It's easier to drown in booze than in tears. Beer comes in pints, tears come one at a time.
I read the a lot of the writings of the Marquis de Sade at a young age. I was in high school when I read the majority of Juliette, the first thing I read; my mom knew I was reading it and hardly said a word, in fact, I received more caution against reading Ayn Rand. I would read it on the bus and at work when I was waiting for the centerfuge to finish or while I was eating lunch. It was a terrible conversation starter: "whatcha readin?" "the marquis de sade." "oh." and that would be it. The content of Juliette was disgusting, shocking, frightening, nauseating, disturbing, intriguing, and exciting. There was hardly an idea in it that was not taboo by today's standards. It was absolutely facinating, even if only in the same manner as a train wreck. The most important part of it all was that it was completely new. Completely. I didn't know it, but giant doors swung wide for me with every page I read, often fighting the urge to shed tears and feeling the nausea and discomfort grow bigger and stronger in the pit of my stomach. At this time in my life I hadn't really seen all that much porn (movies, pictures or otherwise) and had what I thought was a pretty normal sex life, even though it might have been a little vanilla/boring. It wasn't until after I read the Marquis that I started to see mainstream porn and come to understand the sex life of the average person my age: fucking boring as fuck. I'm not sure how I expected things to be, but I hoped it would be at least as exciting as what I'd already experienced. I was ready to discover the many hidden wonders of the sexual world, these amazing things that "normal" people got all the time. Boy, what a fucking let down. Here I am, ready to dive into the pool of sexual enlightenment, and *I* am the big freak. *I* am the one with the deviant desires because I aspire to things more interesting than doggy style and a slap on the ass. I blame the Marquis. Obviously I knew that no one did the things he described, but ingesting these fantastic acts had planted the seeds of creativity in me, damning me to be consistantly disappointed with the lack of imagination and excess of prudishness in others. Not to mention the astounding intolerance and disrespect! I really don't understand how some people can be so rude. Small wonder anyone says anything about their non-mainstream desires in this world. Nothing shocks me. Really. It may disgust me, and I may not understand it, but it wouldn't surprise me to know that some people really get off on spaghetti enemas or chewing aluminum foil. I'm the one with the call for acceptance in these respects, and I'm the freak. I AM THE FREAK. I say, "yeah, I could maybe see why someone would want to have their boobs flattened with a rolling pin" amongst the cries of "YOU SICK FUCK!" and I'm the one with the problem? Fucking hell, I'm not the one being insulting. I'm trying to be understanding, I'm trying to find some sort of common bond, I'm trying to find a connection between how I think and how someone else things, I'm trying to see how people like what they like and why other people tell them they're inferior, and I'm the one with the weirdo.
I don't know, maybe I am the weirdo.
Whatever the case, it felt good to write it all down, even if it isn't exactly the way I think and feel.
I read the a lot of the writings of the Marquis de Sade at a young age. I was in high school when I read the majority of Juliette, the first thing I read; my mom knew I was reading it and hardly said a word, in fact, I received more caution against reading Ayn Rand. I would read it on the bus and at work when I was waiting for the centerfuge to finish or while I was eating lunch. It was a terrible conversation starter: "whatcha readin?" "the marquis de sade." "oh." and that would be it. The content of Juliette was disgusting, shocking, frightening, nauseating, disturbing, intriguing, and exciting. There was hardly an idea in it that was not taboo by today's standards. It was absolutely facinating, even if only in the same manner as a train wreck. The most important part of it all was that it was completely new. Completely. I didn't know it, but giant doors swung wide for me with every page I read, often fighting the urge to shed tears and feeling the nausea and discomfort grow bigger and stronger in the pit of my stomach. At this time in my life I hadn't really seen all that much porn (movies, pictures or otherwise) and had what I thought was a pretty normal sex life, even though it might have been a little vanilla/boring. It wasn't until after I read the Marquis that I started to see mainstream porn and come to understand the sex life of the average person my age: fucking boring as fuck. I'm not sure how I expected things to be, but I hoped it would be at least as exciting as what I'd already experienced. I was ready to discover the many hidden wonders of the sexual world, these amazing things that "normal" people got all the time. Boy, what a fucking let down. Here I am, ready to dive into the pool of sexual enlightenment, and *I* am the big freak. *I* am the one with the deviant desires because I aspire to things more interesting than doggy style and a slap on the ass. I blame the Marquis. Obviously I knew that no one did the things he described, but ingesting these fantastic acts had planted the seeds of creativity in me, damning me to be consistantly disappointed with the lack of imagination and excess of prudishness in others. Not to mention the astounding intolerance and disrespect! I really don't understand how some people can be so rude. Small wonder anyone says anything about their non-mainstream desires in this world. Nothing shocks me. Really. It may disgust me, and I may not understand it, but it wouldn't surprise me to know that some people really get off on spaghetti enemas or chewing aluminum foil. I'm the one with the call for acceptance in these respects, and I'm the freak. I AM THE FREAK. I say, "yeah, I could maybe see why someone would want to have their boobs flattened with a rolling pin" amongst the cries of "YOU SICK FUCK!" and I'm the one with the problem? Fucking hell, I'm not the one being insulting. I'm trying to be understanding, I'm trying to find some sort of common bond, I'm trying to find a connection between how I think and how someone else things, I'm trying to see how people like what they like and why other people tell them they're inferior, and I'm the one with the weirdo.
I don't know, maybe I am the weirdo.
Whatever the case, it felt good to write it all down, even if it isn't exactly the way I think and feel.
VIEW 25 of 32 COMMENTS
We're all weird if we're honest.
I've only got two days left on the site and before I grey out I wanted to tell you that your posts and journal entries make me laugh, think, and feel, usually all at once.