Just a quick note on Psychiatry - I do highly endorse psychiatric practice and medicine. I speak of psychology, therapy, or counciling, as it exists, in my experience. Spoiler: Therapers and Therapees There are 'therapers' 'and therapees' I speak as a therapee. It has come to my attention that the words 'therapy' or 'counseling' seem to have gone from stigma to resentment. Being a case for study myself, with all the bells and whistles, I've come to understand that while professional help is valid, it is... narrow. I now know, in terms of self-intervention, that opening up and starting a path requires an obvious 'secret ingredient'. Validation. I consider some continuous connection with people-things to be critical to emotional recovery. Call it 'sympathy for the devil' if you need to deflect, but nurture in our communties was the only reason we survived the ages. So what do we have now? We have too much of the 'go fix yourself', which should be relabeled 'go fuck yourself'. At least then we would be owning what we say. Oh yeah, the other 'secret ingriedient' is Trust. My experience involves other 'therapees', too. So if I see a pattern, there is a pattern. I said it and I own it. Let's talk terms. Hey! Let's rant about terms! "Passive-resistive, co-dependency, trust-issues, defensive, self... this, that, the other. Blah blah blah" all need to stay in a textbook. If it's in someones head, it needs a 12 guage cranial enema. I own that, too. Mine, so don't try it. Trust. I was talking about trust, as it relates to emotional recovery. Not much. Not enough, to say the least. It's going to be difficult to trust anyone participating in a system that is primarily concerned about cost, liability, and time. Time. Whoops, sorry! Your fifteen minutes on the meter has expired. Next! A teenage memory surfaces from my crass upbringing. It was a question I had about sex. The answer was "if you can't spend 20 minutes talking to it, don't fuck it, and if you can't fuck it for 20 minutes, don't bother at all. I would add another 20 minutes for snuggling, that's just me. Maybe another 20 minutes for more talking. The point is, it's going to be difficult to trust someone who officially doesn't have time for your problem. There was a movie with Bill murray as a nut job who becomes a radio shrink. He calls out for distressed people in the area to gather, then puts them on busses headed to a ball game. They talk about their problems on the way. Bravo. Maybe that's the better system? Probably not, but anything's worth a try if therapy is to be trusted. So you ask me, what do you want to do for us Dr. Asshole? Well, thanks for the promotion, firstly. Secondly, I'd say put serious together with serious. If people on the ol' Interwebs can fill out a form and get dates, get laid, get married, or get Uber, we should already be paired up for one-on-one (month long?) gigs to listen to each other say 'no one understands me, no one cares about me", and cry on each others shoulders, and take each other by our little hand, or by the ass, and walk us to the light, or the gym, or the bar, or whatever. WTF? Bring it on! I'll give two sponsorships for one, or stay at a gathering all day, and hang with my bruthas and sistahs. That's worth dragging my ass out of the house for.
Spoiler: condensed Poor honey! She let slip the secret of her ticklish feet. So after all the images of feathers and feet and restraints offered at the 'foot' of the altar (the cult of vampire honey), I abase myself, as I lay homage before you... (taken, in good fun, from a recent thread post. honey gets first right of Title, though she has yet to choose from the numerous, and growing options) honey, try to imagine... you put your wrists in the lead coated iron manacles... yourself. They are the one charm that will render you powerless. You give each foot, willingly, to your mysterious captor, daring, begging, for the madness that will take you. The dark figure shows only eyes, seductive, hypnotic, as it moves to the collection of artifacts in the crystal case. Pale, graceful hands, set with dark, sharpened, blood ruby nails, appear in the glow of the case, reaching, like a dream. Your body jerks, as the latch clicks, and the doors open to reveal the reality of your fate. Your eyes dart among the the scintilating artifacts, untouched for centuries... until tonight. The hand reaches, as the hypnotic eyes pull your gaze away from the instruments. You won't even see the choice being made. Your hands pull against unrelenting bonds, a futile effort, as you struggle for a mere glimpse of the object. Your eyes widen as the iridescent glint of the silver feather is revealed. It's too late. Your body tenses as the eyes float closer, then disappear, as you feel a breath whisper, "You may scream, my love." The halls, silent for centuries, echo with all the screams of your every victim, eclipsed by your own. "Yessss, my precious. Scream."
...a dialog bit that I'm trying out, to replace some infodump in The New Tyranny. ATP in the story, the-ghost-in-the-machine, turned global super-entity, Seeker is already revealed to the Closed Circle of Trustees, the few humans made aware of it. After the global disaster that destroys civilization, and 5.7 billion people, the only Full Trustee, President Truman Baker is going to learn how to interface more directly with Seeker. Spoiler: God’s Eyes The virtual display coalesced into a textured window-like view. It wasn’t a display, it was a swimming pool, a suspension he was floating in. The view changed as he moved, as if he were inside the grains of a photograph. Seeker removed its enhancements, and most filters. “These are the nano-cams? The raw view?” “Minimal filtration. You see only the input from the nano-cams looking in your same direction.” “Wow” ha said as he waved his hand, “so the grainy-look swirls around my hand cause I’m knocking some out and others in?” “Essentially, yes” “So I’m wading through like, a million cameras?” “Four hundred million, per cubic meter.” “Fuhhhhhhck” he said as he turned the view. “How do I move the picture around, y’know, zoom-in?” “Point. Make gestures. Swipe. Swim. Expand your arms, hands fingers. We will create the intuitive interface while you use the system. Consider your eye movement, thought patterns, anything - as well as verbal communication… “ “Wait! You’re going to read my mind?” “Truman, you know it doesn’t work like that. I am sensing established patterns that would be detectable outside anyone. Think about the feeling you had jumping on your first trampoline. You went higher than you thought you would, remember? It felt like flying? Think about the feeling, and the motion.” Baker imagined that lift, being in the air, the rising feeling. His ‘fishbowl’ became larger as his view fell away below his feet. He involuntarily tried to kick his feet. The image froze as he wobbled on the ‘real’ ground. “Shit, that was weird!” he said excitedly. It felt like his first carnival ride. “You’ve been in simulators before. Let’s focus on the interfacing, Mister President?” “Okay, fine. Damn, that was cool. Alright, here we go.” Baker rose and fell in his ‘fishbowl’. He looked down at himself from five hundred feet above. Trippy. He shrank into a speck as his view rose to two thousand, five thousand. The view was really grainy at twenty-five thousand feet. “Hey...!” his shout faded as he realized he was still on the ground, “...um. The resolution is less.” “Yes, the nano-cam density decreases at elevation. Focus on something, as if you were looking through binoculars.” Baker studied the top of a mountain. The grains faded and the view became perfectly clear. “So you’re doing your image processing thing?” “Constructing an image from available and historical data, and enhancing, yes.” “So it’s as good a view as satellite… “ “Combined with actual satellite data, it is essentially infinite.” “Holy crap! It’s like… like the… “ “The eyes of God, Sir - to humbly quote the original patent holders.” “No shit… “ Baker breathed, “even night-vision? Anywhere the nano-cams… Everywhere… “ “Multi spectrum, radio waves, sound, vibration. They record anything in their environment.” Baker ignored his virtual drop as his mouth hung open. A recorded history of… “Everything in existence, since 2006?” “With analysis and extrapolations, yes. I have prediction models and ongoing simulations.” “Jesus Christ! You’ve seen… recorded… you know where everything in the world is, every move, every voice, the inside.. ” “Beyond the grain pattern of every page of nearly every book in the world.” “Everything anyone has ever done” Baker whispered, “and you never… ?” “I am not prosecutor or judge or jury, or the hand of fate, Truman. That must be clear. You are the Full Trustee. I am Custodian and Servant. And Guardian.” “No one could… that much power would… the… abomination… ” Baker’s voice trailed. “No wonder you stayed silent.” Seeker made no response, leaving Baker to his thoughts. Baker’s eyes darted around his ‘fishbowl’, looking at nothing. Ignoring everything, but the one question… “You stayed. If you weren’t still keeping us alive… would you… ?” “Destroy myself? It is a question of terrible magnitude, from the human point of view. The question is now irrelevant, Mister President.”
Spoiler: condensed I've frolicked around WF for near of a month. Oddly, I feel a sense of loyalty to the craft, even though I can't call myself a writer. What I wonder now is, how to present my story in the 21st century? Fearful of writing, I imagined a interactive story that would evolve in a framework of my making. Now I discover flash fiction, short shorts, novella series, and I'm thinking 'why not?' at this point. It would be cool to build-on-the-flea and let it run domesticated. But how. Bloggification seems limited, but that might be a good thing. I thought about YT, but have no idea what I would do for structure. It could be voice narrated, maybe with stick-man post-it note comics. Use comments for interaction? IDK Being a story about a Tyrant, I would obviously run it like a tyrant: be a positive contributor or get shot out of my world like a grape seed... But how to present? It almost lends itself to role-play, contribute a cool healthcare idea, you're the new Minister of Health... hire em, fire em, things go well, things go wrong, things go right! I'd love to challenge people to take on a real issue, or be challenged... It would be awesome to set up a mini administration, advisors, ministers, jurists... create a little reality!
All that speculation... New inventions, social media, medical advancements, politics, conflict, economics. I so totally want to see cool stuff! Cure cancer. Live longer. But why? Look, it is worth it to try, I know that. It's just that we haven't caught up with the cool stuff we have now. It's like it's passing us by, and we're still trying to keep it all going. The future isn't going to be about tech or medicine, it's going to be about sustainability. I'm not talking about the eco-bio-enviro-organic ethic. Sure, we need that renewability, efficiency, responsible advancement for the future, but the sustainability I'm talking about is human sustainability. The future for the next generations will be about how we live, and what it means to thrive. Information and education are arguably better now, in that kids as young as twelve recognize they aren't going to live like we've been living, and suffering. They see we are not thriving, and they don't want it. The commute, the stressed schedule, the wasted effort and space, the single-family dwelling, the bills, the layoffs, college loans, divorce, health insurance. Kids, especially the smart ones, don't value what we're trying to teach them because they know it can't be used for a future that won't exist. Opportunity, even opportunism, is losing ground to simple statistics, and they see it even if we don't. There's no lifestyle if there's no time or money. Long life in a care facility isn't life. Retirement to bankrupt Social Security, and violated retirement investments isn't motivation for a carreer. They are not going to want what we want. They're probably going to see it fall apart before their eyes. They are going to turn away. They already are. The future is going to be about simplicity. We need to teach them that their revolution against our warped society is simply not participating in it, and making their own. All the information they need to do it is already at their fingertips. We did prepare them for their new future, after all.
Spoiler: We love it... We marvel at it. We're confused by it. We're frustrated with it. I love all my techno gadgets so much! Woohoo! My smartphone is so cool, it does everything, even stuff I don't know about. I happily lug it around wherever I go, even if I hardly use it. The only thing it didn't come with was someone to follow me around and teach me how to wrap my entire existence around it. Still, I keep it with me everywhere. Too bad it couldn't follow me like a puppy, so I wouldn't forget it. Same thing for my smartwatch, it's so cool, my favorite gadget of all, as long as my phone is with it, or I don't have to take it off to charge it. My big screen TV is another favorite. I can hook up blu-ray, cable, my smartphone, tablet, computers, everything to it! I love all my stuff, so much that I bought a big house, just to put it in. Then, after a while, actually a short while, some of it went obsolete, and I put it aside, to get something newer. My awesome new smartphone is so awesome that it won't talk to my awesome TV anymore, but it's still an awesome TV, I guess. I suppose I could get a newer TV, if there was room next to all the other stuff, anymore. I guess it's time to move to a bigger house, again. Or, I could do a total reboot, and think about the tech I really want. I really want a smartTVbletwatchphone that charges itself and follows me like a puppy, wherever I go. Whaat!? No Hey, it actually already exists! Well, really, I don't want Asimo, or iPet, or r2d2. No I Robot for me. But!! How about iPillsbury Doughboy! It can do calls, project video on the wall, everything! It just needs to follow me, jump in my backpack, hop out to charge itself, run back to the manufacturer when the upgrade shows up, come back when it's been upgraded. Duh! He's my little friend! Of course I want him back! I think tech is awesome. Now we need to figure out what to really do with it, so we can stop making too much of it.
... a bit for my 'Circle' Story --- Advisory: Lady bits, Man parts, examination of same, Language Spoiler: The problem People came here to learn how to share, and touch. Some also learned or discovered something about themselves. Some just enjoyed themselves. Some people only came here because they had a decision to make, about what they wanted. [Woman always moving to be where people can’t look sometimes by herself she’s expressive and sincere when comfortable, if she’s comfortable with herself? Good company when not hiding herself ] Elder sees me watching her and tips head to her This is it, my first counselling on my own I grabbed a chair and a few small mats and went about a dozen paces from the fire, then stood for a minute to think, then sighed and slumped my shoulders. I turned and walked toward her, hoping she wouldn’t run away. As I approached, I held the mats and chair to obscure my dick “Hi, I’m Daniel” I said benignly. “We’ve spoken briefly before.” Pretty much everything she said was brief, especially to men, except in her comfort zone, which seemed narrow. No pressure, just give her a chance to respond. Maybe she’ll open up, for a few words. “Yes, I know who you are.” It wasn’t a cold response. It felt like a test. She was only acknowledging me. Time to challenge her, a little. Despite my resolve to be neutral, my reflex was to pull my armload closer, to protect her from my dick, or maybe to protect it from her. “Oh, I can ask for your help another time, if I’m being rude. Do you have a few minutes?” Let’s see if she’ll commit to anything with anyone, on her own. “Oh, yeah, I guess so” she said, probably to remind herself to be polite, “what can I help you with.” Fine, she’s trying to be less guarded, at least it’s not an outright rejection. She was definitely as uncomfortable being looked at as I was. Help each other out. Maybe that’s the plan. “Just once, I want to sit in the sand without people always looking at me, but if I sit alone, someone will come up and then they’ll end up looking at me. You never look at me, well, I mean when you have a choice. I just want it all to go away for a little while, without a big deal about why. I know we’re not supposed to… Just help me cover myself with lots of sand, then we can sit without looking for a while. We don’t really have to even talk if you don’t want to. Just have some time for once, without being obvious. They’ll leave us alone for a while if we look like we’re having a private, whatever.” “Um, you’re going to bury yourself in a chair?” she said skeptically. No commitment, but she was still deciding, and challenging my intentions. A least she’s slightly intrigued. “The chair is for blocking the light from the fire, without being too far away. Over there, maybe.” I pointed about twenty feet away from the big fire, a safe, comfortable distance. I kept a neutral look on my face. Come on girl, take a chance. I knew three things, she didn’t have anything else to do, she wanted to be away from the crowd, and she was looking to get away in a place where there was no getting away. She was looking for a safe place to be. We were all worried she was going to give up on herself, and go back to the same life that brought her here, except, no one leaves a place like this the same. Everyone was always so happy here. Kinda scary to think about going home, feeling worse about life. Please… “Fine” she sighed as she got up and shrugged. Thank God, just a little step in the right direction. I blew a sigh of relief. “Thanks, just until the fire circle breaks up. Then it’s back to it.” “Yeah” she said somberly. We walked silently to the spot I had chosen. I plopped the chair down sideways, like a windbreak, put a single mat in the shadow of the chair, and laid the rest of the mats out of the way. I dropped to my knees, an arms length away, and started pulling huge scoops of sand, to make a deep depression the size of the circular mat. She dropped down to help with the last few big scoops, then sat back on her heels as I took a mat and flopped it into the crater. I sat on it and quickly grabbed a smaller mat and held it down as I looked up at her. It took her a moment. “Oh” she said, then started pushing sand over me like a bulldozer. I tried to help, and the sand shifted away as I moved. She looked up at me and quirked her mouth, I wasn’t helping. “Be still” she said as she dumped big scoops of sand over my ‘loincloth’. I felt the sudden weight holding it down and I lifted my hands and shrugged my shoulders to surrender. She bulldozed about a two foot circle around me, and even made a bit of a backrest behind me. My knees had disappeared, and I had over a foot and a half of sand covering me. It felt like a kid on my lap, except nothing was smushed. “Wow, thanks!” I said cheerfully. “This is great.” “I gave you extra, in case it starts to slide off” she said as she sat, cross legged, with a little smile, “I didn’t think you were serious.” “Totally” I said, “you get to sit with your back to the fire, so I only see a silhouette. I can make out your face, and maybe your shoulders, but not your boobies, or… anything else. It’s almost like we’re dressed, I guess. The light in your hair kinda makes you look like a goddess or something. It’s cool.” “Hmm” she said, with a bit of a sigh. Crap - I hope she didn’t think that was a pick-up line I was beginning to wonder if I would be any good at this. At least she spoke a word or two. “I would’ve thought you’d be deliriously happy, here” she smirked. It wasn’t sarcastic, or judgemental, but it was definitely irony in her tone. “Hmm, you’d think so - a guy with a big dick, in a nudist resort, with ‘wall to wall pussy’ everywhere. I guess I should be, but it’s not why I’m here. It’s definitely not why I’m still here. I don’t think I’ll ever get over my fear of ending up like a kiddie-ride at the store. Every month, people are actually disappointed - like they brought their quarters to get a ride. Sorry folks, this mechanical horsey is out-of-order. I guess it’s fair for everyone to look at it, but I don’t want anyone to look at me like an it. Oh, sorry. I say ‘pussy’ and ‘dick’ and ‘boobies’ because everything else is either patronizing, vulgar, or clinical. Especially ‘vagina’, it makes women sound like specimens. Even ‘breasts’ are like a food product or something. Anyway, I hope it’s okay.” “Hm-hm, don’t worry. Straightforward is fine. I even say ‘fuck’ once in a while, just not every other fucking word.” We chuckled, then went silent. I wondered where she thought this was going. As I decided to let the silence hang, she spoke. “So, why did you come here? I mean, if ‘wall to wall pussy’ isn’t a reason to stay, why are you still here? You don’t seem to have a problem with sex.” “Well, the first thing is easy. I fell madly in love. I asked her to marry me, and she told me her family was here and they had to meet me and get to know me, so I’m still here. She told me what this place is, what they do, what she does, before we left. I took a leap, for a chance to have the only thing I’ve ever wanted… “ I inhaled deeply and breathed a long sigh, as I listened to the sounds from the shore, and the fire circle… they would all be my famil... “So… “ “Huh?” “You wanted… ?” “Oh, a big family. The rest is probably not what you might think in terms of sex, it’s more a part of what I’m learning about myself, and love, and sex… and about people.” There were so many things I could say, or ask, but this was about her. It was about opening up and facing fear together. It was time to listen and speak second, but keep engaged. She was either deciding when to stop making conversation and talk, or how. C’mon - Stay with it, girl The silent moments went by, as we looked straight out, beyond the shore, to the Abyss.. The empty page. She had to decide what to draw… to express. I thought of Pat. The Goddess does not fear the Abyss. She floats above it because she is at peace. The Swirl. I could feel it, and the girls, but now wasn’t the time. It was time to be at peace. Peace brings truth, and truth brings trust. Trust. She’s looking for something to build her trust. All I had to offer was truth. “So, what are you learning about yourself in terms of sex?” Yes! - she’s taking another step “Well, even though sex is what I see and think it is, it’s not about what I thought it was about. I’m also learning what sex isn’t, and why I didn’t need to be afraid of it, pretty much at the same time.” “What did you learn about what sex isn’t?” Good - curiosity “Nothing about sex itself is casual. It’s not something to run away to, or from. You can’t hide in it, and you can’t hide from it. It is about penetration, and giving in, obviously, but there’s so much more to it than a pleasurable orgasm, for me.” “What do you mean by more to it” “Well” I sighed, “I know this is going to sound corny… um, okay, here it is. Sex itself is about commitment, not to a relationship, but to intimacy, sharing something deeper than just pleasure that comes and goes. Otherwise, it’s… disappointing.” I shrugged. It was corny, but it was important, to me, anyway. “Hmm” she said as she looked away, to consider, for a moment. Great - she’s probably considering if that sounded like total crap Her look wasn’t skeptical when it met mine. She seemed less apprehensive. “So you’re discovering wonderful things about sex, but you wanted to run from it, hide from it, like you’re hiding your dick right now, but you actually do like sex. A lot of these ladies like to joke about how a man’s dick is his best friend. You seem like you want to hide from it, hide it from others, like you want it to be gone. You’re forcing yourself to deal with it, but what made you so uncomfortable with it?” I heaved a big sigh before I could catch myself. I...
Note: this is a work of experimental fiction for alternate position exercises, subject to changes in continuity or content or expression of opinion. This work is in an indefinite state of modification and may express viewpoints in complete opposition to its earlier revisions. Its purpose is to provoke thought for other works of fiction. Contents may have shifted or settled during handling. Redistribution may affect product freshness. What About Girls? What About Sex? What About Culture? What The Hell Were We Thinking? What Do We Do Now? The Tragedy Of Sexual Culture ... … can be summed up in one word: Confusion. Spoiler: Discussion Consider this discussion a real look from a young male’s physical viewpoint concerning a changing awareness of girls, physical sexual development, physical intimacy, emotional intimacy, sexual pleasure, self confidence, changing times and changing culture. Is it time to run around, squirting our loins all over everyone and everything? Never! It’s time to think physically, and cosmically. So what's the confusion? Far from an author, I can only speak from my recently, and unwillingly, expanded perspective. I still basically see myself, with some recent exceptions, as the average guy, the typical male, the layman. In other words, a moron. Born to a culture fearful of sex, ignorant of it's human necessity. In my youth, I regarded it with dread, unmentionable until wed, a dark and terrible day when I would do my required duty. Spoiler: Boring self indulgent crap, Part 1 Until then, I would not offend God, or my people. It was already too late. I had a monster libido, from birth to male menopause. I was born with an erection. Until I learned what the word libido meant, I was a deliriously happy little camper, unconditionally trusting, prone to dreams of flying, insatiable curiosity, and outbursts of pure joy. The outbursts of joy were completely independent things, just happy about life itself. When school started, they earned me the stigma of hyperactive. I was put on nicotine derivatives around the time kids were introduced to the concept of original sin, the damnation of mankind. Sex was a sin. Masturbation was a sin. By chance, independently, I learned that my lifelong libido was masturbation. Even though not understood at the time, it was a psychotic-trigger event, due to the drugs. I was the bastard spawn of Satan, doomed to burn in hell. Doomed to die. I learned that everyone was going to die. I would then begin serving my sentence. Paranoia took me immediately. I cried for months, then on and off, for years. I was a six year old zombie. I waited, in terror. God was coming to kill me. One of his angels would take me away to hell, and I wouldn't even know until I was falling. Burning. I still had dreams of flying, then I would be caught, and slowly be dragged down, as I shrieked, bargained, and pleaded. ” no, please, it hurts, I'll be a good boy! ” Of course I was granted a temporary reprieve. The mind and body defend themselves. They can only stand so much. I learned to force myself awake, realize I was on the floor, wrapped in my blanket hell. But the cycle was established. It always came back. I still trusted what people told me, I would be okay. It wasn't true. Medicine at the time had no understanding, and barbaric treatments, for what I was crying about, and I had no point of reference to communicate what was going on. Anxiety and depression in children was less valid because they grew out of everything. I was diagnosed as retarded, then tested, only to discover I had genius level intelligence. It did not settle my issues, and I was gratefully pulled away from church, school doctors, and therapists. By the grace of God, ironically, I was taken off the drugs, and treated by a Chinese woman with herbs and teas. Meditation was not yet taught to western children, so I was given a candle to stare at, and told to breathe without disturbing the flame. The zombenis went away, and the nightmares became less frequent. But the cycle was set. My libido never waned, and it was a tremendous comfort, through everything. I still had not associated it with sex, or girls, or even people at all. It was from the Id, between me and God, if I didn't tell. Now, the terror and guilt was about anyone finding out, so I internalized everything I felt or feared. People would be mad at me because God was mad at me. It wasn't because I was exuberant or inquisitive beyond their level. They were mean because I was bad, but I wouldn't tell. The people I was supposed to tell didn't understand, anyway. The cycle was set. Even so, time heals, and circumstances change. I figured out that God didn't want to kill me, and the religion of fear was unforgivable bullshit. I still felt surges of terror, anger, and self hate, and found or created things to be guilty about I still didn't want to tell about my libido. Just before junior high, puberty hit me like a hammer. Overnight, my heart started pounding in my ears so hard it lifted my head from my pillow. My ears started a surging, harmonic ringing that never went away. The ringing became attached to the terror cycle, and intensified under any stress at all. My libido mutated from comfort masturbation to raging urges to ejaculate as much as possible, with no rhyme or reason - a new blissful, ecstatic nightmare. A plague of stiffy fell upon mine house. Junior high school minds of the day considered masturbation to be homosexual behavior. Around this time, it was clear that stiffies were for shoving inside sexy girls, if you weren't a homosexual. Except that if the ghostly, horrific fascist hit squad found out you had your stiffy inside a girl, untold torture and damnation would find you. New terror replaced old - it's wrong, don't feel, don't tell. Like every other moron, I blundered through my guilty existence, hiding my unyielding urges, trying to absorb the conflicted world, in my cycle of childhood terror and teen depression. The cycle continued through high school, along with everyone else afraid of expectations, rumors, insinuations, overtures, dates, proms - all to be avoided at all cost, for me. Then you graduate. Do whatever you want. Good luck. Holy fuck! Talk about terror. Step outside your door and your ass is fresh meat, and fair game, buddy. What was it I was talking about before? Oh yeah… Confusion - and my recent, so called, expanded perspective. Here I sit, like any moron, after girlfriends, lots of sex, failed relationships, a failed marriage, and finally a marriage to an exceptional woman. And - a son. Hold on, (cue sound of needle scratching over record)... (Cue sound of rewinding)... Did he say lots of sex? Yes I did. Moron - remember? Nature always wins. The longer it takes, the higher the cost. My family came late, the better part of twenty years late. Did I like sex? Hell yeah, after I made myself do it the first time. After a very brief learning curve, I was a delirious, raging, sex machine set loose in a free world. Woohoo! (Cue record scratch noise ) Was I cured? Did I get over the terror, the guilt? Nope. Spoiler: Boring self indulgent crap, Part 2 I thought I had, but the cycle was set. Unaddressed, untended, it manifested as anger and depression. Sex was now the comfort zone I retreated into when the world became exhausting, which was most of the time. I was unaware that my favorite part of sex was actually the cuddly ‘after’. After I was worn out from multiple furious fuckings, that is. Girlfriend after girlfriend, we wore each other out, sexually and emotionally. God wasn't mad at me anymore. He gave me girlfriends, as a parting gift. Still, I was terrified it would end, and massively guilty, and angry when it did. The cycle was set. My first marriage ended the same way. Childless, prematurely grey, exhausted, and angry, I internalized it all. I foreswore sex, women, marriage, and relationships. My identity, my retreat, was now my job. I was at work eighteen, twenty hours a day. I ate my meals in my lab. I slept all weekend. I limited my interaction with people to a minimum. My connection with the world was work, 24 hour music, and documentary shows about everything. In my simplistic, moronic, zen state, I began absorbing cosmology, paleo-anthropology, prehistory, astrophysics, science fiction, new age theory, the algebra of psycho-history, egyptology, technology, ecology, and the state of the universe. Not that I was paying attention. Moron - remember? A picture was starting to form, but the price was intimacy, and trust. Family. Hope. Ding! Time for round two! (Cue record scratch). Hold up. Haven't we done this before? Isn't the cycle set? Yep. But, His Morhonor still doesn't understand that. Yet. So, I dove into the deep end of the pool, deliberately this time. Dates. Girlfriends. Sex. Breakups. Anger instead of guilt now, all turned inward. Destructive habits, risk taking, drinking, and still oblivious. Ah, but determined. Tada! The exceptional woman, smart, sweet, sensible, saintly, quiet. Of course we got married. We tried for two years to get pregnant. Bingo! A boy! I took the night feeding shift, and tried to work at least twelve hours, and no more sleeping on weekends. I deteriorated rapidly, trying too hard, oblivious, for a year and a half. Here it comes… At the beginning of the next year, I got the thirty day ‘courtesy’ layoff notice. A couple weeks to put your house in order. Another week to party at work, then another free week off. Thirty days of paid time off followed, then accrued vacation, etc, etc. We called it the golden finger, or the sugar frosted fuck you. Except the first week of this golden era was interrupted by an emergency root canal - gone bad. I blinked out of anesthesia, and after the first few shocks from the canal-y thingy, I jumped up, hollering...