Ok. It's uncomfortable confession time. Anyone out there who's had sex with me on a regular basis knows that I have a fetish that I'm not especially proud of. It's a somewhat common one, but I still feel kind of ashamed of it. My fetish is that I like to imagine that I'm having sex with my Dad. Like, an incest kind of thing. Most people would say this is gross, especially if they knew my Dad (I don't have any pictures of him, but the cover of this album cover looks so much like him that neither me nor my sisters can look at it without getting creeped out), but usually what I do is find some guy who's sort of good-looking and just pretend that he's my Dad. Other than that, I don't feel too guiltly about it, because the only person who's getting victimized in my fantasies and my role-plays is me, and if I want to be victimized then that's my right.

By the way, did you know that you can stick my screen name, "nearfalse", in a search engine and actually gets results that are actually about me, and not just about generating test data from a Boolean specification? It's true! If you type "nearfalse" into google.com, you can get little links to my blog, but you can also see a little comment I made on an album on amazon.com (am I starting to look obsessed with that site? I guess I kind of am), as well as a creepy comment I made on someone else's blog. Best of all, you can see that I have visited and created a screen name at a porn site devoted to amatuer incest. This is great! I'm so happy that I'm connected with that site, and that google has been kind enough to call that to people's attention!

Ok, it's true that I went to that site. I was looking for pictures of fathers and sons having sex with each other. I created the screen name, because you can't look at anything without it on that site. I went a couple of times about a year or a year and a half ago, but soon decided that it was not for me. For starters, the majority of the pictures on that site are devoted to straight sex, and that's just disturbing. Secondly, though most of the pictures are obvious fantasy, there are a couple that look very real, some of which are featuring people that really look like they're underage. I'm not down with that. My thing is for fantasy, not reality. I'm quite aware of how damaging this sort of thing is for people who are actually involved with it. Furthermore, it makes me sad to see people being oppressed. If I'm being oppressed it's just fine; in fact, I get off on it. To see other people being oppressed...unless the're obviously enjoying it, it's very depressing.

So, that's that. If anyone out there knows of a way for me to make it so that the incest thing does not come up in association with my name anymore, then please leave a comment below. I would greatly appreciate it.

Ugh. I feel like shit. My stomach is watery and unstable feeling, my muscles are getting tighter and tighter all the time, and my emotions are all jangly and chaotic. Why is this happening to me, you ask? Because I drank a cup of coffee about 5 hours ago. Man that shit is killer. I'm suprised they don't make dealing it a criminal offense. Maybe that will be the next big prohibition craze. I can just see all those irritable middle aged mothers and achingly sincere vegan types marching in circles outside of Starbucks and Cup O' Joe, accosting weary business people and engineering students who just need to get their fix. "Do you realize that 9 out of 10 coffee addicts become incoherent babblers, crack-pot philosphers, or bad poets? Why should we have to listen to your theories on how the personal lubrication industry is controling the government, just because you thought it would be fun to have an extra shot of espresso in your mocha this morning?"

In case you haven't guessed, I fall into the incoherent babbler category. I also do double duty as a bad poet. Do you need proof? Here's one that I wrote for class. I wrote the framework at some folksy american diner in South Columbus, and did the revisions just a few minutes ago, here at the Science and Engineering library on the OSU campus. Prepare to be enthralled:

Another Poem About Poetry

You know which one I’m talking about.
It’s that feeling, you know? No,
I mean that one: the one that looks like gravel
in film noir, scraping the nerves on the skin
which screams out in forced stiltedness.
The one that smells like a train wreck
at a gas station, while birds screech out
in frantic staccato
making their getaway.

Yes, that one. I’m happy you understand.
It’s important
because of the idea. Which idea?
You already know it:
it’s the one that settles
like a pin-prick
in the center
of the heart,
and radiates out
to encompass the body,
the trees outside,
of course the soul,
and every abstraction
in the warm embrace
of it’s context.


Well, it's not an excellent poem or anything. But I do like the word combination "forced stiltedness" which sounds just like it's meaning, if you say it out loud. Also, I'm in love with the image of an abstract idea encompassing me in the warm embrace of it's context. At the risk of sounding really inaccesible, I have to say that it's SO TRUE.

Same shit, different day. I'm supposed to be getting down with the school work, and instead I'm dickin' around on the internet ('dickin' around'? Creepy...I just channelled my Dad for a second there).

Been writing the Poetry lately. If I want to get into the upper division (but still under-graduate) poetry writing class then I have to submit 6 poems for review by Nov 11th. This wouldn't be so bad, except that I'm not a poet and I hardly ever write. Well...I'll just churn some shit out, using all the dopey rules that I've learned about poetry in the class I'm taking now, and hope for the best. If I don't get in, they I don't really care (I guess). I'll just focus my energy somewhere else.

Vegan Memories

I've been listening to clips from Walt Mink's "Bareback Ride," an album that I used to own when I first moved to Columbus, on the amazon website. When that first clip started, I swear I could smell my old apartment, the first and only one I've ever had all to myself. What did it smell like? Like hippie cleansers: I would wash the floors with Dr. Bronners (did I spell that right?) all-purpose soap, whose label was covered in slightly unnerving new-age christian truisms in tiny lettering. To that I would add a variety of essential oils and herbs for spiritual protection and purity: menthol for sexual restraint, cedar and lavendar for protection, vetiver to inspire feelings of love. I'd wash the floors by getting on my hands and knees, the way my mother did it, the way the hare krsna's did it when I lived with them, and the way that seems most natural to me. I try to use the mop-type thing that my current roommate owns, and I can never figure out what it is that I'm supposed to do with it. I'd wash the walls too, at my old apartment. My place wasn't always clean, but when it was clean it was really clean.

I was a vegan then, and so I'd have to be cooking constantly: it's really hard to go out and get real vegan food take out, unless you want to eat ethiopian food every day, and even that is of dubious vegan-ness. I'd cook large pots of chickpeas with potatoes and tomatoes, which I'd bring to work everyday in a tuperware container. I'd get hearty, whole-wheat, yeast-free bread, with it's tangy sour flavour and chewy goodness, and sop up the chile-spiced tomato sauce with that. Or else I'd eat lentil soup, or black bean soup, or tofu strips marinated in soy sauce and brown rice vinegar, coated and with nutritional yeast and fried crisp to make the best sandwhich filling ever.

My favorite thing to make was biscuits. I'd make whole wheat biscuits that were decadant, so soft of the inside, which just a little bit of crispiness on the outside. I'd snatch one immediately when it was done cooking, slather it with margarine and a heaping helping of 100% fruit spread ('cause I didn't eat refined sugars at that time either) and put the warm, sweet doughiness into my mouth when it was still too hot. It would fill my stomach better than anything else I made, and I'd eat three or four in one sitting. I don't think I have the recipe for them any more. Anyway, now that I'm used to having plenty of dairy in my biscuits (never homemade anymore: always at a restaurant) I don't think I would find the vegan ones to be so decadant.

You know, I was really miserable during that time of my life. My mental illness seemed worse then than it ever did before. Still, there were some things that were really good, and that I wouldn't mind having back again.

S'been a little while since I blogged...I've been so preoccupied with writing for my classes. Honestly, I'm not really having so much fun with it anymore...it's becoming too much of a struggle. I don't like struggles. I want everything to be easy and enjoyable. If something is difficult, then it's not worth doing, I say. I know that's not entirely true...but when something goes against the grain of your whole personality, and every step is a forced effort, than you have to wonder if what you're doing is reallly the right thing for you. Unfortunately, now matter how much something sucks, there's allways a part of me that's still enjoying it, so I can never say that something is just pure suck, and therefore not the right thing for me to be doing.

I've been masturbating like crazy lately. My roomate gave me the password for his computer (which shows that he does trust me, at least a little bit) so I've had lots of private time to jerk off to porn. Consequently, I kind of hurt myself a little bit, rubbing the skin off of my foreskin, down at the bottom, where my thumb holds and grinds. I guess I'm not too ashamed about this. The other two or three times that this happened I stopped jerking off the second I realized what happened, and didn't do it again until I was healed. This time I just went right along doing what I was doing, barely giving the pain a second thought. I suppose this should worry me, but actually I feel pretty blase about it. Actually, I feel pretty blase about my whole addiction right now.

I'm getting along pretty good with my room mate. I think were both starting to understand each other pretty well. I for one feel much less threatened by his intellect and his desire to regulate the lives of others than I did before. He, for his part, is being better about respecting my boundaries and not trying to regulate my life in any way, which I believe is difficult for him, and so I really respect him for that. I think that him having his ADHD medicine back(which he was out of when I first moved in) is part of why he seems more under control than he was before.

A newer member of my SAA group just sent me an e-mail which was basically a come-on. I think that this guy was court-ordered to go to these meetings, and that the real point of them is a little lost on him. Luckily I'm not attracted to this individual so I'm not tempted to do anything with him. Still, it makes me feel uncomfortable. It was really nice being able to go to the meetings and know that everyone there was off-limits, and that I wouldn't have to deal with them coming on to me either. But, he is a sex addict, after all, and I shouldn't really be surprised.

On a different note, I feel totally gross today.

I think that one thing I need to learn is how to listen to the ideas and advice of others without feeling like I'm being attacked, but also not feeling like I'm obligated to agree with them. I'm finding that I'm spending almost all my time in close proximity to other people these days, what with my claustrophobic job, house with paper thin walls, and intimate, workshop style classes. It's time for me to just suck it up, act like an adult, and get over it.

Celebrity Sex Dreams

For the last three nights running I've had sex dreams about celebrities. The first one was of Mark McKinney, from The Kids in the Hall (Mr. McKinney is the one on the far right). He was wearing a full body condom...or...not so much a condom, put a loose tailored latex suit to protect him and me from potential disease. I had to reach under the leg of the suit to jerk him off (which I guess kind of defeats the purpose of wearing it...). When he came it was very realistic: he's a dribbler, not a shooter.

The next one was about having sex with a woman, Jennifer Aniston no less (you know, the one from "Friends"? Do I really need to link that?). The reason I was doing it was because we wanted to have a baby together, which at first I was really excited about. Then, when I realized how much of a controlling bitch she was, I decided that it was kind of a bad idea, and tried to find a different woman who wanted to do it with. But before we got to that point we had sex two or three times, none of which were very successful. I just couldn't get it up! I'd get hard enough to stick it in, but once we got to that point I'd just wilt. I just wasn't feeling it. Her skin was grey and ugly, and she was totally devoid of spirit.

The last one, which I had just a few hours ago, was about The Fonz (that picture on the top of the website is kind of blurry, but I like it, 'cause it looks like he's about to start feeling himself up or something). We were living in some sort of experimental group home, where one was given absolute freedom to do as one pleased within the confines of the several mile long compound. Still, me and The Fonz were sneaking around anyway...I guess having gay sex was not considered to be part of absolute freedom.

The nice thing about these dreams is that everyone I was with wanted to have sex with me. Sometimes I'll have sex dreams in which I think "this is only a dream, so I can do whatever I want," so I'll start to get it on with someone that I know in reality would not be so open to the idea, and they'll be like "yes, this is a dream, and you can do whatever you want to me; nonetheless, I'm really not enjoying this, and I hate you for making me do it." Which is really a downer.