasted time trying to show the Christian majority that they are not so much different. “We are still ‘good’ people;” they will say and soon rush off to prove it. In another example we can look at the Satanist. This group tends to be more willing to find a point of separation from general culture, indeed that separation is part of the very roots of Satanic thought. However look more closely and you find that a belief system that should give one true freedom to create and live within their own paradigm only gives rise to a great deal of bitter in fighting amongst the various sects. This in fighting is caused as I see it by the very Christian and modern idea that there is only one correct way of thinking about and looking at the world. Most main stream faiths hold the belief that all of the others are spiritually doomed. Many of those who take up the mantle of a sub culture originate from one of the established cultural groups, and bring along all of the programmed behavior from the very culture they seek to escape. Truly, if one is to take up a mantle and say I am this thing and not this other, then he in that instance must move fully away from that which he is not. This requires more than simply a change in religious belief systems.
Although much of any society is governed largely by a general thinking of what is and is not acceptable in polite company, or what is and is not legal in the books, even those who subscribe to certain beliefs within a society do not always follow them as they should. Often this gives rise to separations in religion but also to separations in morality. Morality, like religion is subjective and open to interpretation. Many will say that morals are what they are and there can be no individual moral base. This idea, though it may sound logical is wholly untrue. Morality is as individual as it is necessary. Within Culture and subculture the thread that binds the whole is morality but it must be understood that one subscribes to established morality because one chooses to, not because one was told or taught to. Some will argue that morality is a learned behavior and therefore more open to manipulation from others. While this is true in part, one must also realize that that which can be learned can also be chosen. One can choose to follow one moral guide as opposed to another. A noble and moral act in one culture may be viewed as foolish and insignificant by another. Many will subscribe to those moral bases that serve their individual purpose and conveniently discard the others as foolish or out dated. And in the next breath those same people will argue the moral law they just violated. As an example, you may have a person who subscribes to a belief that sex outside of marriage is wrong, yet this same individual may be unmarried and fucking like crazy. If they find you in violation of the same law, you are often beaten over the head with how wrong it is. It is in my belief that should one decide to take up a mantel of morality of any sort they should then live wholly by that moral code and not find or tolerate any excuse to separate from it. Just as you can not pick and choose what gasses enter your lungs when you take a breath you cannot separate your morality from your honor and you cannot separate your honor from your belief.
It is necessary, if one is to truly find a place of separation from a culture that does not hold the moral code you find fulfilling, to fully separate yourself from that culture completely. Not just by jumping religions or living a life of unfocused morality. You have to take on a whole new view point of the world you live in and the life you lead. Your separation from the parent culture must be complete to the point of a new cultural formation not simply a sub cultural shift. The prefix sub implies that one is still a part of, albeit a lesser part, of some whole. Taking on the mantle of subculture automatically places one firmly in a position to be judged as such and subjected to all of the abuses reserved for those in your low station. Those still within the cultural norm, from whom you chose to separate, will be your accusers, your judgment and your end. There are simply too many bottle necks where one well versed in cultural norms can say to you “why if you believe this do you not believe this or the other? They are intrinsically tied.” And the truth of the matter is that this person would be correct. One cultural belief is in its definition as a culture tied to the history of that culture and the elements apparent in each place and time that culture has touched. You can pick and choose as you wish but you are still on one level tied to the parent culture and thus sub.
So what do you do about it? Change is my answer. First of all do not categorize what you believe as sub. Say I am a “Waxahatchiean” and we believe thus and so, and live that life. Not a pseudo-Christian or false Buddhist life with personal tweaks. If you are going to be something be it and don’t alter it for your own ends and call it a branch. One thing people don’t realize when creating these ideals is that branches are one part of what makes a tree a tree. You are still part of that tree, not separate from it. You can’t call a branch a petal and expect us to say, “I see you are not a part of that tree at all, you look like a branch but you call yourself a petal. Good enough for me.” Ha!
Secondly, you must understand that there is no need to have a group of followers validating what you think with membership cards, poorly written articles backing up what you say, and lip service you your ideals. They are your ideals and if someone else shares them that is great and where once there was one now there are two. But without them, without a group of followers these ideals, this life is still yours and no less valid than anyone else’s. Know that you have a right to be and that is all you truly deserve. So take that right, that life and live it according to your standards of living and allow nothing to separate you from it. Be it or be claimed false.
So, what to do then if you do belong to a sub-cultural group? Well examine it and yourself closely. If you find the group lacking, or if you find that you don’t truly live by the laws set forth by this moral perspective…leave; do something else, try again, and shift your perspective. And why shouldn’t you? If you find that everything fits then stay loyal to that moral code and never be moved. I am this thing and I live by this law. I’d respect you for it more so than if you two-faced, hedged and faltered.
So be part of a culture or be a part of another culture but never sub-culture yourself. It’s comparable to cliques in high school…. You are a “roper” or “prep” or “jock” or “Black-guy” (like being black is a social group) I understand children trying to find a place and understanding in a world they have little control over. But as adults is cliquing up really necessary?
Libertad!
Culture, Subculture and necessary separation
Over the years my view point on life and the world has gone through a few very deep paradigm shifts and some more subtle changes in general thinking. However one thing that has remained firmly consistent is the belief that if one should choose to separate him self from any cultural norm that separation must be complete. I have met many people who belong to one sub cultural group or another yet still find them selves compelled to hold fast to some idealized cultural belief such as the belief that man should be strictly monogamous. This seems to be a thread through out many sub cultures in America. No matter how outrageous the cultural norm in any group there is always a steady pairing off and degeneration into the petty jealousies that arise from the monogamous ideal. More so is a trend toward religious separation from the main stream and a moral separation. As a religious example; in the Wicca community there is a religious shift from the modern patriarchal mono deific belief systems into what is claimed as an ancient, more natural poly deific matriarchal system. It would seem that this idea would allow for a whole new way of viewing and approaching the world we live in. Yet, this group, afraid of being viewed as “evil” or in league with Satanist, Pagans, or any other relevant religious minority, relent to social pressure and spend, what in my opinion is a great deal of wasted time trying to show the Christian majority that they are not so much different. “We are still ‘good’ people;” they will say and soon rush off to prove it. In another example we can look at the Satanist. This group tends to be more willing to find a point of separation from general culture, indeed that separation is part of the very roots of Satanic thought. However look more closely and you find that a belief system that should give one true freedom to create and live within their own paradigm only gives rise to a great deal of bitter in fighting amongst the various sects. This in fighting is caused as I see it by the very Christian and modern idea that there is only one correct way of thinking about and looking at the world. Most main stream faiths hold the belief that all of the others are spiritually doomed. Many of those who take up the mantle of a sub culture originate from one of the established cultural groups, and bring along all of the programmed behavior from the very culture they seek to escape. Truly, if one is to take up a mantle and say I am this thing and not this other, then he in that instance must move fully away from that which he is not. This requires more than simply a change in religious belief systems.
Although much of any society is governed largely by a general thinking of what is and is not acceptable in polite company, or what is and is not legal in the books, even those who subscribe to certain beliefs within a society do not always follow them as they should. Often this gives rise to separations in religion but also to separations in morality. Morality, like religion is subjective and open to interpretation. Many will say that morals are what they are and there can be no individual moral base. This idea, though it may sound logical is wholly untrue. Morality is as individual as it is necessary. Within Culture and subculture the thread that binds the whole is morality but it must be understood that one subscribes to established morality because one chooses to, not because one was told or taught to. Some will argue that morality is a learned behavior and therefore more open to manipulation from others. While this is true in part, one must also realize that that which can be learned can also be chosen. One can choose to follow one moral guide as opposed to another. A noble and moral act in one culture may be viewed as foolish and insignificant by another. Many will subscribe to those moral bases that serve their individual purpose and conveniently discard the others as foolish or out dated. And in the next breath those same people will argue the moral law they just violated. As an example, you may have a person who subscribes to a belief that sex outside of marriage is wrong, yet this same individual may be unmarried and fucking like crazy. If they find you in violation of the same law, you are often beaten over the head with how wrong it is. It is in my belief that should one decide to take up a mantel of morality of any sort they should then live wholly by that moral code and not find or tolerate any excuse to separate from it. Just as you can not pick and choose what gasses enter your lungs when you take a breath you cannot separate your morality from your honor and you cannot separate your honor from your belief.
It is necessary, if one is to truly find a place of separation from a culture that does not hold the moral code you find fulfilling, to fully separate yourself from that culture completely. Not just by jumping religions or living a life of unfocused morality. You have to take on a whole new view point of the world you live in and the life you lead. Your separation from the parent culture must be complete to the point of a new cultural formation not simply a sub cultural shift. The prefix sub implies that one is still a part of, albeit a lesser part, of some whole. Taking on the mantle of subculture automatically places one firmly in a position to be judged as such and subjected to all of the abuses reserved for those in your low station. Those still within the cultural norm, from whom you chose to separate, will be your accusers, your judgment and your end. There are simply too many bottle necks where one well versed in cultural norms can say to you “why if you believe this do you not believe this or the other? They are intrinsically tied.” And the truth of the matter is that this person would be correct. One cultural belief is in its definition as a culture tied to the history of that culture and the elements apparent in each place and time that culture has touched. You can pick and choose as you wish but you are still on one level tied to the parent culture and thus sub.
So what do you do about it? Change is my answer. First of all do not categorize what you believe as sub. Say I am a “Waxahatchiean” and we believe thus and so, and live that life. Not a pseudo-Christian or false Buddhist life with personal tweaks. If you are going to be something be it and don’t alter it for your own ends and call it a branch. One thing people don’t realize when creating these ideals is that branches are one part of what makes a tree a tree. You are still part of that tree, not separate from it. You can’t call a branch a petal and expect us to say, “I see you are not a part of that tree at all, you look like a branch but you call yourself a petal. Good enough for me.” Ha!
Secondly, you must understand that there is no need to have a group of followers validating what you think with membership cards, poorly written articles backing up what you say, and lip service you your ideals. They are your ideals and if someone else shares them that is great and where once there was one now there are two. But without them, without a group of followers these ideals, this life is still yours and no less valid than anyone else’s. Know that you have a right to be and that is all you truly deserve. So take that right, that life and live it according to your standards of living and allow nothing to separate you from it. Be it or be claimed false.
So, what to do then if you do belong to a sub-cultural group? Well examine it and yourself closely. If you find the group lacking, or if you find that you don’t truly live by the laws set forth by this moral perspective…leave; do something else, try again, and shift your perspective. And why shouldn’t you? If you find that everything fits then stay loyal to that moral code and never be moved. I am this thing and I live by this law. I’d respect you for it more so than if you two-faced, hedged and faltered.
So be part of a culture or be a part of another culture but never sub-culture yourself. It’s comparable to cliques in high school…. You are a “roper” or “prep” or “jock” or “Black-guy” (like being black is a social group) I understand children trying to find a place and understanding in a world they have little control over. But as adults is cliquing up really necessary?
Libertad!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)