Do women like sex?

Do women like men?

Do women like sex with men?

Does sex, for you, help the loneliness go away?

I feel like everybody does Christmas up royally, except me. They’re ready to go at Thanksgiving, decorate beautifully, buy perfect presents, have the best parties, and are crestfallen when it’s over. They can hardly wait for the next chance to celebrate, be it St. Valentine’s Day , then Easter until the next Christmas comes up again.

Here it is, almost Super Bowl time and I’m kicking myself over another blown Christmas. I’m trying one more time. I’ll send Christmas cards on the Fourth of July, so I won’t miss the chance to get them out. I’ll watch Miracle On 34th Street at least once a month , and take notes.

I’ll buy hard candy, make egg nog monthly for practice, give to the Salvation Army and Toys for Tots.

Next time , I won’t make mistakes or miss any chance to celebrate.

Next time.

Sic Semper Tyrannis!

We must reduce history to a contest of who suffered the most

And that person is the winner

The slave

The redneck

The hillbilly bootlegger

The Harlem denizen dead with a spike in his arm.

Wait in line for your reward

Wait in line for your award.

Because you suffered

you’re somebody

Just like everybody else.

Grinding on toward Christnas. Thinking about dead relatives

Painful.

Would like to skip the get togethers

Im sure they’ll understand

I hope they’ll understand du

Television has old guys like me believing that if we’re not watching, we’re missing something.

We grew up with this endless parade of stuff. The death of Lee Harvey Oswald, the moon landing, the Challenger explosion, Kennedy in Berlin, Reagan in Berlin, The Trump/ Clinton Debate, The Trump Assassination Attempt.

Get it?

Remember The Kinks song Celluloid Heroes.

Eyeballs on the screen is how the TV people make money.

I just watched a YouTube program about Lee Marvin . If he had a message, that message was being authentic. Be authentic to your self.

Believe in something. Live that belief

It’s deuce difficult.

I love women, absolutely adore them

I love sex with women.

I haven’t had sex since 2008, with a woman, not my wife.

I have not had sex with my wife since I don’t know when.

I‘m horny and lonely.

I want the intimacy that only sex with love can offer .

F*ck me.

Ten years ago, my ex-wife died

There is an empty place in my heart.

Grief cannot fill it.

I just hold this empty space, as if it were a hollow blue glass globe.

And if I drop it

And it shatters,

The loss will be complete

Shards of love

Shards of loss.

Let it stay unbroken

Fragile

At risk

She really isn’t a ghost. She’s just dead, but she lives in my head.

To talk about our marriage is to acknowledge that it was a doomed partnership, clouded by alcohol. I was a fuck up , made mistakes, then got sober and the old drunk me was a husk shed with my sobriety.

I could not make enough amends to her.

And now she’s dead. Been dead for ten years.

So she’s not a ghost, but she’s out walking tonight. Maybe again she is a ghost. And I’m not sleeping.

What do you want from me?

All these strange things I had not thought possible, merely the musings of men(boys) and women(girls) given over to the vice of fantasization. The world is bursting with these wretches They keep the pornographers and eroticists (my word) busy Their yearnings are to be lauded.

These reprobates long to have novel stories to keep their minds busy in their reveries , I take the opportunity to recount the tale of Arthur and Betsy, lovers too curious and lustful for their own welfare.

One night, at a certain secret soirée for discriminating connoisseurs, they found themselves burdened by a newly incurred gambling debt for which they lacked the funds to satisfy. The proprietors of this illicit casino were seen talking to a certain tech mogul, who paid their debt in exchange for a period of voluntary servitude of exactly one year.

Arthur and Betsy were instructed to report to the AMTRAK station to the private railroad car at the rear of the train.

A tall brute of a man and a short muscular woman received them at the platform. The escorted them to a private car, where upon entry, they were ordered to strip, and prepare for inspection. Naked, Arthur‘s penis was measured, both flaccid and erect and the measurements recorded on his belly with a felt tip marker.

Betsy had her breasts , waist. and hips measured, and written on her belly too.

They were led to salon chairs where all their hair was shaved, both on their heads and pubes. A soothing lotion was applied to their private areas.

They were then ordered to masturbate, their times to orgasm recorded. Video recordings of their techniques and facial expressions at climax were also made.

Next came a rather satisfying meal that they ate with only their fingers, cubes of vegetables, tofu, wild rice and quinoa(these were compressed in cubes).

“Meat, slaves. is a luxury, as are most sweets. Fruit is plentiful , as is yogurt and skyr. “ Your new Masters are concerned about your weight and your flabby bellies. You will be weighed upon your arrival at San Souci, your residence for the next year. We will also measure your body fat. Once a week , you will be weighed.”

Finally heavy brass rings were fixed to their ankles . Chains, with bells were placed around their waists, signaling their every movements

“You will wear these bells until your nipple piercings are done. Those little bells are much more genteel.

And so they were prepared.

I tried sleeping. J had The Waltons, now Little House On The Prairie on to fall asleep to So she fell asleep and I wished I was dead. I hear they use Little House to torture captured aviators in Iran.

I cleaned the kitchen . Now I’m fixing to watch TV . But there’s a big lump of sadness in my chest