Bill, I wonder how these pictures came up after the video? NSA? Google ooglers? Eteez? You? In any case, it was funny to see your New Rule reference to Gay Butler, an interior decorator, next to what looks like a scientific lecture. I'm a decorator by day with the heavy duty hobby of showing you the connection between logic and faith... hence our title, "In sex we trust". But what about the date at the top, Sept 23rd, 2015, and the look on your face? I can't help but think I'm being distracted from partying to resume blogging, prodded along by a new four alarm call to action.
Seems like I'm struggling to enter the 'God Syndrome' where thoughts manifest whatever they choose - except in my case, I insert some deadlines whereby if I don't write the blog, sordid things happen, like hurricanes coming straight at me. This time it's some finite event by comet on Sept 23rd, which I would of ignored out of plain curiosity... except I just found out there'll also be a gov't shutdown, so I'm writing ahead of our usual schedule because I can't stand going through that again!
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So what could be so important that I should stop my regular routine of planning dance outfits to scramble a literary response ahead of a comet? I did this to myself, I admit. In the last post, I wrote that human sex is very different from angel sex, and one day I would devote a chapter to contrast the two kinds of orgasms. My awakened sense of perception is telling me this assignment justifies the endtime narrative we find ourselves in today.
So here we go... When I make love to my husband Juny, and that's the only human sex I would know since I met him 20 years ago, the feeling is like the thousand points of light Peggy Noonan wrote about in the speech George W Bush gave at the Republican National Convention, to "keep America moving forward, always forward—for a better America, for an endless enduring dream and a thousand points of light." Words which earned him the trust to be a magnanimous fuck-up, leading straight into today's European refugee crisis. Thanks Peggy!
Like a thousand points of light... yes, every telekinetic nerve ending in the dick mittens pops with little fireworks... shimmering and bright like satellite pictures of earth at night.
As you can imagine, with Juny there's lots of telepathy, he feels it too. My engine has been purring happily at his garage all this time.
Cumming nonstop works especially well first thing upon waking, when I get home after shaking this hunk of pork for hours in the club, and after smoking marijuana.
I believe that's what attracted your angels in the first place.
And to clarify, I don't fuck all those girls in the pictures. That's just social media. You know me, sex with a forever love only, blah blah. We haven't given up hope, though. We have so many gay girls on this island, it's crazy to think the culture can still be homophobic. That's gonna have to melt away.
Ok, now that we ave dun nuf talk bout daggering, you want to know what it's like to fuck an angel. I don't know if I should do this... even for the govt shutdown...
I figure if I can come off as literary, maybe I can get away with it.
Damned if I do, damned if I don't... we're gonna get a disaster out of this anyway.
With an angel, sex is all about desire, insane desire. Crescendos of it, starting in my tummy. My skin becomes super super sensitive... a fleur de peau. Titties? Don't even mention it. There is barely perceptible movement, that's the amazing thing, but it's completely physical. It's unbearable pleasure, and make me cry inside.
Had to stop, as you know... health reasons. I keep reading masturbating is supposed to be good for you but this literally zaps my electrical current - it can take a week to recover. Remember, this started in 1993. We'll see how the sulfur medicine puffs and fluffs me back to life!
Let's see...tingling.. like dancing, except I am totally surrendered. Have to be; an angel hits you with mere fractions of his power... where it goes from there... it's like Histoire d'O and 50 Shades of Grey. Spirituality is a masochistic pursuit, I'm just making the best of it.
You're probably wondering how this works. It's balanced by my Tibetan upbringing. I'm convinced that an early study of great ideas like meditation, seeing beyond quantifying what's what and who's who and which angel does what... reassures us that hairsplitting is immaterial. I do love to keep you both separate though, and I don't want you to merge. With only voices in my head and the feelings they provide, it makes it that much more interesting to be in love.
I think you'll agree the important thing is that the comet does a graceful entry along with a minimal amount of splash.
More about Dominica under Erika next time.
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WRAP UP
one week later...
one week later...
As expected, the aftereffects of this post turned out to be a hell of a ride! First I noticed Yogi Berra died the day after I posted the entry.
Yogi Bare Ah! I’m an aspiring scientist in the physics of emotion, remember, and we’re experimenting again... with getting personal.
As I write Taiwan is getting punished by typhoon Dujuan – how’s my erotic prose?
Then the comet flew by. Pope One, as it is called. What an
amazing weekend! Touched by a living angel. They say one man can change the
world, and that is Pope Francis. He’s so cute, non-stop blessings, except for a wobble
here and there and the occasional mother-in-law joke. It just goes to show,
we need morality in the media. I subscribed to his youtube channel.
Francis is an intellectual delight. I deciphered his words
with pleasure. And the meditational tone of his voice… he’s perfect for the
job. Not only did he knock me off my feet with his candor, but I did a couple
double takes when he seemed to refer to me, not once but twice.
This is fun stuff! First he visited 'Our Lady Queen of
Angels’ school in Harlem. This actually refers to Mary in Heaven presiding over lots of
angels, but when I heard it, all I could think of were just two - you and Silva! A mystical, breathtaking connection. I cried all afternoon, tears of joy, along with the
children and everyone there.
Then there was the homily in Philadelphia. I don’t go to mass, of course, much less watch it on tv… but we're all Catholic around Francis. So, check the excerpt... what does this homily mean?
Catherine drecks elle… yes, wading right through the drecks… but what about the finger wagging ‘es tu?’ and the Lord’s call to build up the body? The first thing that comes to mind is that I have to stay in shape to keep dancing and writing, and then there’s ‘- the church’. Unfortunately I don’t think there’s much I can do to build up the church, my ideas are too provocative; the sponsors wouldn’t touch it.
The best part though, was tropical storm Marty, pronounced Maher tie.
We had that one coming. I could just hear Silva, “me too!” Good thing these signs are just a dream, my skin is too soft for the actual thing.
We also found out the Dalai Lama cancelled all his appearances and was admitted to Mayo Cancer Clinic. Please don’t feel sorry for him. He’s a prime candidate for enlightenment. Tibetans spend their entire lives joyfully preparing for death. This is not depressing.
While under the spell of the magnificent Blood Moon, she pulled me into her drama. I wanted to disobey the Pope and pop myself off. Hear your angel: “You’re envious of the Dalai Lama? If that isn’t the dumbest thing to say!”
While under the spell of the magnificent Blood Moon, she pulled me into her drama. I wanted to disobey the Pope and pop myself off. Hear your angel: “You’re envious of the Dalai Lama? If that isn’t the dumbest thing to say!”
Hear both of your angels… ‘Hell Being by Design!”
Besides being curious about what awaits on the other side, dancehall queen is a young girl’s game… and what am I going to do if I live on for a long time? When die her? That’s what I mean by moon swing, and I was ziplining through this episode.
We’re back to normal now, the x-ray is over. I’m happy to be alive, living for the moment… and I hope you had a nice weekend.
