Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Horny in the Morning




I'm not going to say this is a regular occurrence, because - counterintuitive though it may seem - having an erection doesn't necessarily mean you're in the mood to fuck. But some days, you just wake up horny. And if you've never felt the warm sunshine on your nether regions (even through a window), then you live a far too sheltered life, my friend.



Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Checking the Router

(behind the chair)


It's wonderful how unselfconscious one can be when one is alone. (Really, I feel like a different person). This is one of those instances in which I was in the middle of unscripted, daily life, and I suddenly thought to myself, "gee, I'd really be putting on a show if there were somebody else in this room". Naturally, being who I am, I ran into the other room to grab my camera, so I (and also my pleasantly perverted internet audience - that's you!) could see what it might look like from the other side. At first I tried recreating the pose as closely to the unplanned original as I could - for the sake of realism - but then I couldn't help tweaking it with my photographer's eye (because I can't help myself), for better or worse (that's up to you).


This is another one of those situations that makes me think about "relative erosthetics", as I like to put it. A lot of people would use this as an excuse for why it's not a good idea to let people just roam around naked, because, statistically speaking, most of the people you surround yourself with in your everyday life are not necessarily attractive, or at least not to you. For that matter, just because someone is "beautiful" doesn't necessarily mean you want to stare at their genitals; for example, they might not be your type. Yet, when I look at a photo like this one (apart from the fact that the anatomy isn't my first choice, it's still a nice view), I can't help thinking about how appealing it is, and how much I'd love to just surround myself with beautiful, naked creatures. Does that make me weird? I mean, the reason I ask is because I feel like this is something most people would agree would be desirable, but for some reason, you'd have to be insane to actually pursue it in reality. But I don't see why this should be the case. Why do we insist on refusing ourselves anything that feels good? Are we really anhedonic puritans? These creatures wouldn't even have to have sex with me - I'm not talking about a harem of sex slaves here (necessarily) - I'd just really enjoy the eye candy, and the muse it would provide for my art.

I don't think this really has much to do with nudism, but I feel like nudism is a valuable stepping stone on the path to making more people comfortable being naked, especially around other people - no matter what they look like. Because beautiful people often don't realize how attractive they are (unless they're professionals, and most people aren't). And despite the stereotype that prudes of all stripes love to cite, the wider, non-nudist culture doesn't offer a lot of opportunities for people to look at other, beautiful people naked. I mean, yeah, sex sells, but there's also all that censorship. It's a weird dichotomy, but while you'll have no trouble finding raunchy scenes in television and movies, honest portrayals of even innocent nudity are few and far between.

And while you might think that the lucrative porn industry would provide a counter-example to my argument, it only strengthens my point. Even aside from the fact that beauty (like nudity) is not equivalent with sex (which is what porn is all about), it, too, is a distant form of wish fulfillment, and not real life in the flesh. (Or, when it is - as is the case with much amateur porn - it's still not your life). Plus, it unfortunately occupies a low class niche that higher society absolutely refuses to let it wander from. Its reputation is so soiled, people assume that porn will be trash, and that if a piece of media aspires to be anything better than trash, it can do so only by ejecting the pornographic elements. This becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, that resurrects itself through a vicious cycle. It's like the difference between a supermodel, and a drug-addled street walker. Sure, if you take sex (the lowest common denominator) out of the equation, you have things like "fine art". But it doesn't infuse our everyday lives. I want to be surrounded by living, breathing art.

So perhaps it's an excuse, but - especially in this erotophobic society - nudism seems like a better justification than my own personal, aesthetic desires for wanting beautiful people to take their clothes off. It doesn't mean I'm an impostor - I practice and support genuine nudist ideals, and I believe it's a freedom we all deserve to have, independent of what we look like. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that there was an added bonus for me. And, unlike some, I've long been of the opinion that "having to endure" the sight of unattractive bodies (which is really an insensitive way of putting it) is a small price to pay for the opportunity (rare though it may be) to see the attractive ones.

Are we not allowed to admit that this is one of the perks of a lifestyle that involves people taking their clothes off? It seems kind of silly and disingenuous to me for us to pretend that this isn't part of the experience. If that makes some people uncomfortable, I am genuinely concerned - because, obviously, it will result in less people joining in (especially those who might have good reason to believe that people will be looking at them). But the solution isn't self-deception. It's only human to want to look. We need to start examining ways to make looking more innocuous.

For example: as much as "true" nudists despise them, nudist documentaries are a step in that direction, by outsourcing the looking to people who aren't present in the moment, and thus cannot make the people being looked at feel self-conscious (at least not any more than is caused by the presence of the camera, which isn't going to bother everyone as much as it bothers some - I, for one, would happily volunteer to be a model for the nudist lifestyle). However, this is still removed from "real life in the flesh", which is solved by things like beauty pageants (although I've argued before that there are better, less superficial alternatives - like spectator sports) that involve performances that invite looking, even if just temporarily, within an appropriate context.

This is the discussion I want to be part of - not trying to paddle upstream or make futile assaults against impassive windmills. Admitting this simple fact of reality - that people like to look - and not conveniently sweeping it under the rug, is my most basic requirement for negotiation on this topic. Otherwise, we're just wasting each others' time. And we've only got so much of it before we have to go.

"Let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late." - Bob Dylan

Monday, June 26, 2017

Pokémon Trainee


With apologies for the not-so-clear picture (sometimes it's hard to get a good shot of yourself walking down a city street), this is the perfect outfit for tooling around downtown playing Pokémon GO - a pikachu dress! I guess that makes me the trainee. huh?

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Impromptu



An impromptu, sunlit blinds/lying on the bed selfie. The focus came out a little soft, but we'll call it a romantic, Hamiltonesque effect. It looks good, anyway.

Friday, June 16, 2017

Mortality

(Not to be confused with morality :-p)

The standard process by which one may attain a certain measure of immortality (in a metaphorical sense) is through procreation - passing on one's genes. But while I'm not interested in procreation, for a number of reasons, I am nonetheless not immune to the very human desire for some part of me to outlast my limited time as a conscious being on this plane of existence. The next alternative is to create some great work that will be passed down through the ages, and talked about for generations to come. People like Shakespeare, Mozart, Leonardo da Vinci, Albert Einstein, Socrates - these are people who are still remembered because, during their lives, they contributed to human culture and understanding in profound and lasting ways. Granted, geniuses of this level are few and far between, and the chances of me attaining that kind of status are much slimmer than the chance that one of my sperm might fertilize an ovum (given the opportunity). I'm ambitious, but I'm not delusional.

Then again, the cult of celebrity seems (at least) to be growing in modern civilization, particularly with the advent of more convenient recording technologies, and diversified forms of entertainment. Art moguls, movie directors, authors, innovators, philanthropists - these are people who have made a name for themselves by their contributions to modern society (such as they are). And it seems as though there are more famous people now than ever before. Of course, it could be because they're all still recent, and we haven't had a chance to forget them yet. Nobody can say how many of them will be remembered far into the future, and it could be said that when everybody's famous, no one is famous, because fewer of them will stand out. But, at least on a localized scale, it seems as if anyone can attain a little bit of fame these days, especially through viral marketing.

What I want, though, isn't so much fame, as respect. I want to contribute something worthwhile to our culture. Not through celebrity endorsement, but conceptual innovation. I'd love to do that through art, even though I don't consider myself on the level of a world class artist. But even though I'm not the best, if my voice is unique enough, and if I can fill an important niche that nobody else is filling, or be some kind of visionary pioneer of a new and valuable way of thinking, demonstrated or communicated through my art - well, maybe I could be remembered for that someday.

I think about my artistic instinct. From the beginning of this journey, I've been inspired by the profound impact that beauty has on me. In my personal experience, nothing in life is quite like it. It stops me in my tracks. (And sometimes, in this erotophobic society, I have to hide my reaction to it - like John Preston in Equilibrium - which causes the anguish that informs much of my more scathing rants). It's a difficult thing to communicate, as it is so intensely personal, but all I want to do through my art is make other people feel that feeling that is so familiar to me - when you see a body, a person, that is so exquisite that you have to catch your breath. I want the rest of the world to know what that's like. (So they will understand how cruel it is to force others to suppress that feeling, until it morphs into self-loathing). I know that beauty is subjective, and there are countless artists already out there pursuing this muse, but in spite of that, I feel like I must have an outlet through which my own personal voice can be heard - to contribute my own personal understanding of what's beautiful, especially where that deviates from the mainstream.

Will it last? Will this expression of my voice and my vision endure the test of time? I obviously can't say. It wouldn't stop me if the answer were no, but I still hold out hope that maybe - even if I haven't hit on it yet, then someday - I might tap in to something universal. Something that isn't necessarily tied down to a certain place or a certain time, that doesn't require a highly specialized set of interests to appreciate. I know there are probably few people (relative to the human population) that appreciate eroticized portraits of feminized males (although I'd hope that my sex-positive, gender-bending approach could be appreciated from a more generalized, progressive viewpoint as it challenges conservative social standards, and not just as porn), but I am a human being with a body. And we all have bodies. And bodies - especially the beautiful ones, by whatever standards you're using - have been admired since time immemorial. Michelangelo's David is just a sculpture of a body, but we still admire it today.

Then again, there's a cynical voice in the back of my head that whispers to me about the transience of life, amidst the vast, lonely emptiness of space and time that constitutes our universe. Even if I could accomplish the impossible task of creating a work of art that every human being that will ever live would appreciate, it's not unreasonable to assume that some day mankind will become extinct. And even if there are (or will be) other intelligent life forms out there somewhere in the interstellar expanses, and even if they were to cross our path against all odds, like two goldfish in the deep blue sea, who's to say that they would be capable of appreciating any of what humans have created?

We send signals out into space, arrogantly assuming that alien races will be able to understand our symphonies, much less appreciate them. What if they don't hear sound the way we hear it? What if their eyes don't pick up the same frequencies of light that ours do? What if they don't even have eyes? Their bodies will almost certainly be different than ours (in spite of what Star Trek's limited fx budget insists), so even the most profound nude portrait of a human will be rendered meaningless to them - as meaningless as alien porn would be to us. There's a reason animals can walk around us naked without anybody throwing a fuss, and that hardcore photos of snails having sex don't require a mature filter on Flickr.

Furthermore, that alien race, too, will eventually die out. Like the great works of Ozymandias, all that will be left of life in the universe will be a great ruin, but with nobody left to remember what it once stood for. And in time, the universe, too, will collapse. If, by chance, a new universe emerges in its place, and, by astronomical odds, new life forms develop, there will be no evidence that we had ever existed - not even a footprint - and no way for us to communicate with them. And all our mortal toils will have definitively been for naught. Why, then, should any of us continue?

I'll tell you. Because we exist. Maybe just for a little while. But right now, you and I - we exist. And we can feel. We can feel joy, and we can feel sorrow. We cannot escape the sadness that will hound us and haunt us throughout our lives, but we can try our best to offset it with as much happiness as we can grab a hold of. And whatever foolish trick it was that evolution played on us to make us delight in the pleasures of the flesh, well, I derive a great joy from appreciating the aesthetic sensibilities of the human form. And I'm going to revel in that. I'm going to celebrate the things in life that make us feel good, and share that with anyone who cares to join me. Because pretty soon, we all have to give it up, and return to the eternal night of non-existence. But it doesn't have to be today. And in the meantime, I'm going to have some fun. While I still can.

Thursday, June 15, 2017

Outfit of the Day (#ootd)

I seem to be in a bit of an introspective/analytical mood lately - there's nothing like the sophisticated thrill of turning over a concept in your mind, examining it from every angle, and putting together a framework for it. (Am I a nerd or what?). There's more to come, but I like to split up my rambling thoughts with some easy-to-appreciate photos, whenever convenient. You know, for the sake of digestion. Here's an outfit I wore this past weekend:


I had the unusual problem of having to dress for a trip both to the mall and to the park to engage in some athletics - two very different situations requiring very different fashion approaches. It's fun to dress up for the mall; not, like, formal gown dress-up, but just your "Saturday best" - things like cute tops, leg-baring shorts, and primped hair. I always enjoy seeing the way girls dress for the mall, to go shopping with friends or flirting with boys. In fact, one of my dreams is to set up a kiosk offering to take portraits immortalizing all that style on display (I'm a firm believer that wherever you are, local talent is every bit as stunning as the professional models). I just don't know how profitable that would be - not that I'd be doing it for the money, as opposed to the great picture opportunities, but I can't exactly afford to blow all my savings on a pipe dream.

Needless to say, there's a certain amount of pressure to step up your fashion game at the mall (seeing as I've kind of grown accustomed to being the one who turns heads). On the other hand, when you're dressing to play sports, you don't want to wear anything too fancy. It has to be practical, because you're going to be moving around, and sweating in the hot sun. (Naturally, playing sports after a trip to the mall works a lot better than the reverse, without having a shower break in between). So I compromised with this really cute silver-sequined volleyball shirt I bought at Justice (because it's really not fair that girls are expected to outgrow their "sparkles and unicorns" phase - I never will) a while back, since it was volleyball I was going to be practicing. I coupled it with my usual shorts (barely visible below the hem of this long shirt), and a simple but stylish pair of flip flops that I could easily remove before stepping out onto the sand.

I have to say it was an enjoyable success, culminating in a refreshing ice cream run! That is, even if I'm still a little sore on account of my inadvisable decision to perform some impromptu gymnastics without proper spotting (or training, along with the fact that I'm not as young as I feel on the inside)... Still, I wouldn't take it back for the world!