screens
This is called screens, because male and female seem to initiative sex through our screens now. Like the male Bowerbird plants brightly blue icons in it’s nest, the male H. Sapiens devises words electronically, to attract the fairer sex.
What prompts us to do this?
Because a man’s orgasm is the loneliest affliction in the world.
We want nothing more than to be with a woman, until it’s over. Gone. Spit out, filled up, or swallowed.
When we feel an attraction, we don’t immediately succumb to an overridden urge to fuck. We see a pretty woman. The smell of her hair. Eye colour. The music of her voice… then the chemicals come.
The male urge to fuck is rooted in innocence. And the ugliness of it, shows the hypocritical nature of people.
How can we judge the male orgasm, when we only exist because our father decided to chub up, and stick one to our mother’s? That’s the hard truth of it. It’s an expression of love at it’s purest, and a selfish fiending for dopamine at it’s basest.
There is no hard or fast defense of men and their sex drive. But I’ll try. How else can I live with myself tomorrow, when I play the game of love, if I don’t?
It’s all consuming it’s in hunger. Don’t be fooled. Men aren’t as powerful as you think. We are slaves to our own cocks — it’s powerful in it’s draw, to both ourselves and our lovers/victims. I wouldn’t be surprised if Isaac Newton had a woman on his mind to impress, which led him down the path to discovering gravity. Can you imagine that?
We’re told men are selfish, cruel, flirts, lotharios, irrational and rightfully so. The idea of a man then becomes, “an orc, afflicted by momentary pockets of lucidity, in an otherwise neverending quest to pass on his genes to his family.”
We don’t have sex for charity. But the act is charitable. It’s charitable for the female orgasm, for the life it gives — and most importantly, for itself.
When you think of the male orgasm, think of Moloch —the Canaanite God of child sacrifice. A beastly idol, an icon that you want to destroy and cast away, but leave standing, out of primal necessity.
If you can understand that, you’ll understand why world peace isn’t possible, as long as testosterone rules this planet.
YET, for all the evils that the Male Moloch brings, I argue it’s a fair trade off. If there was no war, no civilizations would be standing. Therefore, what would we inherit? Pocket lint? The lifestyles of hunter-gatherers?
No. We build huts, houses, buildings, warehouses, units, apartments, complexes, towers, skyscrapers — whole city blocks, cities and countries.
And why wouldn’t we build them? There are women to impress with our feats. Why do you think Herod Antipas gave Salome, the head of St John on a platter? It wasn’t for the promise of small talk. It wasn’t for love. It was for raw dirt. It was scratches. It was spit, radiant heat, iron & flesh.
Yes, this is the truest inheritance that males get cast down, and probably the original inspiration for the phrase ‘ sins of our fathers’. It’s a biological jail that affects us from cradle to the grave, from one father, to another, to another. Even the children who leave this world fatherless, will undoubtedly become slaves to their own urges.
Yet, what is the alternative? Become a celibate? Become a eunuch? No.
An unattractive man, is a man of outward desperation; a man who radiates no self-worth — an man who has yet to cultivate his own character, out of suffering, or even out of hubris.
It is the women who program us. Every man, was once a boy, suckling at his mother’s teat for nourishment. Then we’re corrupted by puberty.
How can we be seen as beasts, when testosterone — a chemical tour de force, responsible for life, drives us on?
It’s the nature of manhood itself. Sperm elicits a chemical defense mechanism, once it begins to burrow its way into the egg, in a primal alchemy to produce an embryo.
Love between the sexes is akin to the tale, of the scorpion and the frog. We have no other way. We must sting you, and inject you with our venom, even if we are to drown in the river you carry us through.
It compels you to take charge and spread your seed, even when it destroys you. Even when it hurts you.
Right now, I feel compelled to seek forgiveness from all the women I’ve ever made it with, and will make it with in future. Yet, another part of me is unrepentant. You know what you’re signing up for rationally… it’s the irrational side of your response that doesn’t. The emotional side.