Posts Tagged ‘Porn’

Relatively Speaking

December 8, 2008

I tell you what I don’t understand – people that walk up and down escalators. Especially at 7.45am.

Unless you work at the International House of Blow Job Receivership, your job is not that important that you need to RUN there. And, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the stairs are already moving. Those things are doing the hard work for you – why on earth do you need to then walk up/down them at the same time? Perhaps they just like the sensation of moving really quickly.

Last night, I got home pretty late – but I couldn’t sleep. After tossing (steady…) and turning until around 1am, I gave up the idea of getting some shut eye, and went downstairs to watch some television – a rarity for me – knowing it would bore me to sleep. At 1am, you have the choice of the following:

• endless shows urging you to ‘win’ dogshit products by texting the answer to such questions as ‘what is the 25th December also known as?’ or ‘what it 2+2?’, at the cost of just £1,000,000 a text for as many texts as they decide to send you for the next 1,000 years.
• Infomercials starring so called ‘fitness experts’, advising you to buy whatever powder, drink or piece of gym equipment they have mortgaged their homes to be able to produce.
• Frasier
• Really bad music videos with Beyonce singing about how independent she is, and what a strong role model she is for all womanhood. Whilst wearing a bikini. Irony alert!
• Porn. Bad porn.

So last night, I’m flicking around the stations, and eventually, I get to the ‘porn’. I’m a fan of porn as much as the next guy, but what I saw ain’t porn. What I saw shocked and disturbed me to my very core.

Essentially, the ‘show’ consisted of what looked like a council-flat single mother (for my American readers, think ‘white trash’) vaguely fondling herself as her gut rolled and flopped all over the place, wearing what must have whatever underwear she could find just before she left the house.

Perhaps more concerning was that as people texted in their comments, our host would pretend to get more and more turned on, and would let out a unintentionally hilarious moan, whilst fondling even more. No one seemed to notice, it seemed, that the fondling was essential, as every occasional time she let go, it became rather evident that her breasts would be somewhere near her knees.

I’m all for giving ugly women a chance in life – we’re all equal and all that – but porn just isn’t for ugly people. It just doesn’t work. However, if you’re absolutely INSISTENT that I need to see an ugly person whilst watching porn, homegirl needs to be able to do some spectacular shit, like blowing me whilst doing a handstand, or making sparks fly out her ass or something. But ugly fat women porn? Just say no, folks. I know I did.

‘Cathy’s attempted seduction of me aside (and my subsequent vomiting in my own mouth a little) this weekend was most notable for a return to some very, very unwelcome pre-process shit. Anxiety. I got lots of it.

The truth is that I have a great deal on my plate at the moment, and though I am dealing with it in a far better way than I ever have before, I am still prone to anxiety, and this weekend, I think I finally felt the results of the week just passed.

Once upon a time, when I didn’t recognise that I was carrying all my anxiety and stress in my chest, I was convinced that I was continually suffering from a series of mild heart attacks. Seriously. I was occasionally get searing pains in my chest, that would completely disable me, causing my enormous pain, like someone was poking me with a spear in my chest. It got so bad that a doctor made me wear a heart monitor for a couple of days, just to check my hear t rate.

It turned out not to be my heart, and I eventually wrote it off in my head as just a ‘thing’ I’d have to live with, and, every so often, I’d keel over in pain, short of breath and clutching my chest, convinced it was all psychosomatic. Later, during my process, I learned all about where I carried all my stress, and the whole thing made a bit more sense.

Last week, I was seriously stressed about my exams, which fed rather nicely into the exacerbation of anything else that was even mildly getting to me. I was beating myself up nice and good for not doing any revision, still not revising anyway, and thus creating a nice little vicious circle for myself. I eventually got my shit together, but, evidently, the damage had been done. This Saturday, my old friend chest pains came back. Fucked my shit right up.

That aside, I learned something very important. And that is that everyone has a story, and that pain and emotional heartbreak, no matter how small or great in relative terms, always has a significant impact on the lives of those who live it.

Though my story may be more fraught than yours, and you may know someone with a far worse life than mine, empathy is the greatest gift you can give or receive. This weekend, I listened to someone open up to me, and later, I did the same. And it was beautiful.

I hope you find beauty in your days today.

All my love,
Closed Box

A Wonderful, Visual, Poetic Journey. And Other Shit.

September 15, 2008

Though this entry is posted today, (Monday morning) I have a small confession to make – it is currently 7.30pm on Sunday, and I writing this with a large breakfast tea and lemon and orange muffin by my side in a (relatively) close by Starbucks.

 

Those of you who have been paying attention will remember my Friday entry – for what it was – where I described the coming weekend as one spent alone, getting used to the idea of just being me; recognising all the old crappy patterns if and when they come up, and generally practising some good old fashioned self love. (Meant non-pornographically)

 

I wish to report some resounding success. This weekend has passed without incident (read: pattern) and I have allowed this state of relaxation and ‘me’ time to open my mind, and I have made a number of decisions, and come to some really rather stark realisations.

 

Those of you with an even better memory may remember an entry from some time ago, where I described a huge desire to go out to the nearest Starbucks, and sit pretty much where I am now, blogging away in a desperate attempt to look poetic, and to be noticed. I’d just like to make clear that this trip here this evening has nothing to do with any feelings like that; rather, I have spent an entire weekend stuck within the confines of my house, and was going a little stir crazy. Add to that a severe lack of food in my house – unless you consider what my parents eat ‘food’. I’ll blog about my completely mental parents’ obsession with calories and fat and other nonsense one day. Someone ate half a Jaffa Cake the other day. HALF! – and a trip to Starbucks for a muffin was born.

 

I am a big fan of internal resolution, and I’m pretty good at it, too. It was that same resolution which, some years ago, allowed me to look yet another line of coke in the face, and go ‘not this time’, and that same resolution that allowed me to quit the many many many many many other vices I have lived to enjoy, but ultimately know to be no good for me – smoking, I miss you!

 

So this weekend, I have had another one of my famous moments of internal resolution. And it’s about women and sex, a favoured subject of this occasionally amusing, and often baffling blog.

 

In one of my many moments of thought this weekend, I began to think about the sort of relationship I have with the fairer sex, and the sort of women I seem to attract. The women I see generally fall into one of two categories:

 

  1. The needy: I engulf them in passion and fill that hole in their lives before sleeping with them and pissing off, or some variation on ‘the dynamite effect’, a process of anticipation/KABOOM!/damage, or…
  2. Madonna/Whore: These are generally longer-term projects, or, as they are more popularly known, girlfriends. Madonna/Whore is, I stress, not my saying, but rather it refers to the sort of woman who you can happily take on a family outing for finger sandwiches, but would also like a finger sandwich of a different sort on the car ride home. Oh, they’re the best. Sigh.

 

I think, historically, it would be fair to say that I have always gone for the wrong sort of woman. Sometimes, the attraction and subsequent failure has been either my fault; by means of deliberate espionage or general post-coitus disinterest, and sometimes, it’s been them – either I’ve been too mental, or not mental enough in the long term. And sex. Basically, all my relationships, whether they’ve been for 5 minutes or 5 months, have all been about sex. If you want a long term relationship with me, the absolute best thing to do is to not sleep with me. And I mean EVER. Sad, but very true.

 

So this weekend, I made a decision. And I feel as though this one is real – it has that same air of finality that I felt when I made the decisions I mentioned above. And that is to start looking for a different sort of person; and I don’t mean look in an Indiana Jones, whips-and-gold-mines sort of quest – perhaps a better way to describe it would be to ‘become aware of’ or even ‘limit myself to’ a nicer sort of girl. For all the fuck ups, sexual freaks and desperately needy women in the world, there are an equal number of genuine and pleasant women out there – I’m convinced of it. And I think that is what I need. I just feel as though… Oh I don’t know… I am kind of ‘done’ with the world I once inhabited. Those regular readers will know my dismay at occasionally finding myself inhabiting an impulsive world I am not entirely comfortable with, and I just feel as though I have grown a little past that. I am not stupid enough to think this won’t mean I get ‘the horn’ from time to time, or I will suddenly will see someone and not think ‘I wonder if the curtains match the drapes’, but I have come to realise recently that having those feelings and urges unfulfilled from time to time is not the end of the world. In fact, it could be the making of it – my world, at least.

 

It has taken a long time for me to this point, and to make this choice – I have had to ask at what point do you stop trying to conquer the mountain of women there are in the world, and realise just why you’re doing it? I’m fairly certain that eventually, it stops being funny, and actually gets very self destructive and a bit silly, and worse, a bit sad.

 

The new question to myself is: what am I trying to prove? The new answer is: that you’re not THAT guy.

 

The really sad part of this all is that, ultimately, I’m a pretty nice guy, and I have a lot to offer; it was the patterns and the ways I acted which stopped me from living it. So no more of that, thank you. It’s time to set myself the challenge of not getting in your knickers…

 

It has taken time, and time is key to making any fundamental decision.

 

My friend Dom called me last week, and it was actually he which set many of these thoughts into motion. Dom is, like many I suspect, waking up in a post-process world where he has come to realise his pre-process life was a construct of a false him – and he doesn’t want it anymore.

 

I don’t want to get into this too much, mostly because now I’m sitting in my bedroom, and not in a Starbucks, I have lost my mojo a bit, but also you can overcomplicate it quite easily…

 

The point is, and what I have learnt – and I am also conscious this blog entry is quite long, and I’ve not even started working off my notes yet – is that decisions with any sort of weight are generally the considered ones. Ok, that’ll do on that. It’s now 9:26pm, and I am tiring of the sound of my own voice, so you lot must be close to topping yourselves…

 

David’s Very Quick Review of the Weekend Which Was Originally Going to Be Much Longer

 

Friday

(a)    Had coffee with my friend Shira – tea for me.

(b)   Managed to get parking ticket, despite all the parking meters – I tried 4 – being out of order. Sending letter of appeal today. (Monday)

(c)    On way home, got rear-ended by some dipshit, who then proceeded to drive away at high speed. No real damage, but according to insurance people, I have to inform police. Luckily, I’m eagle eyed, and got the registration plate.

(d)   Discovered Republican candidate for Vice President Sarah Palin’s son in called Truck? TRUCK?!?!?!? That country is utterly utterly fucked.

 

Saturday

(a)    Went to gym. Make heap big sweat. Me man.

 

(b)   Watched a film called ‘The Fall’, (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0460791/) which was one of the most visually stunning experiences of my film-watching life. Quick story overview: Hospitalised man tells a story to a young girl in a 1920’s Los Angeles hospital – film shows the story through the imagination of the child. It’s directed by an Indian guy called Tarsem, who previously directed a bunch of adverts, music videos, and ‘The Cell’. Anyway, it was incredible. Here’s some images:

 

(c)    Watched a film called ‘Baby Mama’. (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0871426/) Apparently, this is a ‘comedy’, written by the very funny Tina Fey, who wrote ‘Mean Girls’ previously. Anyway, it wasn’t any good, or funny.

 

Sunday

(a)    Woke up late

 

(b)   Watched a film called ‘The Promotion’ (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0803057/) which was one of those drama/comedies, but wasn’t particularly either of those.

 

(c)    Watched ‘Pretty in Pink’ (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091790/) for the first time ever. I want to be a 16 year old in the 80s. Seriously.

 

And that was it until you joined me in Starbucks…

 

Now, it is Monday morning, and, as ever, I am sat at my desk, pretending to work when I’ve actually been editing this entry from last night. Strangely, that feeling of loneliness I was so happy about ‘overcoming’ hit me pretty hard last night when I got back from Starbucks. But, when a blog entry is this long, that’s certainly a story for another day…

 

Until next time, lots of love as always,

Closed Box

 

Free Sex!

August 19, 2008

There’s never a 70’s porn album lying around when you need one, eh?

 

How are you today blog fans? I am having one of those days where I don’t like the sight of my own face, and I look like I got dressed in the middle of a heavy beating. I’m not depressed – actually, I feel rather chipper – but I’m having whatever the equivalent of a bad hair day is when it applies to just… everything.

 

Anyway, the theme of today’s blog is love… down and dirty love.

 

Get your mind out of the gutter.

 

Yesterday, I received an email from a friend, who was beating himself up because he had lost the will to say ‘no’ to a second drink – a disaster for him, because he had been so proud and happy that this urge had gone after he left the process.

 

You know, I am not qualified to talk about much. Chicken sandwiches, which I pretty much live on… yeah, I could school you on that. Pointless, endless blogging? Yep, I can tell you all about that. And the ‘urge’? Oh you better believe I know about that.

 

Let’s talk about the ‘urge’ shall we?

 

Follow me here for a moment. The human emotion is a scale – 1 is depression, 5 is equilibrium, and 10 is… lets say, going with the theme, great, mind-blowing sex. Most people spend their lives actively fighting to stay at 5, but they do it by constantly searching for a 7 or 8, and the subsequent failure leaves them at around a 4.

 

Imagine going across the scale of 1 to 10, crossing at the number 5, is another scale, say… it’s labelled A-J, leaving a scale of human emotion looking like a ’+’ sign. This axis is your spiritual self (for my Hoffman people) or simply your conscious mind for those unfamiliar with this term. For example, you could be a ‘5A’, which would be settled, but unhappy about it/restless, or you could be … ‘1J’, which would be revelling in depression, and fully immersed in your so-called ‘dark side’. In this model, our centre point, and I suppose by definition our point of satisfaction, is ‘5E’.

 

Open a new word document at work at home, or wherever you are, and put a giant cross, as big as you can fit on the page, smack in the middle of it, and print it out.

 

Going clockwise, write a ‘10’ at the top axis, a ‘J’ at the right, a ‘1’ at the bottom, and an ‘A’ on the left. This is a (very) simple ‘me chart’.

 

Like I said – and I stress, this is only my contention, and by no means based in any other facts that I have thought up this morning over tea – most of us exist around the middle – a ‘3’ or ‘4’ when we’re in a bad mood, or our negative patterns are particularly evident, or a ‘6’ when we’re in a good mood.

 

Most of us are aware at any point that there is room for improvement – like if we’re at work, and we’re feeling a ‘6’, we’re probably saying to ourselves something like ‘I’d be so much happier with half an hour more sleep’ or ‘I shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine’.

 

Unfortunately, not ALL people exist within these barriers.

 

When we are fighting against something – depression, a bad mood, negative patterns – we normally try to combat this by actively engaging in behaviour or acts that allow us to feel something more, be it great sex, ‘I’m going to go out on Saturday and get smashed’, or perhaps retail therapy.

 

Temporarily, this raises our spirits to a ‘7’ or an ‘8’, but this is where the horizontal axis comes into play, as it is my contention that you’re actually sliding to the left, and to a ‘B’ or ‘C’ with it.

 

And this is probably about where the email yesterday came in. Realisation that you’re a ‘7B’ or an ‘8A’ leads to an immediate drop to around a ‘4’ or worse.

 

Mentally map what I am about to say. Let’s say my friend starts at a ‘5E’ one day. He goes for a drink, and enjoys the first one, which raises him to a ‘7G’ – a point of happy contentedness. Even though he is out having a good time, he wrestles with the prospect of that second drink, which drops him to a ‘7B’ or ‘7C’, at which point, when he finishes is, he drops to around a ‘4B’ or ‘4C’ as he feels disappointment that he couldn’t say no, or is drinking – which may have been one of his patterns. Now we enter a crucial phase, and this is where all our Hoffman teachings come into play.

 

At this point, depressives will drop further, possibly to a ‘2’ or ‘3’, before levelling off as the self-disgust (and/or other) fades away.

 

What I have learned, and what I hope my model will begin to illustrate, is to recognise when I am a, for example, ‘4C’. This self awareness, that I am entering a bad pattern or cycle, or beating myself up, should give some sort of relief, which takes us back to the middle, at which point (hopefully) relief takes us over the to right side (ie, ‘4H’) before returning us to our equilibrium point of ‘5E’.

 

Again, at this point, there is a danger. And this is where the urge comes in.

 

In the Hoffman Process, we learned much about vicious circles; how they affect and dictate to us.  Imagine our diagram above is a real place, and we’re walking it. If we follow what we have set out above, and we are heading towards the point of ‘5E’, imagine there is a sign before you, with two arrows and directional points. One says ‘give yourself a break’, and is labelled ‘5E’. The other, ‘the urge’, which is labelled ‘7H’. The direction you take is intrinsically linked to your levels of self love.

 

‘The Urge’ is a killer, make no mistake, but it is not the be-all-and-end-all. At any point, you can allow yourself to say ‘no’, turn around, or just allow yourself to be who you are. This stops the patterns repeating themselves, and, as my friend found out, the prospect of beating yourself up. ‘The Urge’ is most certainly that bit which takes you all the way to the ‘7H’, before dumping you much further down the road.

 

Corny as it may be, the simple process of ‘5E’, ‘7H’, ‘7C’, ‘4C’, ‘4H’, before returning back to ‘5E’ looks distinctly like heart – and that’s because, in this model, it’s about recognising that which we do, or get ourselves into, and allowing ourselves to exist.

 

I realise that what I have written for the most part is gibberish, but it is based in something very clear I have noticed, and since this is my blog, I can say what I like! *sticks out tongue* This model, this recording of behaviour, can actually help us identify what sets us off. Instead of crossing a mood on the map, sometimes (and I stress, this is mentally, I don’t walk around with pieces of paper with crosses on them) I write an event, so I can map how I am feeling. Say with eating – I indulge myself in eating something I really want – a popular choice here would be something with buckets of sugar in it (7H), which leads to regret (7B), beating myself up about it (3/4B) and then just letting it go. Mapping this in my head illustrates to me that one of my patterns/cycles is ‘indulgence = regret/self loathing’, and it stops me from repeating it.

 

Perhaps it would be worth just mapping your own today. I am no expert by any means, but its certainly worked for me, and whether you’re my friend beating himself up for that second drink or feeling ‘the urge’, or whatever it is that troubles you, at the very least, you’ll be self aware, and that’s what our entire process was about.

 

Do it, friends, I promise you, you’ll feel better for knowing. Then, you can give yourself a break, enjoy your life, have a second drink, and even, if its your poison, some good old fashioned guilt-free sex.

 

Until tomorrow

 

Yours incoherently,

Closed Box (6E today)

 

PS – Feel free to leave me a comment, perhaps even just a number and a letter, letting me know how you feel today.

 

PPS – Lots of new things to play with on the side of the blog. You can now easily access past posts either through the calendar, or the last ten entries are now listed at the top.