Yet Another Hypocrite

Need to get a photo about hypocrisy... maybe next time.

I don't judge him for having the affair. I hold him accountable to his "pro-family" platform and ultra-conservative agenda. At least he is resigning, unlike Sen. Craig from Idaho who did not have the balls to do so. (STORY HERE)

Like I said, I am not judging him for the sex, it is his hypocritical stances he preached to us all is the damning part for me.

Moments after submitting his resignation letter, Stanley went on a talk radio show in Memphis to say that his actions did not shake his moral ideals.

In nearly a decade in the Legislature, he repeatedly cited his belief in abstinence outside marriage as he opposed gay marriage, adoption by gay couples and family planning funding for Planned Parenthood.

"Whatever I stood for and advocated, I still believe to be true," he said last week. "And just because I fell far short of what God's standard was for me and my wife it doesn't mean that that standard is reduced in the least bit." Emphasis by me, not original news story.

This was the party that impeached President Clinton. Enough said.

Underwood

Apathetic

Photo by SB

Underwood
SB

Yesterday I watched you pack the car looking down from my kitchen window. You shifted a suitcase to one side of the trunk, then to the other side, and finally decided to keep it in the middle and upright to split your trunk into two. You then walked inside your front door again and stayed there for a few minutes, giving me time to refill my coffee.

A few hours earlier, Ron left the house earlier than his usual 7am looking ragged, but dressed for work. I sipped my first taste of coffee remembering when I met both of you in your front yard. You both were pleasant. Ron was overly enthused to meet the neighbors and settle in. While he talked about his plans to plant roses under the front windows, you gazed down the street with your eyes half closed either looking for a delivery or maybe remembering something you forgot.

Next you came out with a box I recognized instantly. It was the old Underwood portable typewriter that you bought at my yard sale. My grand dad used it to write small dirty humorous haikus and leave them around for people to discover. He thought they were much more high-brow than a dirty limerick due to their 5-7-5 nature and restraint for words. You laughed at that story and wanted to pay the full asking price of $15 for it. I would have taken $5. I made sure the extra ribbons were included. When I asked you what you wanted to type, you answered, "What ever the snappy little letter arms pull out of me." I thought you were kidding, but you didn't even look me in the eyes when you said it. You just looked down the street. A few days later, you came over and dropped off an envelope with a scrap of paper in it. It was one of grandpa's haikus that you found in the bottom of the typewriter case. I hope you found it funny.

I started to turn away when I saw Ron pull up in his car. He walked over to you by the trunk of yours as you tucked the typewriter and a pillow by the suitcase. He rested his hand on the opened trunk lid and said something. He looked worn as if he had been planning a funeral for a loved one. His skin pale and hanging loosely as he tried to talk to you. I wondered why you did not look at him when you talked. You just looked down the street.

He closed the trunk and put his hand on your shoulder and you held it for a moment before letting it go. He looked toward the roses and you got into the car. I could hear you start it like you did every time you went out, over-revving the engine. You slowly backed out, and drove down the road that you had envisioned doing so many times before.


Inspired by the NPR contest, The Three-Minute Fiction.

Artists in their Studios

SOUTHAMPTON, N.Y.—Pop artist Roy Lichtenstein with a painting and dot template at his studio, 1982.
Thomas Hoepker / Magnum Photos

Kind of in a quiet mood still. I think finishing the class took the wind out of me for a bit. I am looking for my next inspiration while my batteries recharge.

I found this little bit of inspiration from Slate's daily Magnum Photos series. The theme is "Artists in Their Studios." I am often inspired by visiting others' studios. I can feel the energy of the artist by seeing how it is set up, what is splattered, what is neat, and how they capture the light in the room. Sometimes the energy is quiet, other times rambunctious. You can tell a lot about the artist by the studio. Some studios show arrogance while others show despair.

Enjoy the 24 photos. The last one is disturbing when you see the reflections in the window and then what is sitting on top of them. Foreshadowing, I guess.

HERE is the link.

The Onanistic Self - Part 2 - Right in Time

I meant to include this song with yesterday's post. I could not find it on Youtube, so I made my own movie of it.

This is Lucinda Williams sexiest song. Listen to the single journey she takes through the song.

The Onanistic Self

Other Thoughts

Photo by SB

First, a poem by Joseph J. Capista

Playboy's Guide to Lingering

We read lingerie as lingering.
An innocent mistake, yes, though
we didn't dally in Patel's humid
newsstand amid hanks of cigared
tobacco and men in coveralls logger-
heading with the Pennsylvania Lotto
to expand our budding tongues
but to confuse the single shelf
of cryptograms and crosswords
with the candied shelves of pornos.
Despite our lousy decoding, we
proved adept disrobers, kid-minds
keen to peel what we'd later call satin
from skin like we peeled bright, waxy
clementines slipped in our stockings,
our reward for a year of skirting Satan.
Nonchalant as bubble gum, we thumbed
them cover to cover, lingered, elbowed
one another while we dittoed each
sweet image deep in memory's folds:
love's coy postures, saddle-stapled.
And that is how we imagined
it would be for us on those winter
afternoons: flimsy resistance, a finger's
steady pressure, the split of soft fruit.
We'd puzzle over language later.
For now, we had more important
things on our hands to misread.

Today, I am going to write about alone time. I mean that type of "alone" time. We all do it. Some of us treat each occurrence as a sensual ceremony. Some treat it with about as much passion as brushing their teeth. Sadly, some feel deep shame about it (side note... they should not feel shame about masturbation, but where they do it and what they are fantasizing about may be another issue).
I can't remember the first time I touched myself in any sensual way. I do remember my first climax from doing it though. I was thirteen and found one of my older brother's Playboys that he didn't take to college. When the climax ended... my life changed. I had never experienced anything so internally powerful, intense, or wonderful. It almost hurt, but I knew I wanted to do it again. There was some deep primal urge to want that. For me, I think that was truly a day I started to become a man and a human.
The physical product of it was a big surprise. In sex education, the teacher had mentioned ejaculate, but just what it contained and that it would happen. In some way, the full mental, soulful, and both body-physical as well as physical relic of the moment made it complete. There is something sensually important about all parts of it, including the cleaning up.

Since that day almost three decades ago, I still desire it. It is the only routine activity in life that I deeply enjoy. Dinner may be a distant second. Sleep is OK when I don't have night terrors. I can't consider intercourse as routine because it depends on participation of another.

For me, the greatest reward is not the end, but the journey. Whether it is fantasy-based, visually inspired, spontaneously enjoyed, shared with another person beside me, or whatever it brings, the build-up is the ultimate pleasure.
Since masturbation is a type of sex, my tastes for it and intercourse are similar. It is all about the journey. I love a long erotic journey as much as I like the quick, intensely passionate sessions.
We all have triggers, stimuli, and needs that make us take this solitary journey. Mine are mostly visual like the things I mentioned in Those Simple Little Things. They include a scent, a memory, a sound, a voice, a setting, or most anything can send me along my way was well. Being a sensual (and/or very horny) guy, it doesn't take much of a trigger. I wonder what are triggers for others.
Some common things that must happen during the session. Even if it is a photo of a stranger that starts the journey, I must have some connection to the person other than that. It could be as simple as a shared glance on the bus, a deep conversation, worked together, ongoing correspondence, and other personal interactions. For this reason, I never had a movie star play a role in the "monent" except one who I met at an event. We shook hands and chatted for fifteen seconds. That was enough.
As mentioned above, alone time does not have to be alone for me. Some of the most intimately deep moments with a person were both of us together doing that. You have to feel very comfortable with the person to share that. I think intercourse is easier and less personal.

Life Ratios

Vitruvian Man
Leonardo DaVinci

I just heard an interesting NPR story about a new cookbook , Ratio, teaching the basics of cooking through ratios. It does not teach you how to spice or determine flavors. This book teaches how to make the basics by the ratios of simple ingredients. For example: Pie dough - 3-2-1. 3 parts flour, 2 parts butter, 1 part water.

In the story they made a quiche. With the basic ratios, you get a basic quiche. The fun part is now you can experiment with spices, veggies, bacon, mushrooms, whatever you want to put into it. Talk about an interesting concept. I wonder how it applies to life.

So many creative endeavors these days have very precise recipes for how to do them. If you want to paint something, you can get paint by numbers which pinpoints every exact color and placement. If you want to learn music, there are so many detail-heavy guitar and piano learning systems that teach you how to play certain songs.

I wonder if we are getting to discrete in our learning of the arts? In photography, I can find things called "setting up the perfect portrait." and many other techniques that teach a very specific setup. Use your camera on this setting. Set the tripod up like this. Put one light at 45 degrees above and to the side of the subject and then the other on down and to the opposite side. I guess those are good for learning lighting basics, but God, I hate exact methods for taking a photo.

A friend of mine got hired by a photography company to take graduation pics during the local university commencement. They had very tight procedures for exactly how to take the photo. I know they wanted to control the output and to minimize set up time between students, but it took the soul out of the photos. I would have quit after a day.

I celebrate the basic premise of this book. It is very important to learn fundamentals in any endeavor. Through a solid foundation, you can experiment and try new things to make it uniquely yours.

So, what are life's ratios? Are there basic ratios that we can apply and experiment with in our daily living? Would they be too limiting? How about the daily ratio of: 2 parts work, 2 parts sleep, 1 part eating, 1part chores and recreation? What you do during any of those parts is your choice, but overall the ratio is successful.

Another fun one, the perfect date: 2 parts dinner and fine wine or some other activity of choice, 1 part dessert, a pinch of looking into eachothers' eyes, 1 part of listening per person, two pinches of ... pinching, 1 part stroll along a romantic place of choice, 1 part deep kissing, 3 parts foreplay, 2 parts sex, flavor with love and intimacy to taste. Is that too limiting?

I am kind of mocking the life ratios thing, but maybe there are true life ratios that help keep things in balance. I would prefer to live by ratios than recipes. Can you think of any life recipes or ratios?

Looking for a Lost Photo and Other Bits

Calm and Dark
Photo by SB

A few years ago I saw a photo Ansel Adams took of Edward Weston's wife, Charis, up in the Sierras. I can easily find Weston's photo of her from the same trip, but not Adams'. I've tried every search combination on Google and Bing to no avail.

I think I am going to have to do this the old fashioned way and go to SF MOMA to research it. I hope they have something. I may also call the Ansel Adams gallery to see if they have anything.

At first I was miffed at not finding it. Now it is a fun photo-detective challenge... for a while at least.

Nude in Box
Ruth Bernhard

On other news. I finished my photography class. I feel I did very well. In the last week I may have discovered some deep personal things about my artistic voice. I am still trying to figure all that out and will write about it at some length in the near future. All I can say for now is I love Edward and Brett Weston's and Ruth Bernhard's work, but that is probably not my direction.

Nude, 1920
Edward Weston

I've been reflecting on the 40th anniversary of Neil Armstrong's stroll on the moon. I was a little over four months old and have no recollection of it. In my mind though, it was the greatest thing to happen in 1969.

My first memory of astronauts and the moon was getting a little moon buggy replica in a container of Tang. I played with that little toy forever and vaguely remember my parents telling me the astronauts had driven it on the moon. They even pointed to the moon for emphasis. I don't think I had a clue what they were talking about, but that is my earliest Apollo memory.

Like most kids, I wanted to be an astronaut. My parents said that it was too difficult to get the job and I should make astronomy a hobby and not have my hopes crushed by NASA's fickle choices. They said that about being a musician, artist, photographer, archeologist, paleontologist, fighter pilot and many other now-dead aspirations.... not all of them are dead. Someday I will forgive them for that, but not today.

Nude 175
Brett Weston

Ok, this blog post kind of got heavy at the end. I am always amazed how the rambling ones take unplanned trips to unexpected personal places.

Calm and Bright
Photo by SB

PHOTO NOTE - another from my projected word series. I am playing with exposure on this one. This is not a great photo, but it is fun to play with.