luv comes stumbling

drunk like me

in a stone coffin of skin,

i turn my face toward the wall

my sighs have bones

Being Pure & Fruitful

I aspire to learn more everyday
about surrendering to the Heart of Love

About giving up my personal will
to let others know how much I care

To understand more about my own emptiness
my shortcomings and inadequacies
in the name of giving my greatness
to the very Name of Christ.

Clothed Females

Searching through Google images looking for body parts for composites, I found that a search for "naked male" returned a large number of results with naked men being touched, laughed at, looked at, penetrated, etc., by groups of laughing clothed women. Initially, I though that they were someone's semi-personal photos of bachelorette parties, etc.

Clicking on the images brought up whole galleries, most of which were denoted by the abbreviation "CFNM," Clothed Female Naked Male. The websites stated that this was a 'fetish' or 'niche' enjoyed by both men and women, involving...well, exactly what it sounds like.











The women in the pictures are often attractive, but they don't really look like they're on display. They're not neccessarily thin. Their clothing is sometimes businesslike, other times more like club or party wear. There are often a group of women, most of whom are looking on with bemused expressions on their faces. They look like they're having fun, and their main bond is to each other, not the man pictured. The men are often very cute and attractive, and shown with attitudes that range from smiles to apprehension. Many of the pictures are taken from parties and naked public events; others are staged for the sites.

One of the things that interests me about this niche, and these websites, is their wide lense; while they're often basically about male submission or vulnerability, they deviate from mainstream femme-dom scenerios pictured in pornography in a number of ways. Generally, femme-dom material produced for mainstream male viewers shows a vanillized version of a mistress/s, whose role of control is little more than an idea directed and controlled by male producers and viewers. Ideas of active female sexuality are being produced by males and according to male fantasies, this scenerio made slightly more distasteful by its "female domination" tagline.



#1 Google Image result for "femme dom."






Though there's probably a basic fantasy [in CFNM porn] that one's naked body will certainly inspire worship and probably cocksucking by a round of horny females, the power dynamics are different. Clothes, especially professional clothing, implies power and agency; nudeness, passivity and objectification. Normally, the clothing worn by the woman in a femme dom scenerio is itself fetishistic in some way, whether full latex in more specialized, serious BDSM pornography or slutty, revealing clothing in mainstream B & D. In CFNM, the fact of the clothing itself is fetish enough, further placing the females in active roles, but without the sharp delination of costuming and Mistress/sub relationship present in femme dom.

Oddly, that typical delination and sharp, stylized role-reversalin maintream femme dom often serves to reinforce the idea of the normalcy of male dominance. The fetish stems from the twist on power relations, the partial activation of the duality opposite to patriarchy, which, once reframed within patriarchy, becomes sexually exciting. That is, female dominance, encapsulated and repackaged as male titillation, can not only become more sexually exciting than male dominance (due to its manageable 'naughtiness,' or twist on standard dualities) but has negative political and social ramifications as well, since it allows and teaches males to contextualize expressions of female power within a male erotic framework.

I find CFNM interesting in its minor transcendence of this point.

Hey Shithead, I Have Something To Say

Fuck you, with All of my power.

I'm waiting...waiting for you.

Pride of Baghdad

"Freedom and destruction land atop timeless solidarity and it is unmoved."
-Michael C. Riedlinger, Critical Analysis of Pride of Baghdad

"Perhaps, over time, these ideas are less tangible than we tend to believe and more intertwined than we wish were convenient."

The City of New Orleans

by Steve Goodman

Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.

CHORUS:
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor.
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.

CHORUS

Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.

Good night, America, how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Short film

Power from the Greenwitch

I was at my friend Rowan's friend Lyra's house last night with them, watching The Forbidden Zone on VHS. I had been feeling powerless and anxious for a few hours beforehand, and the movie was helpful on that regard in the way that monsters and indignity and ugliness are liberating. I have thought a lot on the subject of monsters. As a child, I believed that naughty but basically good monsters inhabited the space under my bed. The children wanted to eat me, but the adults would reign them in. I dreamed, like most little children, of many sorts of stunningly beautiful, horribly evil monsters.

I was feeling odder and odder at Lyra's and let myself outside into the cool, starry night. I have mentioned in past entries that I am in the weird position of viewing my own internal geometry in all of its complete disarray. It is like a horribly messy room, rife with broken furniture and picture-frames and dusty, crawling with the occasional roach or mouse.

I'm not quite sure what it was like before the past year and a half, but something tells me it was not this way. I'm quite sure that there were "whole" geometries in me, intact furniture, structures which although contiguous were mostly mysterious to me. My life was deeply unknown to me. And now?

What of now? I have no idea. I cannot imagine that I am going anywhere good. Most bizarrely, in many ways I don't care. Sometimes I feel like I am asleep while I am awake; ei., like my brain is in a REM state while I am 'awake.' This is deep, drowsy, sensual, dim, and pleasurable. It seems like the deepest illusion and yet is crystalline in clarity. It is temptation in a high form; my soul wants to... just... nibble it.

So my aim is not to become a dreamer non-stop; as I know the dream of the culture contains ten times more nightmares than fantasies. I am not going to be a monster or an angel. Schizophrenia does not interest me completely; it seems to contain a vicious softness, like a feather bed that smothers you slowly, gaspingly, lovingly.

Hope is a bird whose feathers I've teased out with my teeth. If I chase my ego through forests, I must be cautious not to cut down all the trees in my destructiveness. I wonder if, if the ego is not understood as distinct from the environment, if this is what we call dreaming, both the asleep and awake kind? What a worthy enemy--what will we see?