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| nas, sciforums, job, real estate, russell, central and eastern europe, female comedianne, drowned in sound uk, comic strip, free porn, peter cook and dudley moore, left, best in show, puff daddy, classified, singers, ip address, mario gallo, tvshows, u2, | Of course maybe I just wasn't looking hard enough, you know I always jump to snap sound bites conclusions about people. For example, maybe once he had wanted to chop his mum up to bits for burning the cheese on toast, but refrained. And weren't you always the first to tell me how my father really wasn't such a bad guy either, was just over-protective? But then you never had the fortune of seeing him purple in sound bites the face, dripping scotch-stinky sound bites sweat onto my skin. I hate to disappoint you, but he didn't look real honorable then. I wish I could get this ex-Catholic, ex-hippie code of yours, though. Wish I understood why sometime in the sixties you turned your back on a martyr God who causes the hearts of old women in babushkas to race with longing for a purity they will never reach, in favor of a sacrificed, ancient god of pleasure who makes the minds of intellectuals race with images of a frenzy they will never dare attain. |
Best Mature Paysites
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| Practical. Sterile. Dull. left So let's talk men for a moment. Men and the desire for chaos and pain. Now, I hope you'll excuse this politically correct generalization, but it seems to me pretty much a phenomenon of privilege to sit around all day glorifying anguish. That the bullshit about Dionysus affirming life by being torn to shreds is left easy to swallow if the closest you've ever come to being ripped apart is a titillating jaunt to the principal's office (or, shall we say, spending your youth at Schulpforta and your young left adulthood being lauded by the big dicks of Leipzig?) How quaint to speak of the nobleman (oh, sorry, was that two words?) loving his enemies, of villains in whom there is nothing to despise but ever so much to honor. I guess old Friedrich wasn't referring to the guy I met in Camden Town last month, the one who didn't own a toothbrush and forced my thighs apart with a sweaty, bristly knee, who kept me pinned beneath him on a stained mattress in his squat until after the sun was up, then tried to kiss me good-bye at the door. |
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