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"Father Tribou: Masturbation"
In my 9th grade Sexual Wisdom Class @ Catholic High School For Boys, Father Tribou claimed: "Boys, if you get a bit aroused; next, slap or splash some cold water on your scrotum."
Indeed, masturbation, with the intention of really "giving it" to a sublime lass is adultery, entering her soul with your warped Love Rocket for mere self-serving elation; however, without weekly discharge of semen, a man can develop Seminal Backup or Epididymitis; as a result, you'll be walking with a wheelbarrow in front of you until the antibiotics kick in. Nevertheless, when releasing the seed, think of an android woman lacking consciousness or a soul--never a sentient cyborg, or it will be adultery.
Father Tribou still haunts my failures to the day. Due to Social Phobia and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder with Tics, I could not urinate or craft stool in public, forcing me to be a scholastic exile, dropping out and running away from home after merely a few weeks into my sophomore year. The strict teachers would never let me urinate during class save Brother Richard, a holy man; thus, I endured numerous urinary tract infections and bowel problems, ultimately getting Inflammatory Bowel Disease. There's nothing more weirdly cruel than having a tube shoved up your penile urethra or a spoon crammed beyond your rectum's privacy to remove shy feces. I guess I should have tried harder. I was a failure at Catholic High. Breaking two bones during my freshmen football year, fasting on liquids and solid foods, unable to hydrate or nourish myself due to mental illness. And to think @ Our Lady of Holy Souls School I was Captain of the Defense on our football team, and had more interceptions than the entire league combined. Oh well, I still can live through watching Tim Tebow play--oh wait, they screwed that guy.
So, unable to ever gel with society, I ride my motorcycle for clandestine purpose, always having the huff & puff of swift mercury to pull into an alley and relieve myself, though if caught--it would be incarceration by an ultra-conservative Nashville machine.
So, discharge is not a sin. But remember--picture an elegant android, not a fair maiden or scandalous cyborg armed with a fragile soul.
Me during my Catholic High years--short, buzz cut-like haircuts required to enter the private school:
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"She Talks To Arch-Angels: Annunciation"
Through the iniquitously-layered cosmic trash till onto Terra's fooled gleam--
Gabriel, a bio-mechanical, Arch-Angelic, God-Forged Machine
Offers ANNUNCIATION to Mary's Virginal Mien--
This all done in a matter of unearthly clean;
Indeed, enslaved Eve was besmirched by the Father of Lies, the Adder,
Yet Mother Mary crushes the reptilian matter
By way of an inviolate womb gelled with God,
Inspiring the Celestial Hierarchy to offer humble nod . . .
ANNUNCIATION CRAYON ART:
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"On The Celestial Hierarchy"
The Celestial Hierarchy billows with brilliant birth,
Layered in multiple Life/Essences scattered throughout the Multiverse;
Alas, the lower ranks (Angelity/Arch-Angelity) mirror humanity,
Protecting and besmirching our Earth that they can clearly SEE;
Furthermore, honored to carry the Celestial Seed of Life--
Arch-Angelic Gabriel battles the Adder's Minions to deliver the antithesis of strife,
Arriving with great tribulation until unto the Virgin Mary,
And He delivers the news that of God's Seed She now does carry . . .
Arch-Angelic Gabriel protecting the Seed of God (Christ) from Fallen Angelity.
(thanx 2 advanced d & d early 80's 4 artistic inspiration . . .)
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Sex usurps the safer, less destructive nature of plant-forged narcotics--wanna bet?
Helen of Troy was the Face that Launched a Thousand Pricks, mutilating myriads of men in War due to humanity's enslavement to carnal cravings--adultery kills. But things are not so simple concerning sexuality, us still besmirched by the Adder's greatest victory of poisonous penetration: EVE. For example: Jim Morrison. I have dumped on him heavily in my auto-biography, dubbing him a wicked womanizer; however, under further spiritual investigation, Morrison's overly-charged sexuality was not due to his own raging libido, yet a plethora of yeast-infected women wanting his famous genitalia, not his bard-like wisdom. The Rock 'n Roll Underground suspects that from numerous engagements in unprotected intercourse with horny, non-moralistic ladies, Morrison developed, possibly, some type of penis cancer, having a death sentence right on the tip of his sought after urethra. Truly, for him--sex was: THE END.
Now to the warnings and sublime wisdom of crazy ass and sometimes ascetic religion. Of course only Catholics and some Orthodox can offer the Body of a Celibate Christ, giving magical birth to the act of "Transubstantiation", for the bread is blessed by celibate hands, completely a mimic of Christ at the "Last Supper", unlike the Evangelicals, their offering of Christ's Celibate Body being merely symbolic due to their sexuality before/after the supposedly divine celebration of this pseudo-Eucharist. And of many (not all) Islamic Men: Concealing their women, slaying innocent adolescent girls for biological urges, yet when these men physically die--they claim to inherit a slippery harem of lewd and lascivious virgins. Verily, no other hypocrisy trumps this utter act of orgasmic selfishness. Oh well, I guess that's why nearly 40% of all Internet Traffic is the empty pump of porn.
But as Americans, we tread where magnanimous angels don't dare. Considering ourselves educated if climbing the supposed scholastic ladder of academia, yet not fully armed with any sense of spiritual ethics. My dating life has been a disaster. Many times have angry boyfriends called me, because their vainglorious girlfriends have a bit of a crush on my weirdness; next, I am dubbed as a predator of many a lass, yet only because their boyfriends are insecure and protective of what they believe belongs completely to them. But after 8 years of being celibate, though flirty at times, I know regardless of education--a woman's wanting womb can make a slave out of them. I was having intimate phone conversations with a Neurological Nurse @ Vanderbilt, and I thought I had found someone smart and special; on the contrary, she was a slave to her own sexuality--asking me repeatedly if I'd shave my scrotum for her complete elation, saying that shaved, masculine epidermis on her pink junk makes her squirt or some stupid shit like that. Then, she mentioned her porn collection, and I was mercurial in my retreat from her hungry hole.
Anyway, people are most afraid to die because they think sex will be absent. Having not the wisdom of knowing resurrection, physiological rebirth into synthetic flesh, or whatever futurity spawns for people hellbent on believing nothing outshines an orgasm. Poor people. Regardless, we can already save the monster stretch of the vaginal cavity and diseased discharge of bodily fluids that cause yeast infections, STD's, and all the rest of things like facially-ornamented sex art. Cloning, Test Tubes, Synthetic Eggs, and all the rest. Verily, people don't have to engage in sex to make babies anymore--this is the archaic way of "Game of Thrones", before the Genetic Revolution saves women from being stretched to insufferable pain, though some women, the ones addicted to Internet Porn, desire this. Truly, give a scandalous woman a long enough rope; next, she'll hang herself. And many men dominated by selfish release, will do just that--afterwards, they'll do her sister too.
Sincerely, Mark David King
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"1976: AMERICAN MOVIE"
Sam's Homer-Like, Anthropologically Combative Poetry:
Never arrested in Our Great "American" Land,
During the 1976 Bicentennial--when we obey George Washington's Command
To plant the seed of LIBERTY;
Next, one-day free southern slaves and allow medicine that was meant for free;
Plus, thanks to the obscure Green Arrow and Werewolf By Night,
Having not the Pop-Culture "pester" of Spider-Man's plight . . .
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"1976: AMERICAN MOVIE"
The linoleum floor in the bathroom Sam shared with his blossoming brother is disgustingly covered in creepy/crawly pubic hairs from George's pubescent rage into manhood, freaking out the pristine and non-diagnosed era of Sam's OCD mind.
SAM
I can't poop Christ--this toilet seat probably has Jungle Rot on it. How am I supposed to poop under these mind-warping circumstances? Mom needs to scrub this sucker down with some of that AJAX. Wonder if Roger Staubach has to poop on the same toilet as Ed "Too Tall" Jones?
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"1976: AMERICAN MOVIE"
Outside in the Virginia noon, under the azure hue of a summer day.
SAM
I hear the Brits are having a hot summer. No rain or prosperous crops.
GEORGE
God Save the Queen little brother.
SAM
I sure miss football season.
GEORGE
What to do but watch that spin-off from All in the Family--The Jeffersons.
SAM
Anything is better than M*A*S*H.
GEORGE
You just don't get the metaphor little guy.
SAM
I think I should feel a bit insulted.
GEORGE
Yep . . .
