Filthy

Pornographic music goes way back, and when daguerreotype was invented, people made some of the earliest pornographic pictures.  But there were even photo processes before that, and I know that these people experimented with more than just images of ripened fruit.  There was early pornographic silent film, literature and sheet music.  Before the early records, photos, movies and books, there were pornographic paintings, drawings — pornographic cave etchings…

This is why some of the affectations of the so-called risqué songs and photos of today put me to sleep.  I know that this behavior had been explored since the early days of human existence, by those who couldn’t ignore their natural curiosities, even at risk of being drawn and quartered.  These early pornographic interpretations are more interesting and original, especially considering the historic context.

A Facebook buddy posted a link with an article suggesting that the filthy songs produced in the 1930s might have been the “filthiest” ever.

In the link, Lucille Bogan’s voice and the look on Harry Roy’s face somehow reminded me of syphilitic lunacy.  Lucille Bogan has an unapologetic, devilish style, and she gets right to the point.  She is in hysterics in the middle of the song with the idea of these “filthy” indulgences.  Harry Roy looks like someone about to participate in something unholy, where “utensils” may or may not be used.  I don’t know who the guy in that last picture is, but you should just take a look at him – just look at him!

Not suggesting that the excessive love of sex should bring this misery upon anyone, and certainly not saying that these musicians had syphilis.  Just saying though.  God forbid condoms, dental dams and antibiotics had never been invented, a lot of us might be just about as screwed.  Long live evolucion!

I had not heard these before – golly, they’re so much fun!

http://www.tonedeaf.com.au/features/columns/332361/the-1930s-the-dirtiest-decade-in-music.htm

Death

I wasn’t going to mention the Metro-North tragedy initially, because you can’t run from death.  Not really.  I did finally mention it on Facebook because of some compelling coincidences.  I didn’t want to give it special attention, because focusing on the details of the incident wouldn’t help to remind me that death is happening, and it’s not as big a thing as we make it out to be. When my father died I was reborn into this idea.  Paradoxically, I had to go through a few complex changes to come to this simple conclusion.  I try living harder and more truthfully because of this.  I want to be more fleshed out and connected to everything around me.

Yah I’d like to think that I could sustain this idea.  We’ll see how full of shit I am in the end though.  In my isolated existence, disconnected from the whole, death becomes a melodrama, and the mere particle of my human life becomes lionized, disproportionate to the calming reality.  Well, shit – I hope it’s calming.  I really hate the idea of holding onto life, holding onto things…

One Day in the Life of Sandee Denisovich

I love saying this as a way to outline a day in my life.  It’s my tribute to Solzhenitsyn.  I don’t mean to diminish the meaning of the book, which is about a Soviet prisoner.

Either way, here’s one day in my roach infested life:

number A – Saw my friend J. who goes to the nudie beach.  I’m planning to go with.  Only thing it costs 45 fucking dollars to take the ferry there.  He says he’d pay, but does that mean I’d have to, you know, put lotion on his buttocks?

number B – I thoroughly enjoyed hugging a man with a southern accent who smelled like cigarettes.

number C – I planned to come home and unfriend someone on Facebook.   Though we were just acquaintances, I thought we had a mutual interest in each other’s lives.  But while this person is ‘liking’ up everybody else’s posts, they have yet to ‘like’ anything I post.  I have other FB ‘friends’ who ignore me, but with this person it’s rather curious.  It would be fine if they hadn’t acted so friendly and interested when I used to see them.  Wull, anyways, I’m trying to sell books and FB is my poor ass attempt at marketing — when I feel like it.  So when I got home, I decided, maybe I won’t unfriend them just yet.

number D – I got a sweet gift from a blogger — but if I told you what it was I’d have to kill you.

number E – Okay so, I watched a man and a woman emerge from a single unisex public toilet — hubba hubba!

number F — I’m ‘watering’ my neighbor’s apartment while he’s away.  It’s all clean in there since he married his girlfriend.  And I think she threw all his cookies away.  I was planning on grabbing a few but when I looked at the shelves where he usually keeps them, there weren’t any.   I mean — this man stocked up on cookies like he was a Keebler elf — it was insane — once I counted 15 packages of cookies.  So I just dropped off his mail, watered the plants and got the hell out of there.  I did stare at his liquor bottles, tempted to open one just to smell it, but as people who know me know, I need to stay thirty yards away from liquor because it turns me into a damn Gremlin.  The cool thing is that he finally got rid of that furry toilet seat cover.  I HATE anything furry in the bathroom, especially in the vicinity of the toilet with all those bacteria and microscopic organisms — ew!  My ex had one and I was always uncomfortable in his apartment because I knew there was one in the bathroom.

number G — I read this great post on the Outlier Collective about cellulite! Made me proud to have it!

G’night!

Hehehehe.

“Just because” bunny

Pehehe.  I didn’t know that when you unfriend someone on Facebook, you can no longer see them in the conversation stream of a mutual friend’s comment box — haha!  It’s like the person responding to them is talking to themselves — hahaha — like seeing a person dancing with themselves in the mirror.  But, in actuality they’re dancing with a vampire who doesn’t cast a reflection — tehehe!

Hahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

I’ve only been on Facebook over a year and today was my first ‘unfriending’.  I’ve been threatening to do this a while.  I was infuriated by this person’s inflamatory, homophobic, racist  — this person happens to be black — and generally idiotic, delusional and bombastic comments, most of which I simply ignored if they happened to be in response to one of my posts.  With the exception of one instance where I told them that I was offended by what they had said, I held back on other occasions, when I really wanted to lash out and tell them what a fucking idiot they were.  When this happens more than a few times, they gotta go.

But I don’t mind a good natured Facebook debate, as long as there’s intelligence behind it and the discretion that comes with the tact and respect for anyone else happening to be viewing the conversation on a public wall.  This person would just flail all ass out — so I also didn’t want them offending my other Facebook Friends.

Believe me, I’m not on a moral high horse.  I just can’t endorse dumb.  And I’m no grade A number one spell-checker — no prize-winning grammar queen (There might even be errors in this.), but even this person’s bombastic rants contained high levels of misspellings, misquotes and grammatical comedies.  One of their comments in my stream was the size of a blog post — hahaha!  Ass!  This person was the most offensive Facebook personality I have ever seen, even more offensive than the person who posted a picture of anal sex flaming huge on my wall.  But I gave this other person another shot because he dismantled the ass shortly after.  Actually the ass was kind of hot, however I’m not on Facebook for porno.

But anyway — even the way we became Facebook friends was stupid.  I was manipulated.  Weird, right?  Well, I don’t need the numbers.  I’m no Facebook friend whore.

After quiet exclamations of  “What the fuck,”  “What an asshole,” and “I don’t believe you just said that,” I’d hover over the ‘unfriend’ option, just threatening to click it.

So, congratulations to me, today, yay!  No more assholes, hooray!

Have you unfriended any assholes?

Facebook Rejection

Years ago, I told a friend that I would never go on Facebook.  If I wasn’t already talking to the people, I didn’t need to be interacting with them on Facebook.  I said I’d only be interested in contacting people from elementary school and my old babysitter — people from before adolescence. These people represent pivotal parts of my early development memory data.  Things got too complicated after adolescence.

I wanted to contact Margarita Fong, Yu Ching Wong and Suk Soo from P.S. 152 – and no, I didn’t go to school in China Town – I tell you that Suk Soo was rough.  She didn’t speak English well, but mess with her you’d see — she’d take on an attack stance and yell in her heavily accented voice, “You talk!  You talk!”  You’d run right outta there!  I would also like to contact Nina from kindergarten, Mary Lou, Zaida, David, and my fourth grade teacher Mrs. DePierro with the rotten teeth – though she’s gotta be dead now.

It was necessary for me to get immersed in social media to “market” Mean-Spirited Tales.  So here I am on Facebook.  I sent a couple of these people from the days of yore Facebook friend requests.  I haven’t heard back.  Except for my old babysitter and Mrs. DePierro, perchance they don’t recall me, as they were just babes themselves back then, and I’ve heard some people say they don’t remember anything before the age of ten.

That’s hard for me to believe since I have very early memories, though not as early as that guy who says he remembers coming out of his mother’s vagina – haha!  I remember not being able to walk and I remember someone changing my diaper — they put Johnson & Johnson’s Baby Powder on my butt.  Just after learning to walk, I waddled to my brother’s crib and snatched the pacifier out of his mouth.  I guess the crib was low and I had a high reach.

It might just be that the folks I’ve reached out to haven’t been fortunate enough to recall such nascent gems.  So I’ll just chalk the rejection off to “lack-of-memory-cognizance syndrome” and be done with it.

 

I love winter nights

Love love LOVE when people post their random thoughts on Facebook.  How inspiring.

Here are my favorites:

– Gettin’ ready for the big blow out — yeah-eee yeah-eeeeee!

– Today iz whoop ass Friday up in here!

And the best — Facebook food cravings:

– Some Kentucky Fried be nice right about now.  

Well.  Here’re snippets of thought I thought of posting on Facebook individually, but then I thought better of it, but then thought, fuck it, I’ll just put them all in my blog, like, fuck it.  These are my random thoughts on the days they were thought:

4/19/12 – I want my uterus out.

4/28/12 – I like boogers, to pick them, yes.

6/19/12 – Out of toilet paaaapeeer?!  What’ll I do now?!  Eeeyaaaahh!

6/19/12 – Uh oh.  Shouldn’t have used that in place of toilet paper.

6/19/12 – What does one do for flaming anus?

7/26/12 – I just love the King of Queens.

7/30/12 – Betty White’s a sexy bitch!  Fuck y’all!

8/13/12 – I’m ‘bout to kill a mouse up in here!

8/28/12 – Anybody ever wonder what old people look like when they’re having sex?

9/15/12 – Does anybody else ever wonder what would happen if you shut off your phone and computer and never came outside again how many people would give a shit?

9/15/12 – Do you ever wonder if you’ll die alone?

9/15/12 – Y’all should know that everyone dies alone – after all you weren’t born with anyone else, silly — I mean you came into this world alone.  Even if you died with a bunch of other people you’d still be dying alone, right?  Anyone else ever think of that?  Huh?  Holla back.

9/15/12 – Gee, I really could use a Fluff a Nutter sandwich right about now.

9/15/12 – I hate food.

10/19/12 – I love winter nights.

10/22/12 – I hate pus!

10/23/12 – I love furry slippers on a winter’s morn.  Don’t y’all?

10/24/12 – Pork chops!  Applesauce!  Whassup whassup!

10/24/12 – Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!

11/12/12 – I wonder who’ll come to my funeral when I die, I mean, it shouldn’t matter but it kind of does at the same time if you know what I mean.

11/16/12 – Team Bella.

12/9/12 – A&P Weeeeeooooooooooo!  ‘memba that?

So, that’s it people —  I’m very very sorry.  I’m especially sorry for reeling you in with a title that might be perceived as romantic when it was only a part of a stream of crazy.

Cut, Paste, Be Fabulous!

It’s tacky to use photo shopping to help temper my Facebook envy?  Hell naw!  I too, can be fabulous.  Why shouldn’t I go to soirees in San Tropez, Marrakech, Transylvania and the South of France?  I can cut and paste a lover who coos at me as we row down the Seine.  I’ll photo shop dreadlocks on my head, put a cleft in my chin!  Oh you didn’t know I had a cleft? Well, yah I do. 

Oh why I’ll still weep scrolling through Facebook pages of people who’ve actually done these things.  Thank God I don’t drink anymore.  In a fit of self-loathing, I totally see myself ripping the keyboard from the computer and hurling that bottle of Jim Beam against the wall.  And I’d so kick the TV screen in.

But after a certificate of completion from the Acme School of Photo Shopping, I’ll put my skills to the test.  I’ll have the pleasure of knowing that someone looking at my Facebook page really believes that I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro with Diana Ross, Cher and Mick Jagger.

Muy Liberating

Since I have no privacy on Facebook and even in my own blog where anyone can come see what I’ve written, I can safely comment in other blogger’s comments sections, where I can say things I can’t talk about on my own fb page and in my own blog.  I need to be open in my blog and Facebook account because I’m selling a book.  It wouldn’t make sense for me to not advertise them.

But in other blogger’s comments sections, I can say I think the maintenance man’s cute and I want to sex him, or that I hate this one, and that this one stinks and has quite a large head, or that I stink because I haven’t taken a shower in four days.  It’s muy liberating to be able to do this.

So I want to give a shout out to all my lovely bloggers who have hosted my plaints in their comments.

All I need to worry about is someone super stalking me, by following all the blogs that I follow – holy shit I’d be fucked right about then.

A rotary phone with a squiggly long cord

I’m half of a hundred, I’m free.  I just told a guy that I had a Facebook crush on him.  Would I have been too cautious to say this at twenty-five?  I don’t know because that was the last century.  Facebook hadn’t been invented yet.

So would I have been able to tell this same guy face-to-face that I had a crush on him?   Would I have been able to tell him during a rotary phone conversation — by Pony Express?   I’m such a silly dewy – Pony Express! Ahaha!

But I don’t even know if I would have used any of these modes of communication for conveying a crush, because like I said, it was a Facebook crush, a different animal.  I haven’t seen this guy since he was a kid either.

But generally I think I’d tell a guy I had a crush on him.  I’m bold if I have a hankering for you.  I’m possessed by my hormones then and you should hear some of the stuff coming out of my mouth.  I should have been a dude, I’ve got so much swerve.

There are many things I feel more confident saying nowadays, and not just because of premenopause hormones – speaking of hormones.  I’m on the planet half a century and have been through more.  My theories have been tested and proven to work.

It gets better.  I hear we can turn off that filter completely and, you know, let it fly.  Like grandma.  She says what she wants.  You should’ve heard what she said when I told her I kissed a boy dressed like a girl.  It was absolutely vile what she said.  I laughed two days.

That’s why I don’t want to visit her now because I’ve nearly shaved my head.  She WILL say something about it and I WILL say something back.  That’s how we roll.  But she know I luv huh.

At the half century mark I’m just warming up.  Protect your heads.  No more hemming and hawing, beating around the bush, no sugar-coating or pretty euphemisms. With time running out, my language will be condensed.  There will be nuggets of truth flying in the air hitting people in the head.  Who said getting old wasn’t any fun?

So alone, so lone-lyyyyyyyyy…

He’s not Blacula, but he’s black and he’s a vampire

Blacula is so alone, so lonely.  He doesn’t have friends of equal status who drink blood and kill people, only minions.  I don’t have minions and I don’t drink blood – well once – but I don’t kill people because it’s against the law – I mean because it’s wrong.  Poor Blacula – Dracula gave him this uninspired name — he wants this voodoo priestess to turn him back into a human.  But she won’t because he killed people in front of her.  So she drives a stake into his voodoo doll likeness, stopping him.  He holds one arm in the air and clutches his chest.  A song called Torment comes on and the credits roll.  The music sounds like a television score from the early seventies — weird for this type of movie.  I love that Blacula’s face is frozen on the screen while the song plays.  Graphics turn Blacula’s tormented, screaming face red and his vampire teeth show.  I like the way the singer says freeeeee-dooooom, freeeeeeeeeedoooooooom….

The Torment song was my theme for the day.  We’re tormented for different reasons but today I was Blacula, so alone, so tooor-mented.

Mama why am I different?  Dr. Frankenstein, why did you make me to suffer like a dog in Germany?

Some of you know I wouldn’t be on Facebook if not for Mean-Spirited Tales.  While Facebook is a great distraction when you need it, all the common opinions about the election made me feel isolated.  So today I rolled the film of my life to the tune of Blacula’s lonely lament.  I didn’t get enough sleep last night so I had no resistance against the lament.  It was an absurd lament.