Sensitive Cultural Question

[mousey1]

Offended Hes!!!! Don't look at me, I am far too busy being amused!

As I sit here scratching my .....er.......head

I think we just have to assume it is another one of those unexplainable anomalies abnormalities that we will probably never be able to dig deep enough into to get to the root of.

May I remind you that Michael Jackson has been tugging his willy nilly center stage for years no one is yet sure why. Perhaps it's his version of "aladins lamp", he is worth millions. Perhaps we should all try it.

One, two, threee.....GO!!!!



Nope....still poor!!!!

[stilltrucking]

Macabre sense of curiosity, I suppose it is so sad like slowing down to look at a wreck, a lot of people would just ignore him. I think you should ask him how is it hanging, do you think that your proximity to him can be responsible for crotch clutching? I had a friend, will actually he was a room mate back in my college days, he would sit and watch tv with his hand there. I just shook my head and wondered. Sounds like an interesting job. I could use some part time health care myself, looking for a psychiatric nurse with a minor in English Lit.

aladin's lamp, belonged to the old rabbi
when you rubbed it
turned into a light house

[hester_prynne]

Haw Haw, mousey you f'ing crack me up. I love it when someone makes me gutlaugh. Thank you.

And yeah, it is true about M. Jackson too. I forgot about that, although I've never seen him hold on to it for long.....more like a well, kiss my thriller dick sorta thing with him. Least that's how I took it...that's how I felt when I mimicked his move. When I mimicked this son-in-law's moves, (in private), I just felt weird, and well, sort of silly. Nothing itched or anything, maybe that's why.


I think it'll be great progress for me, (in my quest for androgeny,) to be able to continue doing my job whilst a man is the room fondling himself, and not be even affected by it in the least.

Imagine, being able to be in a room where there are several folks, men and women, fondling themselves vacantly, and to feel okay within that, to continue doing your job. Now that's progress eh?

Come to think of it. Bring it on. Maybe if it were more accepted we'd have less wars and violence!

Thank you again for all the comments. Gave me alot to think about.....

smoochies
H

[hester_prynne]

Gee still, if only you were looking for a psychotic nurse with an english lit degree. Then I could apply!

Smoochies
H

[stilltrucking]

if you would kindly please walk around me please, ignore my sexual immaturity, shine it on if you can, I just don't want to edit or delete it. Keep rubbing that lamp, until it shines.

I tell you hester I had my chances, that last chance in virginia two years ago, I was talking myself into back tracking until jimbo kicked some sense into me. She was a very kind woman, she only needed a back rub, she said I didn't care. She was right. I could have reached out a friendly hand, even if she was not a true love of mine. Dang me, they ought to take a rope and hang me.

Hester if only you were the captain of a tug boat, I would apply

LR says you are nuts, I say crazy like a fox.

I still do believe in the redemptive power of love, love these silicon sisters. Brothers too but it is a little bit slippery a silicon slope with women. Still a dirty old man. But I keep my hands to myself, well not exacty keep them there. mostly on my knees if sitting and thumbs looped inside my cotton belt in standing.

Oh geez chantily lace and a pretty face
make me act all funny spend my money
feel real loose
say stupid things
A Lighthouse?

[tinkerjack]

Boy are you stupid. She did apply big time, where was your heart, she saw right through you, called a spade a spade. How many times have you crossed the country since then. "You always get what you got coming, you never have to ask." Why do I have to tell you all this. Keep on trucking trucker, maybe redemption is in work.

Hester not sure sometimes I take it as far as I can sometimes I don't even go
time recaptured if we can go back to that time which doesn't exist anymore since levi got rid off all that shit,
but you seemed pretty hot for the job of pyschotic nurse with degree in English, lit, you know I would love to see your face in my kitchen door, but that was then


scrathing my head, problem was I couldn't read those complex emoticons you used, no idea what happened but it don't matter,

Still wondering why you thought I was mad at you.

I was probably so busy hitting on a woman old enough to be my grand daughter and just didn't pay you no mind at all.

so don't pay it no mind at all, this about art I suppose, as if it was real, and I the writer suppose to decieve myself into thinking this is real. How can you have a history in cybespace. Maybe not, history but certainly a past, built up my cyber karma with silicon women one brick at a time like THe Magician Of Lublin, with a computer in his cell. Hester Prynne much on my mind when I stumbled across litkicks. Sylvia Plath and Hester Prynne. just a meaningless coincidence you had that user name.

taking a new path out of the darkness,
making it up as i go

[hester_prynne]

"I still do believe in the redemptive power of love...."

Indeed Still, so do I, so do I.

Imagine, really loving everything, how redeemed one would be.
But things get in the way. Conditioning, upbringing, majorities, money, fear, loathing, etc....
The more I walk over, around, under and or through, the more I can get closer to loving, and redemption. At least, this is what I'm thinking these days. It could change.....

You've said many a brilliant word here in cyberworld, and i have been a fortunate beholder of them, pupil of them, and sometimes, i'm mystified by them.

It's all good bro.
We are all twinkling, enchanting, cyber-lighthouses, lookin out for each other.
That's how I dream it, anyways.....

H

[stilltrucking]

found a smashed upped computer at the sceene of a fatal accident. The hard drive was laying there on the fogline, I took it home and plugged it in. There was a guys life on it, a successfull author, or so it seemed to me he had book and movie deals for hundreds of thousands of dollors, but it wasn't fair he deserved more, he had a wife but he was not happy because she had taken a menial job because she enjoyed the work, he had a NYC literary agent but they were not on the same page. Eventualy the drive crashed, I took it apart. Have you ever seen the silicon disk inside a hard drive. Beautiful, silicon is so interesting, smooth a perfect mirror, I I think of all the things I wanted in my life and that guy had them all and for what.

(...he was held fast to the book by the strength of his belief that "When this book is finished, which is going to be the sum and substance and crap of everything I've been through throughout this whole god dam life, I shall be redeemed.

leaning hard on silicon friendship these days
thank you

[Arcadia]

well, I like to caress my ombligo...but never in public-public (I guess).

[Doreen Peri]

never in pubic.

[stilltrucking]

Never in public

thank god yes but thinking of public bathrooms
but there was the bathroom stalls in the men's roomon the mezzanine of the McKeldin Library

Early sixties as crazy as I ever got, spring of 1962, just after the death of my father, about to get married, still a mamma's boy, my sweet heart wanted to get married, but Rose told me there are plenty of fish in the ocean. a time when I could not go to sleep with out visualizing a shot gun to my head and a click. Then I could sleep like a baby. And when I stood at the urinal I could not pea, so I went into a stall sat down to pee and masturbated. Sometimes moving can make all the difference, more help than the shrink I was seeing was my Hindu boss. I worked on organo-metalic chemical research as his technician. He was just offered a new job as head of research at a company in Michigan, wanted me to go with him. Made all the difference. Still froze up inside, but I was lucky enough to find a girl with far away eyes, but did not appreciate her love. Still a dick head

now it is all about gestures,doing the existential striptease .
I hope the hell this is amusing.
just stuff the money in my jockey short girls.

[mnaz]

Myself? I rarely go deep on the fly pattern.... at least not in general company....

[stilltrucking]

I was cruzing the back pages of S8 and found this thread from around 2005

and I wrote this today a fine october day roads a little wet but sun is shining and I am compulsively doing the keyboard jitterbug and not riding to live.
hit it and quit it for today<><>>>><><>><><>>><>><><><>>>

serendipity or as dino—

(זִכְרוֹנוֹ לִבְרָכָה (ז"ל) זֵכֶר צַדִּיק לִבְרָכָה (זצ"ל
https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/he ... atulations

— would say, I a am a genius man
I first wrote about the existential striptease here on studio eight back in 2007
I googled the phrase and the only hit was this article from 2018

Who are you, really?

Imagine you are a regular at a bar, where, night after night, you are asked by a fellow patron to give an accounting of yourself. Where would you begin, and where would you end? Could you justify your life choices? Would you come out smelling like roses or seeming rather tawdry and tattered? How honest would you be with your listener? And how much honesty could you stand from yourself?

It’s no small feat to tell the story of a life, in real life or in fiction. The problems of narrative are also the problems of the self: We strain to distinguish causes from effects, to peer behind the curtain to see the workings of our unconscious motives, to disentangle willfulness and individuality from family inheritance, luck and social circumstance. We struggle to remember, as much as we struggle to forget. And we replay both the big events and the tiniest of details over and over, as if repeated rehearsals of the facts might somehow alter them for the better or reveal their true significance. Life and fiction both seem to be narrative arts, fraught with existential traps.
http://msmagazine.com/blog/2018/06/12/e ... ent-848270 c

And here is my studio eight post from 2007
Whither Psychoanalysis in a Computer Culture?
by Sherry Turkle

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