... a load of shit ... beware ...
… i wrote this at least a few weeks ago …
Today I set for myself a really stupid challenge for myself. To do a “hard” thing. Whatever “hard” means.
I chose to look at soft-core porn, the kind you can find on Youtube, not out of sexual desire, but for RESEARCH. To search my heart, and write what is going on in my heart and head (I don't like separating head from heart, but you know, we do in this world).
My goodness, I managed to find a video of a woman massaging her breasts and squeezing milk out of the them. How that managed to stay on Youtube, I have no idea. It is a recent uploaded video, admittedly.
Using the voice of others without any reciprocation. Feeling accepted by being with. Soothed by the voice of another. Noticing my own sheer fickleness. Was this a special status only bequeathed by an erotic relationship?
What if this special status can be found with oneself and with the aid of modern technology? What if I was to have erotica – conditions being consensual, monogamous, heterosexual, gentle, and more – and got a robot to
read them? Would it quell my conscience? (a stray thought – perhaps my conscience be changed and finetuned towards better!)
If a piece of this problem is that of reciprocation, then the exchange of money is first and forefront. But we all know, in the face of death, money doesn't mean shit. Money is fake love. Money agin't got no soul (Priness & the frog et. al. ....).
If money is the only medium for reciprocation, pornography clearly intersects with prostitution.
The difference is in impact. The soul-tie, the emotional entanglement, is one-way. The man, the masturbator, is the one suffering the soul tie. Pregnancy is not an issue.
The thought that I kept running through my mind is “Who will take care of these women in their old age?”. I certainly couldn't.
Maybe it was this thought and the fact that I had masturbated three days in a row – I was pretty limp the whole time I was watching.
n multiple occasions I had to quit the videos when I heard “nephew” “son”. Those are the lines I must keep.
I also had “Looking is not lusting” (Daily Disciple et. al. ????). I am doing research! Searching my broken and beloved heart.
For I am beloved based on my environment and the people around me. This is a sociological view, I surmise.
And I guess my very existence is a symbol of love from The Nameless One. I am here. Existing. I didn't make myself (contrary to the ramblings of a passerby on a train I rode many moons ago, who
pointed at himself in the mirror and said “I made you” ... it was an interesting observation, no doubt!).
Contrary to the normal, I had forgotten assigning the labels of “Thou” (Martin Buber et. al. 1958) over the heads of these women (in my imagination).
I was certainly treating them more like Its than Thous (Peter Scazzero et. al. ????) Certainly not treating them as images of God (Moses et. al. -600).
As I was collecting my thoughts while listening to these women (Tara Tainton, Xev Bellringer, my favourites form the past), I heard the line “you buy my videos” from Xev Bellringer.
That did it. The conscience lights blared all the louder with those words reverberating in my skull.
And so I turned it off. I didn't go back since. I didn't buy her videos, I am a thief wretch for listening to her on Youtube.
I am playing with fire. The fire of eros.
In hindsight. After scrolling for who knows how long – I turn on autopilot once I start scrolling this kind of stuff – was it worth all the guilt? I think the guilt was staved off by restirctions (Apple products have the baility to restrict “adult' content – more like turn you into a monster content) set in place to prevent escalation.
Everyone loves talking about the slippery slop and tolerance levels increasing.
The bottom of that valley of death being, child pornography. The very mention wants me to commit suicide. That was the catastrophizing thought that came to me
in March of 2021. A single image, located on a standard pirated manga site (MangaFox), set off all the alarms.
Conscience has never rung louder in my life.
The thought that threw me at the feet of my shrink called Peter, and had me balling my eyes out. I wouldn't do it. I had to keep saying to myself now. Revisiting this
memory is hard. Extremely uncomfortable.
I will recognise that I cut off the head of the snake. I squashed the eggs of the spider. I didn't let the darkness grow anymore. I can be proud of that.
I have long thought pride was bad, that I should not be prideful.
Now I realise it's all words, all air, because we live in hypocrisy. No one really knows the meaning of humility because it is rarely practiced.
It is an elusive character.
But when you are all alone in spirit (in body, I was with my family, all seven of them) ... only darkness seem to loom.
But what if I was to exercise that elusive thing they call self-cntrol
I was saying “Remembr me” to ISHO the whole time I was indulging in this lovely bull-crap this arvo in my room on Youtube.
One thing is for sure, if The Girl ever allowed me back into her heart, I will not avoid my problems.
I may be a pervert, but I will be a honest pervert. No hiding it.
246 days since rebirth. 47 days into my retirement from that thing they call “life”.
There is one thing
I am not FUCKING INTERESTED in fake trust. A trust built on my “somebody” status, while I hide my “nobody” status. When I am a body ... no ... a spirit and body combined.
Spirit + Body = Heart
Yeah that's right, I am coming up with my own fucking
Work is my pseudo-salvation (...). Writing is my pseudo-salvation.
Here I am building up an ark of trust with my family. Losing money, gaining trust.
… two posts in one day … this one is REALLY UNPOLISHED ….