I went down yesterday to Piraeus-- no, wait, that wasn't me.What is pornography? “I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it.” So you're the one who decides? “No, it's subjective, porn could be different things to different people.” So everyone gets to decide? “No, there's no objective criteria.” So no one gets to decide? “No--” Thank God.Many people find it hard to have a rational discussion about pornography with other people, because other people don’t exist. You may as well try to discuss porn with an ox, if you can find one, if you will listen. Other generations exist, because you hate them, but such dialogues are tricky because the old can't help but see sexuality as part of a continuum towards death because they are closer to death than they are to lust, so much so that rather than an old guy thinking the young are sex obsessed, he forgets they are sex obsessed, forgets how sex and love frame all their decisions, forgets that the kid looking idly around a train car isn't thinking about bladder capacities or his boss’s incompetence, he's daydreaming about gazing at his beloved or ejaculating on a chick as he explains to her that she knows she likes it.1 Worse, they forget how hyperspecific love and lust is, a recently middle aged guy looks around and thinks college girls today are hotter than they've ever been, meanwhile a sophomore can look at identical twin cheerleaders and still need a few beers before he can get it up for the ugly one. You can play the game backwards, too, the creepy old perv, age 35-55, is creepy to a sophomore because it's unimaginable anyone that old still experiences lust in 3D; the simple fact that he noticed the consequences of an 18-24 year old's computer engineered bra is evidence of sociopathy unless those women have been branded as for-profit media combustibles in which case it's un-American if you don't look. The NFL put a lot of money into designing what’s left of those cheerleading uniforms, so unless you want to end up registered on a database you better not be caught not pretending not to notice.
Lust wanes with age; and if the old have good characters, they may feel some relief at having escaped such a frenzied and savage master. And if they lament it, and feel like they are being deprived of something very important, then I suspect that youth was hard for them as well. But what blocks all such dialogues isn’t the age or the hormone levels, it's the demographic. The hardest thing to swallow is that your lust is not your own, while it feels primal there's little innate or instinctive about it. This is not a happy thought, with so-co individualism being all the rage in the age of Know Thyself you're not going to want to hear about how little of you is you rather than the work product of whatever media agency targets the demo they've decided you're in. You're not taught what to want, but how to want, the modern innovation is to let you think you came up with you on your own. “I love a shaved pussy,” says the man who just doesn't get it, as if this his genetic preference. “Ugh!” says some equally oblivious antithesis, “it's like you're with a child.” Now he has to imagine she’s an adult. “She is actually an adult.” Yes, but he has to imagine it. If you practice seeing pieces of images, images of pieces are hard to unsee. When a guy looks at porn back from his own sexual prime, the enthusiastic reaction he has to the now hysterical hair and makeup or decade/exercise/diet specific body type is just as reflexive as if it came from ten gazillion years of natural selection, but it didn't. “Large hips are a cue for fecundity.” That at least explains why have always avoided them. “I just love a big ass.” Yes, it's the part of her furthest from her face. “You mean you can imagine her the way you want?” No, you don’t have to imagine her at all. She’s real. It's possible that the 1985 mustachio in the dark blazer over office-gut happened to be born at precisely the time that his unique major histocompatibility preferences coincided with the sudden popularity of white pumps and Legg's pantyhose, or that these are proxy cultural markers for biological fitness or ovulation, but the alternative explanation is that Bandolino needed market share so it targeted him as well as women, it told him not just what kinds of women a man like him should want but what kinds of men those women would want, which is also why he thought the mustache was a good idea. “Ok, but what does it mean that I get turned on by--” Save your breath: I don't know what it means. I only know what it's for. And that it's bad for everyone else.
>>24833748Cool. Which book is this from?
Forget about what porn you like. It's not about you. You know how I know? You didn't make it. Undoubtedly someone is going to toss the words heteronormative and individualizing the structural at me, and that person should stop reading immediately, not just this book but all books, your mind is broken and it is better suited for TV. I don't mean you are stupid, only that you are even more a product of the system you hate than the porn you think you reject. You think your sexual proclivities define you, they are unique to you, distinguish you; that the man who likes forced interracial porn is fundamentally different than the woman who likes soft core lesbian porn, this is wrong: the fact that you both like a porn makes you far more similar than different, please observe that your oh-so-personal and disparate kinks are all served by the same handful of websites, we are all brothers and sisters after all. We enjoy it, surrender ourselves, we praise anyone who affects us most in this way2. As much as everyone believes their sexuality is fundamental to their identity, no one would say their actual sexual past is indicative of their identity. “It’s different with you, those other people didn’t count.” I know. Neither is there anything to be gained by “analyzing” the kinds of porn you like as a window into your soul, it is meaningless and anyway chosen for you to like. Have you ever fallen asleep looking at porn? Yet that fact is far more telling than the image you fell asleep to, it doesn't matter what you want, or why you want-- it only matters how you want. You can count the drinks and pretend it's informative but too many times I've grabbed the bottle to pour myself the nth drink only to discover I hadn't finished the (n-1)th drink, the glass was still half full, or empty. So? You think the truth can be found by solving for n?So consider this your final warning. I have written a book, and the only thing I use in this book is words. Everything else th𝘢t h𝘢ppens is your f𝘢ult.
It's alright. I give it 3 apples. And I hope you aren't older than 20.
Eh, I don't live like I used to, have different sexual preferences now. Huess that's invalid or I'm an abberation. Been laying off the porn lately too, it was hard at first, but feels good. Try it sometime
