I'll preface this by saying I'm not sure if my poetry holds up to my prose. I hardly ever write poetry. Thank you to the person (people) who made this possible. Love deserves thanks, I think.
In a crowded room, there is a face that glows
gilded by the night
a beacon that calls to only me.
Oh for that night
Oh for that night
Her every motion in rhythm
etched, like from a tapestry
of a childhood home.
In a single smile I know her thoughts
When I hug her
the tremor of a small bird
burning hot
held in strong hands
speaks of such beauty furled
Looking makes the world rush,
Looking away makes it close in
like a pack of wolves.
Please don't smile that sad smile.
it will burst my heart
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Sleeping with People
A certain friend of mine once told me that she put out as a means towards sharing a bed. At the time I thought that was absurd. Sex is way better than spooning, right?
I'm still in withdrawal from the comforts of a relationship. Funnily enough, I've come to the same conclusion about sharing a bed. I miss that more than sex.
I understand that sharing a bed can often be an inconvenience rather than a luxury. A certain mother and daughter I know only shared a bed out of fiscal necessity. Apparently the daughter was a wiggleworm, especially when she was younger. I can't really speak to that. In contrast to even the previously-mentioned friend, I've never had a moment when the inconvenience of sharing a bed outweighed the pleasure.
The problem with being such a fan of sharing a bed (as possibly illustrated by the certain friend), is that classically it requires a relationship. There are other options, though.
It would be a little too awkward to share a bed with my platonic female friends. Like it or not, there will always be some sexual tension there. The good news about being oriented more-or-less completely one direction, sexually, is that I don't have to worry about sexual tension with guys. I still have to worry about morning wood and spooning is kind of out, but I'm comfortable enough with my sexuality that it can work at least theoretically.
My friend "C" visited me for a few days last month and I lured him into sleeping with me. Partly there were some circumstances that encouraged it, like not having a couch and being unwilling to give up my bed during the workweek. Ultimately though, it was an unselfconscious, premeditated attempt to fill that hole in my life.
Of all my friends, C is easily the most okay with that sort of thing. We've both actively looked for homosexual tendencies in ourselves and come up empty, so we both have that magical combination of a complete lack of homophobia and a rather complete heterosexuality.
Sharing a bed again felt fantastic. Even without any real physical contact, his presence in my bed felt incredibly comforting. Not in a "close my eyes and pretend it's her" kind of way either, but in the same real way that I remember first enjoying. I had some intensely heterosexual dreams, though. Ones that were a tad awkward to wake up to, if you catch my drift.
So I can theoretically have most of what I miss about sleeping with someone without the uncertainty of a relationship. In practice, of course, romance is usually easier for guys. I asked a close friend who lives nearby if he'd sleep with me (he just went through a breakup too) and he politely declined. Ah well, so it goes.
For you girls out there, however, sharing each-others' beds is societally acceptable. With your anatomy, it's even cool to spoon each other to sleep. I hope you're grateful and I hope you take advantage of that fact to the extent that you are able, because I am thoroughly envious.
The other option I've heard is getting a dog. I've always thought sleeping with dogs was more trouble than it was worth. Something about physical presence meaning more from sentient life. It's still a great halfway solution, but I won't be getting a dog quite yet.
I'm still in withdrawal from the comforts of a relationship. Funnily enough, I've come to the same conclusion about sharing a bed. I miss that more than sex.
I understand that sharing a bed can often be an inconvenience rather than a luxury. A certain mother and daughter I know only shared a bed out of fiscal necessity. Apparently the daughter was a wiggleworm, especially when she was younger. I can't really speak to that. In contrast to even the previously-mentioned friend, I've never had a moment when the inconvenience of sharing a bed outweighed the pleasure.
The problem with being such a fan of sharing a bed (as possibly illustrated by the certain friend), is that classically it requires a relationship. There are other options, though.
It would be a little too awkward to share a bed with my platonic female friends. Like it or not, there will always be some sexual tension there. The good news about being oriented more-or-less completely one direction, sexually, is that I don't have to worry about sexual tension with guys. I still have to worry about morning wood and spooning is kind of out, but I'm comfortable enough with my sexuality that it can work at least theoretically.
My friend "C" visited me for a few days last month and I lured him into sleeping with me. Partly there were some circumstances that encouraged it, like not having a couch and being unwilling to give up my bed during the workweek. Ultimately though, it was an unselfconscious, premeditated attempt to fill that hole in my life.
Of all my friends, C is easily the most okay with that sort of thing. We've both actively looked for homosexual tendencies in ourselves and come up empty, so we both have that magical combination of a complete lack of homophobia and a rather complete heterosexuality.
Sharing a bed again felt fantastic. Even without any real physical contact, his presence in my bed felt incredibly comforting. Not in a "close my eyes and pretend it's her" kind of way either, but in the same real way that I remember first enjoying. I had some intensely heterosexual dreams, though. Ones that were a tad awkward to wake up to, if you catch my drift.
So I can theoretically have most of what I miss about sleeping with someone without the uncertainty of a relationship. In practice, of course, romance is usually easier for guys. I asked a close friend who lives nearby if he'd sleep with me (he just went through a breakup too) and he politely declined. Ah well, so it goes.
For you girls out there, however, sharing each-others' beds is societally acceptable. With your anatomy, it's even cool to spoon each other to sleep. I hope you're grateful and I hope you take advantage of that fact to the extent that you are able, because I am thoroughly envious.
The other option I've heard is getting a dog. I've always thought sleeping with dogs was more trouble than it was worth. Something about physical presence meaning more from sentient life. It's still a great halfway solution, but I won't be getting a dog quite yet.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Both Eyes Open
I did it to myself. I know that sex triggers imprinting. I thought about it while I was sitting there, flush with afterglow and basking in oxytocin, staring at her, willing myself to drink every bit up, to imprint as hard as I was capable of. I was similarly cognizant of my own willful stupidity when I held her casually, excessively, even possessively. I thought about it when initiating more sex than I really needed and then while we had that sex. Overkill turned out to be fun in and of itself. This will add to my pyre. When we stared into each other's eyes, I felt like she was thinking the same thing, like she was making the same silly choice. That endeared her to me even more, though her consent was likely imagined.
I knew it would end. I knew this would come. I knew it would hurt like a bitch. Hell, I wanted it to hurt like a bitch. Did I anticipate the damage to be so perverse? Did I realize the grief would seek not to make me pay in pain, but to etch its toll upon my soul? I knew it wouldn't be so straightforward as simple, immense suffering. I knew it was likely to leave a mark, and an ugly one at that. In a way, I knew. I'd at least reconciled myself to that nature of cost. I didn't anticipate the terror it would inspire, but what's terror? Poor man's pain, that's what.
I also knew halfway wouldn't have been worth it. Halfway would have been disingenuous, not to the perfection of our pairing (though I've perpetrated plenty of self-delusion, I never deluded myself into believing in perfection), but to the moment of opportunity. Opportunity to both of us. The cost of the decision was similarly equal.
Should I feel guilty? What I engendered on myself went both ways, knowing participant or not. I'd like to think she knew. I know her values and ideology were different enough for her to disagree with the principle, but did she agree with the instance? I guess I felt like it was a good decision for me so it must be a good decision for her, even if I was making it for her. That's at least morally questionable, but I try for questionability not to give me pause. You only get so many chances to dive into experience like that. I've had far fewer chances than I have hoped. Fewer than many I idolize and envy. Damned if I won't make the most of what comes my way.
I knew it would end. I knew this would come. I knew it would hurt like a bitch. Hell, I wanted it to hurt like a bitch. Did I anticipate the damage to be so perverse? Did I realize the grief would seek not to make me pay in pain, but to etch its toll upon my soul? I knew it wouldn't be so straightforward as simple, immense suffering. I knew it was likely to leave a mark, and an ugly one at that. In a way, I knew. I'd at least reconciled myself to that nature of cost. I didn't anticipate the terror it would inspire, but what's terror? Poor man's pain, that's what.
I also knew halfway wouldn't have been worth it. Halfway would have been disingenuous, not to the perfection of our pairing (though I've perpetrated plenty of self-delusion, I never deluded myself into believing in perfection), but to the moment of opportunity. Opportunity to both of us. The cost of the decision was similarly equal.
Should I feel guilty? What I engendered on myself went both ways, knowing participant or not. I'd like to think she knew. I know her values and ideology were different enough for her to disagree with the principle, but did she agree with the instance? I guess I felt like it was a good decision for me so it must be a good decision for her, even if I was making it for her. That's at least morally questionable, but I try for questionability not to give me pause. You only get so many chances to dive into experience like that. I've had far fewer chances than I have hoped. Fewer than many I idolize and envy. Damned if I won't make the most of what comes my way.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
My First Mushroom Trip
I've long had an interest in psychedelic drugs. The idea of a substance that doesn't make you happy or sad, but just temporarily rearranges your thoughts and potentially gives you insight into yourself has long attracted me. It doesn't hurt that so much great music has been made on psychedelic drugs, acid being particularly prominent in that respect. Somehow, it doesn't even hurt that a couple of my favorite artists had mental breakdowns precipitated by taking (a lot of) acid.
Experienced people I've talked to have recommended climbing through the various psychedelic drugs according to strength. Start with pot, then mushrooms, then acid or more exotic psychedelics. I've smoked pot. I've ingested pot. I've ingested quite a bit of pot in one sitting, such that I was aware of how thin the line between vivid imagination and hallucination can be. It was somewhat later that I found a way to buy mushrooms. Access has always been the limiting factor in my aspirations to exploring the world of drugs. I suppose the advantage of having more brains than access is that by the time I've tried anything, I've researched it pretty thoroughly.
I planned on taking mushrooms with a friend. This friend was allergic to smoke and had yet to do anything psychedelic, so I planned on giving him a half dose. The eighth I had procured was supposed to be two doses, so I figured I could try half a dose while I was waiting for an opportunity to trip with him. I measured out roughly a quarter of the bag into a bowl and poured a can of chili over the mushrooms. I microwaved it warm, stirred, microwaved it until it was pretty hot, and ate.
I've heard that psilocybe mushrooms don't taste very good. I thought they were delicious. The chili may have helped. Considering that the psychoactive ingredient can be slowly cooked out and that raw, dry mushrooms probably never taste good, I thought the chili solution was at least as good as anything I'd heard of. The smaller bits were fully hydrated, though some of the bigger stems still had a certain cardboard texture.
I went to my room, plugged in my headphones and tried watching some porn. Nothing spectacular happened, but after ten or twenty minutes the video began to seethe with it's own life and hint at a colorfulness that I was pretty sure wasn't there. I got mentally sidetracked a lot. So while I won't rule out recreational mushroom use as a sex enhancer, it certainly won't be the first place I look, either.
After that, I got caught up looking at my computer's background picture. It was one taken by a friend that was dominated by coastal sage scrub and ocean, with a few people hiking down a trail. I began to pick out faces in the relative noise of the shrubs and sea. It was just like picking out faces from random patterns normally is, with their enigmatic features and static bizarreness, except that I kept seeing more and more faces. Pretty soon I could see faces over the entirety of my desktop background with the exception of the actual figures in the photo. After trying a couple more photos to similar but less spectacular results, I started making music up in my head.
The music was sparse, but it was as clever as I was and as real-sounding as actual sound. I rocked out to myself for awhile. I eventually decided I might as well listen to real music.
You might think that turning on music would be immediately gratifying, but the first few bands I played just grated on me. I ended up settling on The Holy Modal Rounders, part of a 60's genre known as "acid folk". Like you'd expect, the band sounds like an otherwise faithful old timey folk band on acid. This indeed sounded amazing. It had immediacy and dimension on the periphery of the realm of the imaginable. I laughed at the clever or bizarre twists the music took. I saw the music in colors, soft but vibrant. Oranges, fuchsias, peaches and acid greens shimmered across my mind's eye along with the music. I'd long ago buried my head into my pillow, the better to focus.
At some point (roughly after an hour, according to itunes) I decided to take off the headphones and just think about everything in my head. Geometry, patterns within nature and other mostly mathematical ideas passed through my head, still illustrated or wreathed in that soft-but-vibrant color palette. I must have spent a couple hours completely lost in thought, face down on my pillow and sprawled across the bed.
Eventually I got hungry. One thing I noticed quickly about mushrooms is that while they don't favor any particular emotion, they intensify everything. My hunger was a slightly terrifying looming thing that I realized I needed to appease if I wanted things to be ok. So I wandered to the kitchen and rummaged around the fridge. I pulled out some old hummus and stale corn tortillas. The hummus had sourness from active culture, but not much complexity of flavor. I made a game of eating it savagely and deliberately. Each rip of the tortilla and swoop into the hummus was a wild gesture of fearlessness and wantonness. That proceeded until I ran out of food. My hunger sated, I resumed puzzling thoughts into my pillow.
An hour or two later dusk was falling and I got up to walk around. I walked into the back yard and reveled at the warmth of the air and the beauty of everything around me. I could tell the effects were beginning to wear off. My roommate Greg came around from the side yard, bike in hand from whatever errands he'd been running since I'd finished the chili. I decided it was the perfect time to go for a bike ride as I was feeling more normal with each passing minute and the sky was beautiful. I rode out without much thought as to where I'd go. I caught sight of a distant thunderhead over the trees, lit up in brilliant colors by the setting sun. As I progressed I looked the other direction over a field at the mountains in silhouette. The clear sky had color stretched across it like a sheet.
I turned into a golf course and began to skate along the cart path around the holes. With its surreal grassy contours, the twilight and the random patches of reeds, bushes and trees sprinkled throughout it looked kind of like a moonscape. The sensation of speed is so much stronger when you're winding around a twisty path amidst things than on the shoulder of a linear highway. I spotted a bunch of burrowing owls, just perking up for the evening's hunt. I remembered then that there was a designated preserve for them along the edge of this golf course. I flushed a few from their burrows as I swished by. I rode around that twilit landscape for a long while, passing expansive, nestled ponds and looked into the houses that opened onto the course as people began to turn on their lights and cook dinner.
By the time I got home it was fully dark and I was fully sober, still giddy from the fantastic nature of my trip and bike ride. My respect for mushrooms had kicked up quite a few notches. Pot will forever be the most available and mild of psychedelic drugs, but I've long disliked the constant hilarity and false sense of comprehension associated with the drug. Furthermore, there is a positive correlation between how much pot you've taken and your level of paranoia and forgetfulness. Mushrooms didn't seem to favor any emotion, inspire false self-confidence or impair my memory. There were a few times during my trip where a sense of discomfort or paranoia popped up and seemed like it might overtake me, but with some firm self-direction they passed within a moment of their appearance.
I should note that this half-dose of mushrooms was of a similar intensity to the most intense experiences I've had on pot. Though the social and emotional peace that I enjoyed at the time I took mushrooms has passed and with it my desire to do mushrooms, I eagerly await the time when I return to a peaceful mental place so that I can finish off the eighth with my aforementioned friend.
Experienced people I've talked to have recommended climbing through the various psychedelic drugs according to strength. Start with pot, then mushrooms, then acid or more exotic psychedelics. I've smoked pot. I've ingested pot. I've ingested quite a bit of pot in one sitting, such that I was aware of how thin the line between vivid imagination and hallucination can be. It was somewhat later that I found a way to buy mushrooms. Access has always been the limiting factor in my aspirations to exploring the world of drugs. I suppose the advantage of having more brains than access is that by the time I've tried anything, I've researched it pretty thoroughly.
I planned on taking mushrooms with a friend. This friend was allergic to smoke and had yet to do anything psychedelic, so I planned on giving him a half dose. The eighth I had procured was supposed to be two doses, so I figured I could try half a dose while I was waiting for an opportunity to trip with him. I measured out roughly a quarter of the bag into a bowl and poured a can of chili over the mushrooms. I microwaved it warm, stirred, microwaved it until it was pretty hot, and ate.
I've heard that psilocybe mushrooms don't taste very good. I thought they were delicious. The chili may have helped. Considering that the psychoactive ingredient can be slowly cooked out and that raw, dry mushrooms probably never taste good, I thought the chili solution was at least as good as anything I'd heard of. The smaller bits were fully hydrated, though some of the bigger stems still had a certain cardboard texture.
I went to my room, plugged in my headphones and tried watching some porn. Nothing spectacular happened, but after ten or twenty minutes the video began to seethe with it's own life and hint at a colorfulness that I was pretty sure wasn't there. I got mentally sidetracked a lot. So while I won't rule out recreational mushroom use as a sex enhancer, it certainly won't be the first place I look, either.
After that, I got caught up looking at my computer's background picture. It was one taken by a friend that was dominated by coastal sage scrub and ocean, with a few people hiking down a trail. I began to pick out faces in the relative noise of the shrubs and sea. It was just like picking out faces from random patterns normally is, with their enigmatic features and static bizarreness, except that I kept seeing more and more faces. Pretty soon I could see faces over the entirety of my desktop background with the exception of the actual figures in the photo. After trying a couple more photos to similar but less spectacular results, I started making music up in my head.
The music was sparse, but it was as clever as I was and as real-sounding as actual sound. I rocked out to myself for awhile. I eventually decided I might as well listen to real music.
You might think that turning on music would be immediately gratifying, but the first few bands I played just grated on me. I ended up settling on The Holy Modal Rounders, part of a 60's genre known as "acid folk". Like you'd expect, the band sounds like an otherwise faithful old timey folk band on acid. This indeed sounded amazing. It had immediacy and dimension on the periphery of the realm of the imaginable. I laughed at the clever or bizarre twists the music took. I saw the music in colors, soft but vibrant. Oranges, fuchsias, peaches and acid greens shimmered across my mind's eye along with the music. I'd long ago buried my head into my pillow, the better to focus.
At some point (roughly after an hour, according to itunes) I decided to take off the headphones and just think about everything in my head. Geometry, patterns within nature and other mostly mathematical ideas passed through my head, still illustrated or wreathed in that soft-but-vibrant color palette. I must have spent a couple hours completely lost in thought, face down on my pillow and sprawled across the bed.
Eventually I got hungry. One thing I noticed quickly about mushrooms is that while they don't favor any particular emotion, they intensify everything. My hunger was a slightly terrifying looming thing that I realized I needed to appease if I wanted things to be ok. So I wandered to the kitchen and rummaged around the fridge. I pulled out some old hummus and stale corn tortillas. The hummus had sourness from active culture, but not much complexity of flavor. I made a game of eating it savagely and deliberately. Each rip of the tortilla and swoop into the hummus was a wild gesture of fearlessness and wantonness. That proceeded until I ran out of food. My hunger sated, I resumed puzzling thoughts into my pillow.
An hour or two later dusk was falling and I got up to walk around. I walked into the back yard and reveled at the warmth of the air and the beauty of everything around me. I could tell the effects were beginning to wear off. My roommate Greg came around from the side yard, bike in hand from whatever errands he'd been running since I'd finished the chili. I decided it was the perfect time to go for a bike ride as I was feeling more normal with each passing minute and the sky was beautiful. I rode out without much thought as to where I'd go. I caught sight of a distant thunderhead over the trees, lit up in brilliant colors by the setting sun. As I progressed I looked the other direction over a field at the mountains in silhouette. The clear sky had color stretched across it like a sheet.
I turned into a golf course and began to skate along the cart path around the holes. With its surreal grassy contours, the twilight and the random patches of reeds, bushes and trees sprinkled throughout it looked kind of like a moonscape. The sensation of speed is so much stronger when you're winding around a twisty path amidst things than on the shoulder of a linear highway. I spotted a bunch of burrowing owls, just perking up for the evening's hunt. I remembered then that there was a designated preserve for them along the edge of this golf course. I flushed a few from their burrows as I swished by. I rode around that twilit landscape for a long while, passing expansive, nestled ponds and looked into the houses that opened onto the course as people began to turn on their lights and cook dinner.
By the time I got home it was fully dark and I was fully sober, still giddy from the fantastic nature of my trip and bike ride. My respect for mushrooms had kicked up quite a few notches. Pot will forever be the most available and mild of psychedelic drugs, but I've long disliked the constant hilarity and false sense of comprehension associated with the drug. Furthermore, there is a positive correlation between how much pot you've taken and your level of paranoia and forgetfulness. Mushrooms didn't seem to favor any emotion, inspire false self-confidence or impair my memory. There were a few times during my trip where a sense of discomfort or paranoia popped up and seemed like it might overtake me, but with some firm self-direction they passed within a moment of their appearance.
I should note that this half-dose of mushrooms was of a similar intensity to the most intense experiences I've had on pot. Though the social and emotional peace that I enjoyed at the time I took mushrooms has passed and with it my desire to do mushrooms, I eagerly await the time when I return to a peaceful mental place so that I can finish off the eighth with my aforementioned friend.
Monday, September 6, 2010
RE: This Flesh
The following is a response to my friend Rob's similar post. While it is not sexual, it is excruciatingly explicit.
Feet - Size 9, shapely with a high arch. Light furring on top of arch and toe knuckles. Left big toe lost nail once and it's consequently smaller. Athlete's foot once in college. Toenails are thick, strongly curved and make a high angle. Pronounced sandal tan, even in winter.
Legs - The only muscular part of my body with biker's quads and taut hamstrings. Significant, light brown hair. Ghosts remain of repeated soccer-related ankle-sprains. 3/4'' crater scar from an infected spider-bite. Veininess obscured by hair.
Knees - Left knee has a blue spot from a piece of pencil graphite lodged long ago. Some scarring from scabbed knees.
Skin - Fair. Had eczema in middle school and acne from high school to present (though it's lessened somewhat).
Ass - Hair in continuation from legs. Conflicting opinions on whether it's unusually big or small for my build.
Hands - Shapely, very small hands with relatively stout fingers. Back of hand is also rather veiny and notable for fine wrinkles unusual for my age.
Penis - Average to larger-than-average size, in contradiction to common wisdom about hand and foot size. Frenulum lists to the left. Uncircumcised. Brown bush.
Torso - Slight, with a flat chest. Some hair on chest. One inch scar over hipbone. Major mole on right scapula, other minor ones. Navel is an innie.
Intestines - Conditioned on a diet of coffee, beer and cheese. Other drugs on a nonregular basis. Very, very happy.
Arms - Light-brown hair and potentially rather veiny. Left wrist is still tender from a months-old bike crash.
Skull - Narrow. Orthodontia-enhanced jaw (normal instead of a natural overbite). Slightly pronounced brow.
Eyes - Moderately nearsighted and ever-so-slightly colorblind. Hazel green. Mesmerizing to behold.
Ears - Disconnected earlobe. Genetic poor hearing in the middle ranges, which makes me say "What?" a lot and partially lip-read in noisy environments. My mom wears a hearing aid and I probably will too when I'm her age.
Teeth - Particularly prone to problems because of mouthbreathing and a high calcium concentration in my saliva. Also orthodontia-enhanced. Two cavities, one crown for a missing tooth. Back row of wisdom teeth removed.
Nose - Straightness tempered by a shallow arch. Biggish for my face.
Head Hair - Fine, light-brown and wavy. Pretty perfect in fact. Moderate unibrow (now plucked).
Brain - One minor concussion in high school knocked me unconscious and scrambled my short-term memory for the day. I don't know my IQ, but it's high. If my peers are a reasonable point of reference I'd guess in the 140's or 150's, but that's kind of a ridiculous percentile, so maybe lower. Also considered knowledgeable, but that includes a healthy dose of BS.
Overall - Majority French, a quarter German, some Welsh and Native American, maybe some Scottish. Blood type A. 5'10 and 130 pounds.
Feet - Size 9, shapely with a high arch. Light furring on top of arch and toe knuckles. Left big toe lost nail once and it's consequently smaller. Athlete's foot once in college. Toenails are thick, strongly curved and make a high angle. Pronounced sandal tan, even in winter.
Legs - The only muscular part of my body with biker's quads and taut hamstrings. Significant, light brown hair. Ghosts remain of repeated soccer-related ankle-sprains. 3/4'' crater scar from an infected spider-bite. Veininess obscured by hair.
Knees - Left knee has a blue spot from a piece of pencil graphite lodged long ago. Some scarring from scabbed knees.
Skin - Fair. Had eczema in middle school and acne from high school to present (though it's lessened somewhat).
Ass - Hair in continuation from legs. Conflicting opinions on whether it's unusually big or small for my build.
Hands - Shapely, very small hands with relatively stout fingers. Back of hand is also rather veiny and notable for fine wrinkles unusual for my age.
Penis - Average to larger-than-average size, in contradiction to common wisdom about hand and foot size. Frenulum lists to the left. Uncircumcised. Brown bush.
Torso - Slight, with a flat chest. Some hair on chest. One inch scar over hipbone. Major mole on right scapula, other minor ones. Navel is an innie.
Intestines - Conditioned on a diet of coffee, beer and cheese. Other drugs on a nonregular basis. Very, very happy.
Arms - Light-brown hair and potentially rather veiny. Left wrist is still tender from a months-old bike crash.
Skull - Narrow. Orthodontia-enhanced jaw (normal instead of a natural overbite). Slightly pronounced brow.
Eyes - Moderately nearsighted and ever-so-slightly colorblind. Hazel green. Mesmerizing to behold.
Ears - Disconnected earlobe. Genetic poor hearing in the middle ranges, which makes me say "What?" a lot and partially lip-read in noisy environments. My mom wears a hearing aid and I probably will too when I'm her age.
Teeth - Particularly prone to problems because of mouthbreathing and a high calcium concentration in my saliva. Also orthodontia-enhanced. Two cavities, one crown for a missing tooth. Back row of wisdom teeth removed.
Nose - Straightness tempered by a shallow arch. Biggish for my face.
Head Hair - Fine, light-brown and wavy. Pretty perfect in fact. Moderate unibrow (now plucked).
Brain - One minor concussion in high school knocked me unconscious and scrambled my short-term memory for the day. I don't know my IQ, but it's high. If my peers are a reasonable point of reference I'd guess in the 140's or 150's, but that's kind of a ridiculous percentile, so maybe lower. Also considered knowledgeable, but that includes a healthy dose of BS.
Overall - Majority French, a quarter German, some Welsh and Native American, maybe some Scottish. Blood type A. 5'10 and 130 pounds.
Statement of Purpose
I will first explain what this blog is not. It is not a complete blog. It does not contain material that would pass through a general filter (aka the grandmother test). Neither, however, is it a truly unfiltered blog that will fearlessly cover the most personally compromising of my thoughts.
The target audience of this blog is intimate friends, perfect strangers and friends removed enough from my life for intimate knowledge not to become a liability.
The major topics I will cover on this blog are sex, drugs and relationships. However, because of this blog's catchall nature, posts' topic, approach and level of quality can be expected to vary considerably.
It will be possible to view the blog by category. Categories will be exclusive and nonoverlapping, which means if you want to read about drugs without encountering sex posts that briefly mention drugs, the drugs category will be safe.
I want to warn my friends that the content of this blog will frequently exceed the degree of propriety and discretion I would exhibit in person. You may very well decide after a few glances at this blog that it is not for you. I won't fault anyone for making that decision.
The target audience of this blog is intimate friends, perfect strangers and friends removed enough from my life for intimate knowledge not to become a liability.
The major topics I will cover on this blog are sex, drugs and relationships. However, because of this blog's catchall nature, posts' topic, approach and level of quality can be expected to vary considerably.
It will be possible to view the blog by category. Categories will be exclusive and nonoverlapping, which means if you want to read about drugs without encountering sex posts that briefly mention drugs, the drugs category will be safe.
I want to warn my friends that the content of this blog will frequently exceed the degree of propriety and discretion I would exhibit in person. You may very well decide after a few glances at this blog that it is not for you. I won't fault anyone for making that decision.
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