Tag: male nude

topoftheshaft:

Time Seems Like a Blur When You Cum

Bill in Exile – Load Dump (2010)

Let’s consider the previous poster’s comment because I think it’s actually insightful af.

It’s impossible to describe the taste of coffee to someone who has never had it. But you don’t try to describe it, you brew a cup and say: taste this, it’s warm and delicious. (Or, if you’re me and can’t stand warm beverages, you break out the Chameleon Cold Brew.)

It’s interesting: before I ever used marijuana, a number of people had explained to me what it was to be stoned. I remember being like uh, wait, I don’t get it.

After I smoked up, I totally got it. There’s no way to describe it. It’s like the taste of coffee–once you’ve had it, you’ll never forget what it tastes like. But you also don’t ever remember not knowing what it tastes like.

Literacy is probably a better example. Once you learn to read you know–practically–that at a certain point you didn’t know how; but the knowing overrides the memory of not knowing. (Like I’m a bit precocious in that I remember very specific things from as young as six months. So I can remember seeing signs before I was able to read and being able to read them in my recollection even though I couldn’t have read them at the time.)

Again, that only works ex post facto. You sort of have to walk to the edge and jump.

Consider this scenario: you’re sitting in your room and suddenly the brightest red cardinal darts in through the window and lands on the back of a chair. The incongruity is stunning to you and the surprise of it shakes your brain out of it’s perpetual classifying and organizing: this is inside, this is outside; me vs. not me, when do I need to leave to meet Su for dinner, etc. But in that moment of unplanned surprise, there is the briefest of moments where you are too surprised to label or otherwise interpret the scene.

And when you tell people about it your explanation will last ten times longer than the moment did. Our eyes see and even though we can’t see the act of our eyes seeing, that is how our brain processes it–we see routinely as if through a mirror darkly. But in moments of self-transcendence it’s like the experience of needing glasses and never having had them and then when you put them on you’re just like OMFG at all the details you’ve been missing.

Interestingly, virtually every account I’m familiar with as far as mystical/self-transcendent experience involves the distension of time. You can see 100 things for every one you’d normally notice and because your brain is too shocked to filter any of it, it just all comes in and you absorb it.

So the person who posted this image is actually very much on point with their observation. Orgasm does share a number of points of commonality with transcendent experience in my… er, experience. And if I’m not mistaken that’s why church and state are so down on drugs and an openness to sexual expression–when you realize the kingdom’s keys are within your grasp why would you give the first half a fuck about an institutional intercessor?

Source unknown – Title Unknown (201X)

I’ve yammered on at great length before about distinguishing between selfies and self-portraiture–but where is the line?

Strictly speaking, this isn’t a selfie. Except… the process that went into making it is almost certainly comparable. I mean the view could be a screen cap from chaturbate that’s been desaturated…

I think anything where you’re consulting a live view in order to compose and frame the image counts as a selfie. Thus: if you’re composing your shot and then setting the self timer before running to get into position–that’s a self-portrait. A micro 4/3 camera with a flip around screen that you can just look at to position yourself in the frame without getting behind the camera is a selfie still.

The question of whether selfies can be art is mired and wrapped round and round with barbed wire because the context is tied up in the context of selfies, where one is trying to appear a certain fashion aligned with their digital curation of self. Not that an artist can’t do that, it’s just that it’s been done already–so that means do it better than Cindy Sherman or go the fuck home. (Sherman was a self-portraitist, so there’s that, too.)

The context of selfies hinges almost entirely on authorial intentionality–and that’s a totally BS line of questioning. Was the selfie an ontological virtual back of the memory of an event–I know I was here because pics, it did happen. Or, is this the version of myself I’m aspiring to be and the selfie is part road map, part fuel for the trip ahead. (Baudrillard would have a freaking field day.) Is it a form of self-care–a radically body positive reclamation of creating a new context wherein you exert a degree of agency in how you are seen by the world (which you may not have recourse to in your day-to-day)? Is it about saying: sharing something with others instead of insisting upon digital attention in the form of likes, regrams/reblogs, etc.?

And please don’t mistake me: I’m not willing to say oh, vanity, vanity all is vanity and dismiss something as art due to a concept that is so steeped–historically–in misogynistic fervor. Whereas I do believe that Art is more about what’s given than what’s taken.

I just worry that so many of the impetuses for selfies are centered upon style over content–essentially canceling out any sort of compositional logical or visual grammar in a quest for something that is on-brand (stylistically consistent) and on fleek (immediate and attention inviting).

I think this is nowhere less front and center than with dick picks. I mean any photo or image that is erotically charged is already fueled by the dichotomy between what looks good and feels good. Models don’t point there toes because it makes it easier to hold a position, they do it because it slims and shapes the body in ways that have come to be accepted as aesthetically desirable.

It seems there are two kinds of dick pics, generally speaking: the look how hard I am help me out type (which the above is not) or the I was really turned on and felt attractive.

This is definitely that latter type but it’s interesting because it is unified in content and form in such a way that it doesn’t seem to be making a choice between what looks good and what feels good. It’s played toward the camera but in a way that conveys a lot about the subject.

Or, perhaps, I’m just once again reading entirely too much into random porn on the Interwebz.

Source: perfectlysuperphilosopher

Steven Meisel + Bruce Weber – Safe Sex Is Hot Sex campaign (1990)

Generally speaking, I am loathe to take taxis. My legs aren’t broken and with enough time I can walk just about anywhere I’m inclined to go. (Or, I can walk to a subway that will then take me to where I want to go.)

Recently, thought my flight got in super late and I had to be at work at 7am the next morning–so I cabbed it. Since I don’t take taxis, I don’t know if it’s just a NYC thing but the cab played this like 7 minute loop of commercials again and again.

One of them was an anti-drug campaign encouraging parents to talk to their kids about drugs. The premise was these teens in idyllic teen settings being–ostensibly–teens before asking the camera overly earnest questions about drugs.

The only reason I even noticed the commercials was because I was seeing it for like the fifth time. And like the third time I saw it, I’d remembered how it occurred to me late last year exactly how appallingly racist a lot of the anti-drug propaganda was in the mid-to-late 80s.

So it was through that filter that I saw the commercial and I realized something about almost all anti-drug adverts: their bread and butter is conflating drug use and drug abuse (two linguistically distinct terms–and that’s for a reason).

When you see things that way there’s only one option: eradication and selling that entails an abstinence only message. (Anyone who’s bothered to do any research into methods of decreasing drug use and abuse, knows the only statistically proven means of accomplishing this is through emphasizing harm reduction/education.)

But there’s more to it than all of that. The thing that struck me about the commercial I saw in the cab was that the kids in it were impossibly uncool. Like I remember seeing ads of this ilk when I was a teen and I just thought they were normal kids like me.

Yet watching the commercial I was like–these kids are lame as fuck. There’s this charmed naivete that each almost certainly had to be coached by the director to achieve. The notion that nothing bad ever happens in this world, nothing ever hurts and that if you trust in society’s virtue, you will be rewarded. And that’s just–such bullshit.

It’s not that abstinence (whether referring to drugs or sexuality) is a bad thing, it’s just how folks are or aren’t wired. The notion that if you teach someone about something they are more likely to do it is such rubbish. Education allows you to make more informed choices–it’s that simple.

And that’s what I love about these ads. Instead of being like sex is scary and should be avoided their like: sex is awesome, have as much as you can but be safe. It’s refreshing to see someone get it right for once.

Source unknown – Title unknown (201X)

My thought with this was originally merely to add one of those diagrams of what areas of the tongue register what kinds tastes. However, as it turns out, that notion has been thoroughly debunked.

First off, there’s no longer just bitter, salty, sour and sweet. There’s umami–which refers to something that is savory (I always think of it as the craving you get for a veggie burger cooked exactly to your preference.

Also, apparently these days they are thinking that fat may actually be a sixth factor contributing to taste.

Interestingly, it’s theorized that receptors designed to register sweetness are binary–they only register whether something is sweet or not? Whereas something that is bitterness has a vast spectrum of distinct variations.

Source unknown – Colorado cunnilingus (1980)

There is a language
older by far and deeper than words. It is the language of bodies, of
body on body, wind on snow, rain on trees, wave on stone. It is the
language of dream, gesture, symbol, memory. We have forgotten this
language. We do not even remember that it exists.
                   —

Derrick Jensen, A Language Older Than Words

Source unknown – Title unknown (201X)

There’s this notion in acoustics called the Precedence effect.

Given two identical sounds in rapid succession, the two distinct sounds fuse into what is perceived as a single tone.

Interestingly, as long as both sounds can be heard before there is any echo, the sound will always be heard as if it is emerging from the first source, even if the second source is positioned on a drastically different axis.

I think there’s something similar with the notion of pornography. If an initial reaction to something is instinctively a knee-jerk, clutch the pearls OMFG, that’s pornographic, then I think the tendency is to lump whatever follows into the same category. Like that’s not something I think about that’s something I don’t care to see or want to jack/jill to.

Unlike acoustics, however, the porn precedence effect isn’t a result of biology, it’s a product of acculturation. I’ve always found it more interesting to ask questions like

What about this do I find arousing? What do I find off-putting? Why?

This leads to the questions what is done well? vs. what could be done better?

I think this is interesting because my first thought is not that this is pornographic. And it’s interesting that not seeing it immediately as porn widens the scope of my reactions to it.

I think about things like mutual desire, consent. How’s she’s presented completely in the frame–bearing in mind that this has almost certainly been cropped from a horizontally rectangular orientation.

(It’s also a bit sloppy. His arm is blocking her light but that mistake somehow contributes a great sense of personal agency and given her position and movement within the frame–which is compellingly dynamic–there’s no way this could’ve been shot from a different angle so as to not interfere with the light.)

This conveys a feeling of tenderness in intimacy for me which I think is as rare as it is adorbs.

Source: sex101

Vic Bakin – Parthenonas, Sithonia (2016)

[I]n the realm of ethics, politics, aesthetics it was the authenticity and
sincerity of the pursuit of inner goals that mattered; this applied
equally to individuals and groups – states, nations, movements. This is
most evident in the aesthetics of romanticism, where the notion of
eternal models, a Platonic vision of ideal beauty, which the artist
seeks to convey, however imperfectly, on canvas or in sound, is replaced
by a passionate belief in spiritual freedom, individual creativity. The
painter, the poet, the composer do not hold up a mirror to nature,
however ideal, but invent; they do not imitate (the doctrine of
mimesis), but create not merely the means but the goals that they
pursue; these goals represent the self-expression of the artist’s own
unique, inner vision, to set aside which in response to the demands of
some “external” voice – church, state, public opinion, family friends,
arbiters of taste – is an act of betrayal of what alone justifies their
existence for those who are in any sense creative.

–Isaiah Berlin, on the relationship between Romanticism and the rise of fascism /totalitarianism.

Source: vicbakin

Source unknown – Nacho Vidal & Kristina Rose (2015)

This position is apparently called The Amazon. SWOON.

This gif? As much as I’m always harping about #skinnyframebullshit, I will admit there’s room to argue w/r/t still photographs/images. There’s not when it comes to video–go horizontal or stay your ass home.

Also, I had not seen the scene this is from before deciding to post it. I have subsequently seen enough of the video to know that it’s both too extreme, sexist and seemingly unconcerned with consent to be something I’m ever going to be into. Still, I do think this is gif is sexy af and the segment of the larger clip it’s from is slightly less obnoxious than the rest of the video.

Source: plumeti-and-sex

Source unknown – Title unknown (201X)

I have no idea where these images originated and that’s truly unfortunate. They’re hardly flawless–the poses are a bit too marked by self-conscious contrivance; however, they do feature carefully coordinated lighting design, a clear sense of purpose and although perhaps not intentional: there’s a sense of reflexive connection between content and context (i.e. the incisive sense of well-worn procedure in tandem with the carefully considered attention to detail).

It’s possible I’m projecting my own OCD tendencies onto this photo set. I’m very much a creature of habit. I’m very predictable and if someone knows my schedule, you can predict where I’ll be and what I’ll be doing with 100% accuracy give or take a seven or so minute deviation on either side.

I’ve always been like this. It’s part of how I’ve learned to survive in the desert of the real. There’s comfort in knowing the train arrives at this time and takes this long to get me where I’m going. Any delays, deviations, etc. cause me intense stress.

I get agitated when folks with a hippy bent preach new age/Buddhist mindfulness at me. It’s like my default setting is what such folks actively pursue. I’m constantly trying to be less aware of every goddamn little piece of sensory input screaming for a piece of my immediate focus.

What’s ironic to me is that my all this rigorously circumscribed need for order, predictability and certainty is less about iron fisted control. It’s like that Baudelaire quip about remaining boring, ordered and dull in life so that you may be exceedingly violent and unpredictable in your creative work.

The regimentation I cultivate in my own life is really a means to an end. To return to the metaphor of trains–with their timetables and presumed correlation to said timetables–it’s almost always the days where I’m merely going through the motions out of habit, and am following a particular thought that takes an unexpected turn that captivates me. I’ll completely forget that I’m on a train and end up four or five stops beyond where I meant to disembark. (As much as I crave order and hate when things go awry, I never mind these lapses. What they offer in insight is more than equal to the resulting frustrations of missing my stop and running late to appointments.)

What does this introspective speculation have to do with anything? Well, I think my need for predictable rituals as a defense against the mundaneness of daily exigencies is an itch that I don’t usually feel gets scratched by explicit depictions of sexual expression. Except these images appeal (a great deal, actually) to the order seeking side of my brain.

And I can’t help but think how aspects of my own sexual expression are similarly circumscribed. As an adolescent, masturbation was highly ritualized for me. (I’m not sure if it’s the OCD tendencies or being raised super religious… I think I could also point to my druggy years with all that focus on set and setting.)

It reminds me of something my friend Amandine said to me about attraction. Trying to seduce someone by making them want you is the wrong course of action. Instead it’s better to make them feel comfortable sharing time and space with you.

That’s the other thing about this that appeals to me. So much pornography hinges on a sort of heteronormative checklist of activities being ticked in a proscribed order. It’s about showcasing particular information–without any sort of consideration as to why this information as opposed to that information. In other words, matters of inclusion vs. exclusion are dictated by notions of what will appeal to the broadest set of viewers possible.

I’m much more interested in things that interrogate why something is being showcased over any number of other things. And these images have a strong feeling of what I’m being showed are not just things that turn the author on, there’s a great deal of effort put into presenting those things as a series of decisive moments in an erotic progression.

So yes, the attention to detail in the set design and lighting orchestration speak to creating a sense of context. The presentation of decisive moments fosters a sense of documentary objectivity. (This isn’t exactly well-managed from the point of the subjects–whose poses seem self-consciously contrived.) But it does seem to be about creating a comfortable space as a starting point and emphasizing concrete ritual procedure in a carefully considered fashion. And that feels honest and affirming of my own experience in a way that porn never really offers me.

Source: bedxxx2