The Brunette Beauty on Twitter Tells The Blond Brute to Awake

When I first discovered porn, and of course by this I mean when I made the discovery of porn, the Magellan that I was coasting the high seas on my friend’s mom’s laptop while he was adrift in a dream during a sleepover, it was girls, kissing girls, that I found most extraordinary, revelatory, something-a-something, and worth jerking off to. 

It may have been because of being smothered by my mother, or that I could parry watching a girl with a girl into not breaking a sin as, of course sex according to the Bible is man and woman, this conglomeration of titties is just girls wanting to have fun. It may have been that I was too wimpish, too much a sissy, to watch an 18 year old get piledrived by a tank looking mofo on camera. Maybe even I thought girlies just looked more comfortable with another girlie… men naturally being predatory superfluous monsters. 

Whatever it was that led me to watch solely pornography featuring women, it was enough of a force to get me to watch every. single. day. of my adolescent life. Again I ponder, was it that my sack was ever drained that I never wanted to watch a full bodied woman laid out and railed by a full chested, thick armed man?

Why didn’t I have an unceasing desire & drive to turn off my iPod touch, or better yet snap it in half, and go find a pretty girl to undress and caress?

As I got older, into my teen years, I began to reckon that to be a man is to watch straight sex; watching girls fuck girls, that was just gay. So I did. 

I eased my way in with threesomes, still allowing for the gentleness that a woman loving on a woman allows, and only barely allowing for even the existence of a dick on the face of this Earth, apart from my own of course. It was fun, especially when I’d watch a scene with Riley… I always liked watching Riley. 

Riley Reid, the exemplar of the porn star. Setting aside everything with the recent controversy about porn being exploitative, which, as Ye has said, it is… Riley is a superstar. She always to me struck something transcendent. It was as if the camera wasn’t there for her, or that it was and she didn’t mind, or that she really deeply didn’t care that she was catching dick for millions of people to see, or that she knows intuitively that the whole thing about photographs “stealing your soul” or whatever, is baloney. Also I think she really just likes to fuck. 

Sometimes a threesome clip would be weird cause it would be as if everybody was trying too hard, like it was over written or over directed. After all the initial lines had been delivered, the brother had stumbled upon his step sis and friend changing, the stepmom had convinced the stepdaughter to let loose and strip in front of the tutor, the step daughter had told her stepdad how hot he was before the stepmom walked in on her taking off his jeans, even after this, the whole sex part was still off kilter. It was as if no matter how one of the female actors had been positioned on the couch, bed, etc., that the other was somehow to be super involved. “Uhh, lick his ass!” “Sit on her face! I don’t care if it’s impossible!” “Mhhuh… kiss her! No not like that! I know she’s riding him but you can figure it out!”

Homemade content, especially when it was a threesome, was my fav. Waaay more relaxed, way more congenial, and (darn it) really good when one of the girls just lets her pal get fucked really well by the boyf and doesn’t scizophrenically somehow get herself involved. 

Ok, I reckoned, a girl and guy together, this could be a good thing. In my own life I knew this to be true and I really liked kissing girls. That’s a specific statement I just made. I liked kissing girls. I also adored how pussy felt engulfing my finger, warm and wet and fluid and mhm. My dick though was not invited. That thing was a loose cannon not to mention (#christianity) to have actual intercourse with a girl is binding your souls together and it should be solely reserved for marriage. Other dudes were doing it and they seemed adjusted, confident, worth emulating; irrelevant. 

I did in fact start to drift into that more & more extreme sort of sinkhole of porn. Like weird stuff that I don’t want to mention, not because it’s actually that out there, but because it saddens me to think of what these women do to themselves sometimes on camera. 

Mostly what I watched was skinny unimposing girls getting fucked. Skinny girls with virtually nonexistent breasts I watched, which most likely was a result of my porn addled, cum lacking video game playing self slowly being deformed, mentally, spiritually & the rest, by the darkness that desires exactly that… me, deformed, unable, unfocused, accepting whatever’s been shlopped onto my plate. 

Over time I found my favorite accounts and even started watching some girls that actually did have breasts, but yet still the rest of them had a Barbie doll’s body, indeed the exact women that are responsible for the whole “unrealistic female beauty standards” thing. No, they are not in the wrong for being idyllic looking beings, but they were doing things to my brain and my perception of the world that I walked through, echoing beyond the refracted world of the phone that I stared through. 

Oh yes, an interlude. I had a dream that the dildo could replace the man. I was much like the girls in these videos that I watched in that way. I would watch them put their silicon schlongs up against the shower door, on a table or the floor, and I would watch them work themselves with those things. Don’t… watch the ones with the super sized schling-schlongs. Please, they’re scarring. 

Watching real couples together was by far my favorite way to enjoy pornography. There was much less anxiety and I felt far more not-totally-fucked-in-the-head after watching these videos. 

And yet, I had had enough. I was done with porn. Of course, like when I was done with weed, I wasn’t exactly. It took time and it took relapses, yes relapses. It took seeing the devil in me and doing what I could to outwit him the fucker, and often failing. It took backtracking, back away from hard sex, back to just girls with dildos, back to girls with girls, and then to photos and clips on Reddit of girls taking off their shirts. 

In time, I was actually not watching porn. Imagine that: NOT WATCHING PORN! For two days at a time even! I was good. It was better. There even came a day when I was turned on by a walking breathing flesh woman. Imagine that! 

I would still find myself back on Reddit searching for a freaking 19 year doing a flipping tit drop with a caption like “do older men like it when I post here?” and yea I would wank it to such. 

—

My story is not over (how lame am I for saying that). I strive for greater, subleter, fuller, lovelier; for me. And yet I am here to tell you one thing. Ok two things. 

I think, think, I never really came around to watching a guy with a girl in a porn scene because, I did not, do not, aspire to watch some other dude fuck a beautiful woman. I mean, what is that pleb shit? Get the fuck outta here with all that. It’s not even a matter of like, “No, I should be the one fucking her!” Naw, leave that shite to the fourty somethings in the comment section. It’s more than that. It’s fucking, what am I doing? Imma sit here and act like this girl is looking at me when I’m watching a POV? No. Always and every time that she’s getting truly good dick she’ll look away from the camera. Act like she doesn’t! Watch for it… the slight upwards glance as she’s lightly pushing on his thigh at which moment she has lost herself. No longer is this a porn video this is just her taking in this man’s uber, reflexively staring into the heat of the beast’s eyes. 

This second thing should be more inspiring to the potential coomer watching, and it’s this. When I search up the JadeTeen account on twitter and look at her gorgeous naked ass, I wanna do pull-ups. I wanna fucking punch something. I wanna fuckin depose a skumfuck politician. I wanna, I wanna…

Don’t be a prick. Porn is just a thing. Live life fully mate and don’t get dragged down by neurotic minutia. And don’t lie to yourself, Josh. 

post script – if you seek motivation to cut off the endless cumming, and become powerful, I recommend The Virile Powers of Superb Manhood, a great read from the year 1900, which can be found @ openlibrary.org for free

Where’s the revolution? I’m not there. Or rather, perhaps I am and it’s not me revolting but just revolving, spinning. I won’t be there in case you’re wondering. Like in les mes, they end up with empty chairs at empty tables. Freedom becomes tyranny and day becomes night. Hope is not the things of man, the things of governance and finance and policy. Hope is in the higher orders. Hope is in the undying, the infinite. Revolve around that for a second and I’ll see you there.

The idea of writing about this phenomenon is not to investigate how it came about or what it means, but rather to exact just how lame it is. Jogging today I saw one of the new model Tundras, excellent cars that have far outmatched the contemporary American truck style of hard lines and sporty proportions….. I mean look at how I just described this motorized carriage, it’s embarrassing. Anyway, as this truck passed me I was first caught by the whole of the thing and quickly glanced slightly downward in the same way I did when I saw the cutie Latina girlie with the mid section and high waisted jeans. Codoos to her for recognizing her jeans were sagging and pulling them way up, that’s wifey considerable. Back to the truck, upon lowering my gaze I was struck by the immaculate sharp font spelling out “TUNDRA” in semi mono spaced letters. I also always snatch a quick peek at the taillights on those bad boys, at first a frowned upon feature but now a truly lovely, glorious, adored one. 

Ok, focus, Josh. Tundras are nice. So are S Classes & Model S’s… I especially like a Taycan Cross Turismo specced out to have Tesla trim. But! But, they are merely things. They’re not all that exciting, well fine they are, but they are not vitality giving as such. To have one, to know you’re safe in one, to be able to maneuver with speed and precision and flare, these are wonderful things. And yet, they do not define you even if you want them to. 

I’m for sure out of the Mustang’s league and spit upon the screaming tricked out freaking one-car-that-they-always-take-the-logo-off-the-back-with-the-shite-proportions-that’s-almost-nice-but-def-is-not as well as his Subey buddies with the screeching, egregious, somehow worth going into debt for automobile. 

The revving the engine up on one of these shite boxes, as well as the whole uber big truck thing has always been odd to me. Where I’m at now with it is that, while of course being some kind of compensation, the hope for these blokes is that having a loud car or a big truck, or taking their Camaro to get cleaned three times a week, makes them… formidable. 

And this brings me back around to my car faggotry. Even if I find it easy to distance myself from the dweeb working a nine to five just to be able to make his payments on his depreciating in value car with the spoiler (!) and the skirts (pf! Gaay!), I still am trapped if I continue to put any serious onus on the value and illusory manliness of a car. Beep beep.

Maybe but most likely not. You could call it a stream of consciousness but I’d rather call it I haven’t come up with a name yet. We can call it what you want as long as you don’t murder me. Unless you want to call it something else then let’s call it that. I’m just here to have a good time, but no thanks I don’t want a drink. I’m thinking most likely actually we shouldn’t be calling it that, but rather let’s just not call it anything at all. Matter of fact let’s all just shut up and

I tire of all these American psychos. Like this one dude Patrick that I really just can’t stand. He’s far more annoying than Patrick, but Patrick is still pretty annoying. He’s like a male non plastic version of Barbie in that I want to just throw him into the trash but instead I’d like the factory that he came from to just be shut down, but people like Barbies. The movie made a bil & a half box office which is pretty good but I bet fast 11 makes more. It’s like a wave or some similar metaphor but it’s like much bigger than me. I hope for the serenity to accept what I can’t change about it. Maybe I can’t change any of it, but I hope for the wisdom to change what I can, if I can. Er, rather, I need courage to change what I can… I need wisdom to know if I can or can’t. Now that that is straightened out imma watch some YouTube.

Reduce. Reuse. Recycle. This trifecta make up the essential tenets of what I grew up understanding as the principles of recycling. Notice how one of the tenets is also how I recognize the whole of the movement, the ideal. And that is because as I was growing up my whole interaction with any kind of reducing, reusing, or recycling was decided whether I put the trash in the gray bin or the green one, the green one of course displaying that perpetual image of the three arrows pointing towards one another in the eternal shape of the triangle. And I assume for the most of us that has been our whole lives, a quick decision between “is this trash or recyclable?” And then, for those who allow themselves to consider between these dueling realities, there is the potential following question of “is it even the kind of recyclable that my town recycles?” Such information is available online, but perhaps you’re moral enough to have even considered recycling the thing, so you swiftly toss the #6 plastic in the green bin and you whistle away. Such a quandary is not my concern here. In fact the whole domain of “recycling” I’m not concerned with in this writing, nor do I wish to delve into reusing, for, one it seems to me is the practice of using a thing or material over again on a large interconnected scale, recycling, and one on a local scale, reusing. 

I here wish to make a plea to humanity that we revamp our dedication to the neglected tenet of reducing. We ought to use less. If only for the sake of not contributing to the girth of our jewel plastic islands. Let us let them be and not do another skyscraper thing where the bigger ours is the better we are than you. They’re big enough as is. 

You might argue that to advocate for reducing how much material we use is anti capitalistic but I don’t (care). If your capitalism is predicated on the selling of the most useless low quality and over packaged junk then you don’t have my vote and you don’t have my capital. I’ll take it elsewhere thank you. 

Reducing is also a wonderful invitation to reprioritize on quality. Remember heirlooms? I don’t, but imagine how great it would be if we had the ability and conviction to make sizable purchases on goods that were so good that we could pass them down to our children and they to their children. That to me is beauty. 

I invite the genius of our inventors and thinkers to, as well as figure out how to get those awful plastic islands dealt with and get our turtles free from the claws of *gasp* Gatorade packaging, but also, rediscover quality and market to us products and lifestyles that incite a friendlier disposition to our Mother Earth and to our own sense of goodness and truly living well. 

And #6 isn’t recycled here. Or no that was #5… #6 is, or it was #7…

Oh, and for the consumers among us, there are good quality items out there, buy ‘em please. And maybe, just maybe, stop buying bs that you only use once, maybe.

     “Whom” is a word that exists. It’s a word that people have it would appear mostly all but forgotten about. Maybe who cares but here’s the word “whom” for those who do. 

     To explain its usage, primarily when to use it, I’m going to create a scenario. Most people think “who” is adequate for any time any sentence don’t matter. This is not true though in a technical sense. In a technical sense “who” is used when designating a subject and “whom” is for the object.

Example……

 [He] → (subject) went to [the park] → (object)

[The park] → (subject) is where [he] → (object) went.

     With that understood, let us move to our “whom” story. In this story, a thing has been done. This thing done has been done by Jack… the sneaky devil! Jack does not make a direct appearance in our tale, however. The main characters of our story, Loraine and Jasmine, they don’t know who did the thing. Our scene opens on their discovery of the thing done…..

     Loraine and Jasmine returned from their usual trip to town only to open the front door and be forced to bear witness to the aftermath of the incredible act. 

     “Who did this?” Asked Loraine. 

     “I haven’t a clue!” Replied Jasmine. 

     Jasmine began to move towards the far side of the room to get a closer view. As she came upon it she continued looking, eyes locked unable to peel them away, with Loraine still standing at the door. 

     Jasmine then exclaimed, “I bet I know! I’ll bet anything it’s was that damned Jack!”

     With Jasmine standing a bit of a ways off and facing away from Loraine, Loraine was unable to make out the name clearly. 

     “Did you say Matt? Say again, you think this was done by whom?” Hollered Loraine. 

     “It was Jack who did it.” Said Jasmine as she turned her shoulder slightly toward Loraine. 

     “Ah, of course.” Whispered Loraine. 

     Okay, now to examine what’s going on here. So we know Jack did it, naturally he did it. To take Loraine’s original question of “who did this” we can substitute Jack for who. And then to take Loraine’s later question of “this was done by whom” we can again substitute Jack in but this time in the place of whom. For it was Jack that did it, and it was done by Jack. 

In conclusion……

[Who] → (subject) did [it] → (object)

[It] → (subject) was done by [whom] → (object)

[Jack] → (subject) did [it] → (object)

[It] → (subject) was done by [Jack] → (object)

     It’s a matter of how a sentence is structured but how it’s structured is going to determine whether you use the word “who” or “whom.” 

     My dissertation on “whom.”

p.s. it’s tough I know

Remember how you made all of that money with the early marvel junk and when the animated department was still able to make something as good as inside out, well we’ve already seen all those movies. 

Sure we’ve seen Deadpool twice and two two times and yes the select obviously have seen the Deadpool flicks more than they’ve seen the Christmas Story but generally speaking, we’ve seen them. 

So as long as the new stuff doesn’t refuse to be as goofy as it’s been no one will watch your + thing. 

Thanks,

Josh

P.S. no one will rewatch the new Star Wars trilogy

A dragon worth conquering in its own right. The long and perilous journey from the place of rest and vice to the place of togetherness and television. We can get to the front door in due time but let us first venture away from the console and away from the energy drink. Let us move to the place of stovetops cooking eggs and roommates to laugh with. Let us turn off the screens and discover new realms within the novels to be found on the bookshelf in the hallway. Instead of being cooped away watching Tate or Rogan let us come together and watch something dumb like friends while being with some real ones. The living room is one door away from the infinite potential of the world beyond the shelter that provides you structure, and there is much out there to see and do and fu— and explore and learn and also to fu— I mean to have se— I mean to….. Godspeed, traveler. Bring an extra pair of socks but leave the smartphone. Get out there and experience the world… of the living room.