I watch The Bachelor for all of the right reasons. I am painfully amused by people making fools of themselves, confessing to devastating breakups, the loss of an alcoholic parent, awkwardly displaying their sensitivity just to make it as a low-level celebrity. 
And yet as pathetic as the participants may appear, one can’t help but feel sorry for them, their lack of understanding for the contracts they’ve signed, the blood in their deal with the devil. 
The Bachelor brand preaches a skewed morality – a GQ/ADHD cocktail of defending superficiality- to which all participants adhere, while they are coaxed to reveal their personal wreckage, be it a former love’s betrayal, a famous brother or deep, bitter anger. 
Host Chris Harrison has been employed to feign concern – “I know it isn’t easy for you to be out here with your heart on the line…but how did you survive that crushing day?” – to create the victims and monsters.
And propagate the reality of this reality that love is sex, empathy is dishonesty and dreams only last until the next commercial.
Category Archives: sex
The Pyschological Issues of Interstellar Travel
Tired of the same-old Planet Earth problems? Perhaps you think it’s time to give another planet a go? But do you have what it takes for this distant quest? Nick Kanas’ Humans in Space, The Psychological Hurdles details the psychological and social issues of interstellar travel in the final chapter. 
Beyond the obvious loneliness and isolation of deep space, there are a few other things to consider:
Earth-out-of-view Syndrome. What would it be like to not just see Earth as a distant planet, but not see it all?
Monotony. How would you occupy your leisure time? There are no events to see, no relatives to visit, no sports nor Instagram feeds to follow. There’s nothing but the people and data on board. Does reading make a big comeback?
Physical Effects of Near-Relativistic Speed. What are the side effects of constantly travelling at a such a fantastic speed? Might we grow taller? Might the blood thin? The eyes cloud? And what of sleep?
Intolerance of Diversity. Most agree that some kind of group think is needed for such a journey to be a success. And so what of those that were outside the mindset? What about people who want to do things differently or maintain a belief outside of the norm? What would happen to them?
Justice. How would criminals and sociopaths be handled in such a small social network? How tolerant would it be possible to be of violent crimes? Is it one strike and you’re out?
Sex. How would people interact on a sexual level? Would birth control be required? Would monogamy be discouraged?
Mission Goals. How long would it take for the focus to sway from the original mission goal? What if a discovery were made of another possible planet on another course? Who would make these decisions? What authority would be needed?
Myths and Folklore of Earth: Earth will eventually become a memory. The second generation will only know it through stories and Disney movies. What effect will that have on how the society evolves?
Ice Friday: Henry Miller on Writing Sex
Sometimes in the recording of a bald sexual incident great significance adheres. Sometimes the sexual becomes a writing, pulsating facade such as we see in Indian temples. Sometimes it’s a fresco hidden in a sacred cave where one may sit and contemplate on things of the spirit. 
There is nothing I can possibly prohibit myself from doing in this realm of sex. It is a world unto itself and a morsel of it may be just as destructive or beneficent as a ton of it. The gods came down from above to fornicate with human kind and with animals and trees, with the earth itself. Why are we so particular? Why can we not love – and do all the other things which give us pleasure too? 
We fear to lose ourselves. And yet, until we lose ourselves there can be no hope of finding ourselves.
Anori Outtake: Terror in Sex
She was hiding under the covers and then I was under her dress, tucked against her breasts. She tried to push me away but she liked it too much, her body taut, pushing into my face and then pulling away. I loved her like that, her lips and breasts, her hips rolling up, so bent on the edge. I liked that emptiness, holding that demand in me, hard, and I couldn’t stop.
She was still wearing her panties and part of her top, or at least I thought she was, and saw her lean away, her face go to one side, eyes closed as she lifted her knees and grabbed my shoulder. I was frozen, seeing her like that, pent up, wanting to explode, me wanting nothing but that, to be there, my hand down her stomach, pulling at her top and breasts, down onto her hips, pulling her panties down, all of her naked, she turning around, pushing back, wiggling, hanging on in a desperate act, burning, her back arched and pulling me inside. It was terrifying – for a moment anyway – how much I liked it.
Why I Write: Naked Smiles
I’ve had no success in getting my writing published. I am on my ninth novel now. Yes, nine completed novels and nothing. I’ve written six screenplays, two novellas, too many poems and articles, and this, my 757th blog post. And nothing.
My publishing success is limited to a momentary sports column, a handful of advertorials for British Columbia Tourism and failed copy for a toilet company. 
Once, I posted a comment about the paparazzi the day after Princess Diana’s death and got a positive reply. Yes, 19 years later, and I still remember that one comment. 
My most successful blog – 1,200 hits – was due solely to the image of Bachelorette hopeful Jade Elizabeth posted along with it.
Over these many years, I have accumulated hundreds of rejections from literary agents – all kindly phrased – while friends have listened to my writing ruminations with fading patience. Acquaintances are more interested because they don’t know any better.
It’s not that I’m feeling sorry for myself. I’m just trying to figure out what I’m doing with all of my time. It’s a dream of something – recognition, immortality, dinner with the president, a night of naked adulation, an admiring smile. 
I am well aware of Orwell and Didion’s thoughts and agree that it must be in my nature and that I am my only I, but it doesn’t feel like that very often. Not today anyway. It seems more like I’m being stubborn or, more accurately, a dumb shit. 
“Paint” Screenplay: Fang Conflict Expunged
DAVIS lies half conscious on the porch of the frat house and stares up into the tree branches above. KATHRYN beside him, stroking his head.
The front door swings open. MAX, FANG, (KATHRYN’s ex-boyfriend), others behind come outside.
MAX (Seeing DAVIS and KATHRYN): Jesus, Davis.
FANG: What the fuck?
DAVIS struggles to get up but is too light-headed.
FANG (To KATHRYN): What is this?
KATHRYN (To FANG): What do you care?
DAVIS (Struggling to sit up) It’s not like…(Giving up) Shit.
FANG: (To DAVIS): You are such an asshole, such an asshole. (Pause) You’re a complete fucking failure, you know that?
DAVIS (Muttering): Hey, I just blacked out, man.
FANG (Jutting his jaw out, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth): There is no one more worthy of scorn than you. No one!
DAVIS notices the gathering crowd and sees ELLEN in the back. 
FANG: (Turning, seeing ELLEN as well) You like her? Yeah?! You want to know something, man? You will never have her. You will never have anyone. You don’t deserve anyone! You will die alone.
DAVIS (To ELLEN): She’s not my girlfriend.
FANG: Why are you talking?! Why the fuck are you speaking?
DAVIS sees ELLEN leave as FANG steps toward him and slaps him in the face.
FANG: You are a stupid irrelevant fuck!
DAVIS: Holy shit, man. Calm down.
DAVIS tries to laugh but fails miserably as he feels the nausea well up again and falls back to stare up into the branches.
Phallic Effigies
There was something marvelous about what she did. It was almost a breakthrough, how sexuality wasn’t such a thing, that an erect penis was just that, no more than an effective device in a situation comedy, like wide eyes or a gaping mouth. It was funny, the way he sat there with it sticking up. It was funnier how she grabbed it to let him know that he was accepted. But then it was something else when he did the same, the roommate, putting it in his mouth. I mean, I thought it was surprising but funny too. Most people did not. It was a scandal. 
There was screaming and yelling. People went into the street. I watched for a moment and then went alongside and then ahead of the crowd, only just. They were coming out of the side streets across the wide boulevards, all of them down to the old freeway. The concrete posts stood like an obliterated forest. That’s where they were, whatever those things were called, effigies, I guess, standing above us like Easter Island heads. 
It really looked like they would talk. But there were just too many people, most of them still screaming, and I lost interest and went back to the hotel. It was better going the other way. And they were still there. His penis was the same.
“My Bad Side” theme song
Down the row of empty metal chairs/There’s only polished light/My bad side/The photographer at his best 
I reach back to touch/And wait for her to undress/I reach back to touch/And wait for her to undress 
Escape this picture of me/Where nothing can be seen/Broken light/My silhouette/Against her
I reach back to touch/And wait for her to undress/I reach back to touch/And wait for her to undress.
She doesn’t accept/Thinks I need something else/As I reach back to touch/And wait for her to undress 
A long way back/Holding to her light/Her hands on me/Reaching back to accept/My bad side/She reaches to caress
Doll Man: The Un-Pitch
Doll Man is the story of a hard-working carpenter who makes dolls that he sees in his dreams and slowly removes himself from everyone, his wife, family and friends. 
The first arc features him visiting a friend who has a doll castle in the basement. The carpenter can’t focus on dinner, excuses himself again to look at it, until the host becomes concerned, goes downstairs and finds the carpenter, naked, playing with the figurines around the pink plastic castle. 
The film moves from terse and intense dialogue of the real world – his mother in another city, his brother who visits from New York, his daughter and husband and family – to the luxurious fantasy of his doll world. 
The carpenter becomes wholly absorbed in his doll existence, and the door closes the audience out in the final scene.
Ice Friday: John C. Lilly’s “The Scientist”
John C. Lilly’s fantasy-autobiography The Scientist chronicles his life as a scientist, psychedelic explorer and Third Being from the outer reaches of the universe. His scientific work begins with messing around with monkeys brains:
It was found that in male monkeys there were separate systems for erection, for ejaculation and for orgasm. With an electrode in the separate orgasm system, the monkey would stimulate this region and go through a total orgasm without erection and without ejaculation.
Given the apparatus by which he could stimulate himself once every three minutes for twenty-four hours a day, the monkey stimulated the site and had orgasms every three minutes for sixteen hours and then slept eight hours and started again the next day. (90)
Lilly goes on to mess with his own brain:
John felt that he had not sufficiently explored all the parameters of K. (Ketamine is reputed to facilitate out-of-body experiences.) He decided to do additional experiments on its long-term effects. For a period of three weeks, he gave himself injections every hour of the twenty-four hours. He immersed himself in the inner realities created by K, projecting them onto his outer reality. He became convinced of the intervention in human affairs of the solid-state life forms (computer-based machines) elsewhere in the galaxy. He became convinced that it was necessary for him to the warn the government. (162) 
Mr. Lilly eventually loses all awareness of who, what and where he is:
I swing from contained to uncontained mind and back to contained mind. I swing from belief in the three Beings to the simulation of the three Beings as a convenient method of thought to free up my thinking. Is belief any truer than experience? (110)