Monday, December 29, 2014

December 29, 2014



December 29, 2014

I can’t imagine a world without women.  That would be just my definition of hell on earth.  Throughout my life, I have been drawn to a woman that is both creative, seductive, smart, and is aware of the “role” of a woman in a very corrupt horrible culture that we live in now.  I have consistently been embarrassed by my gender, with respect how the world has treated women.  In no fashion or style can I claim to be not a sexist, because I was born in a sexist world - therefore I must be a sexist.  Sadly the same goes for racism.  Without a doubt we live in a racist world, so how can we not be racist?   It’s a social disease that must be cured, but the first step is to realize that we exist in such a horrifying and horrible world.



The beauty of a woman is extremely important to me.  It’s a dangerous concept, because beauty can be only skin-deep, or it can be an entrance to a complex world where if one added aesthetic feelings as well as sexual attraction, which in most cases are very hard to define.  One time in my life it could be just clothing and nothing else.  If a woman wore a certain color, or fabric, it would immediately turn me on.  I could never figure out how that worked exactly.  The second thing that turned me on is situations where a female has a role in a highly controlled situation.   The maid, the nurse, wife, or a woman from a particular culture and country.   It’s very mysterious how that works out to a man’s sexuality.



For me, it would have to be the taste of the exotic, which in reality it does not have anything to with anything.  It’s a visual thought, or a distant feeling that somehow is important to one’s sensual history.   In most of my life, I have worked in a bookstore, and I have always been attracted to women who work in such stores.  A woman who carries a book around is a picture of pornography for me.   I remember one time I was on a bus, and I saw this young woman reading a vintage paperback movie tie-in edition of Alberto Moravia’s “Contempt.” My first thought was where did she get this edition of this book?  Then I noticed that she was quite beautiful, and I couldn’t separate her from the book she was holding.  Is there anything more exquisite than a pretty girl holding and reading a book with Brigitte Bardot on the cover?



I wanted to approach her, but I couldn’t think of anything to say to her.   I saw her again on the bus, maybe a month or two later, and again, she was reading a favorite book of mine by Andrew Loog Oldham - and I couldn’t fathom why this young woman is caught on the bus reading two of my favorite books.  Especially, to remind you, two very obscure editions of a book.  The Oldham book could only be purchased as an import, and it is not an easy book to find either on the Internet or in a bookstore.   For that reason alone I had a sexual fixation on her, but I just didn’t know how to approach her, or even make a comment to her.  The series of moments were too perfect, and therefore I didn’t want to destroy the spell of the moment, by saying something idiotic or stupid.



Women are objects of desire.  The question I have is why do I feel that way?   It is only when I spend a great deal of time with a woman that I realize that they are just as complexly as a male, and at times I even forget that there is a gender difference between us.  But the initial impression is like a lighted match on a long fuse, and it burns slowly.  Logic is scattered out of the window, and I’m left amazed that I’m in a world that I can’t fully explain, but surely I have strong feelings for.


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