I Don’t Want To Be A Suicide Bomber

Of course I don’t actually want to be a suicide bomber. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m not a violent man. I don’t want to hurt or kill anyone. I don’t care about politics or religious beliefs. I follow the law for the most part. I pay taxes and try and help other people. The thing that I want to blow up is just a dream. A dream. I realize the title of this piece will alert many security databases. I may find security agents at my front door later today. Oh well. At least this would cause something interesting to happen in my life. I realize that we Americans are living in a time of great fear and with an ideological distress that seems to see anyone who is really honest about themselves as a threat. But it is usually the ones who are really transparent who pose the least threat.

I am more concerned with being transparent as a writer than I am with any potential trouble that I could get in because of writing an autobiographical essay entitled, I Want To Be A Suicide Bomber. My job as a writer is to be honest about expressing my inner struggles in creative ways, despite the totalitarian thought policing that is killing all good (honest) writing in America. Without this way of openly expressing myself, I have nothing.

I want to be a suicide bomber. There. I said it again. And I will keep saying it. But I don’t want to be a suicide bomber in the ordinary and horrible ways that less imaginative and more troubled individuals go about suicide bombing. Those that blow themselves up in public places lack all imagination. Granted, it is brave to do such a thing but I don’t think there is a more sick, angry and twisted thing a person could do. These kinds of suicide bombers lack all art. There is nothing creative in what they do. Blowing themselves and other people up in public places is the most self-righteous and arrogant thing a person can do. It is the epitome of imposing your beliefs on other people and there is nothing I dislike more than someone who imposes their belief system on someone else without even giving them a chance. Losers is what these people are, even though they think they stand on some higher ground. This is what religion has the potential to do to a person and it is a main reason why I am an atheist.

Is not having a god the reason why I have no meaning in my life? Is this why currently I experience no feelings of passion or joy (unless I have had a few drinks)? I am sure that many religious people would say “absolutely.” But I am not interested in the deluded sense of meaning they have as much as I admire their faith. If I was courageous enough I may be at the point in life where a person would commit suicide. My job is painful. Most things do not bring me joy. My relationship with the woman I love very much is a struggle everyday, day after day, mostly because I am so fucked up. I am perpetually bored. I no longer feel relevant as an artist and writer. I feel like I have failed in creating the life I wanted when younger.

But why? What is going on here? I have a really nice home (surrounded by neighbors I do not know, in a neighborhood that I have nothing in common with other than being a human being continually trying to just get by), lovely Danish Modern Furniture, beautiful backyard, four dogs, all the unread books and unlistened to records that I could ever want to read and listen to, decent health, a well-paying job, a Westfalia Camper Van (sitting idle for months in my driveway), a beautiful young wife who is sexually under used, my own writing studio which I rarely ever write in, high quality headphones I don’t listen to, nice clothes, king sized tempurpedic bed, a stand up desk I never stand at, a newly remodeled kitchen that I am often angry about being messy, a cabinet filled with nutritional supplements that I don’t take. The list goes on and on. But I feel this emptiness, boredom, despair, anger (I really do not know how to describe it) inside of me. It actually hurts. Physically. It feels like no longer being relevant. It feels like losing a very important game. It feels like not getting what you really wanted. It feels like losing something that was very important to you. It is the strangest fucking thing especially when you have so many wonderful things all around you.

But all these things just don’t seem to help as much as I thought they would. Maybe I will get another dog.

Is this what the American Dream I have heard spoken about all my life feels like? Is this how most people feel once they experience the American Dream? Is this it? Is this why so many of us watch tv and stare into our phones? Or is it just me? Most people seem to be doing ok. They go places. Socialize. Hang out with friends. Laugh. Smile. Seem relatively happy with their subordination in life. Is this real or just a facade? I see people who seem to be making a lot of money, seem to be very successful and accomplished in their life. Are they free of the feelings I described above? Do they ever feel like they would want to be a suicide bomber? Do even the security agents who are reading this piece right now feel ok in their personal lives?

I have no friends (other than a Zen friend whom I text with almost every day but have not spoken to in over five years). I have no relationship with my parents. No one I can talk to and relate with other than a pint of beer. I feel very alone. I don’t go out much. I think I am agoraphobic now. My weeks repeat themselves. I used to want to be a writer and an artist but that has not really worked out and I no longer have the energy I would need to make it work out. (All you younger people who are wasting your vital energy getting drunk, hanging out in bars, staring off into cell phones- please get to work. You have a very limited supply of interest and energy left to manifest your dreams with.) I used to want to be a professional tennis player a long time ago but this never worked out. I wanted to start an indie magazine but my father convinced me it would not work out. I feel it has been my destiny to fail. Some are destined to succeed. Some are destined to just get by. I am destined to fail. Why can’t I just accept the quiet, American suburban life I now have? I am losing all interest in everything. Is this just the dopamine being erased from my aging brain? After forty five years of emotional turmoil caused by my relationships with other people maybe all of my dopamine and serotonin has dried up. I refuse to become the American stereotype of a person with a mortgage, a failed marriage, debt and psychiatric prescriptions to fill. I am close though.

My wife just brought me breakfast and placed it on my desk next to me. A waffle, two pieces of vegan bacon and a flower. That was nice of her. She was supposed to wake up early this morning and make us a nice breakfast but slept in. Again. My wife sleeps about nine to ten hours a night. I presume that this is a sign of her suburban depression. I appreciate her making some effort to prepare some sort of breakfast even thought it is now almost ten. It all makes me sad. What my marriage has become. What my life has become. The fact that I am losing interest in almost everything (don’t even have much interest in sex anymore) puts me into a near vegetative state. So many unread books. So many records never listened to. I fear I am now just going through the motions. But I do try to keep myself alive and vital. I try. Maybe I will eat the vegan bacon, even though I am no longer hungry.

Personally I think that what I feel, whatever it may be, is what American Life has become. I think most Americans feel this way. I am probably just more aware of it. More sensitive to this existential ennui. “Anxious? Depressed? Relationship Issues?” This is what a large add in the back of the LA Weekly says. It is for a research study. Doesn’t everyone feel this way these days? I mean really- we are living in terrible times. There is a large hole in all of us. Most of us are painfully isolated. Painfully alone. But no one seems to be saying anything. So I want to be a suicide bomber. I want to bring attention to this. I want to blow up the American Dream with my body. But how the hell does someone blow up a dream? I have no idea how this could be done and it is the reason why I have not done anything. What would I do? How would I go about it. Blow myself up in my mortgaged home? My dogs live here and I would never want to hurt anyone or anything other than my stupid self.

I live in the same town where the author David Foster Wallace hung himself. He had a nice house filled with Danish Modern Furniture also. Billy The Kid lived here as well and wrote in his journal about never feeling as suicidal as he did when living in this town. The town that I live in is a very middle-class, mostly all white, suburban, university town. Could it be that the routine, the monotony, the live-to-work mentality that is emblematic of white, middle-class suburbs is creating this feeling of despair in me? In larger cities there are so many interesting distractions to fill one’s self up with that just this alone breaks up the monotony. Here, I am home every evening. Even if I wanted to go out there would be few places I am interested in going out to. There really is nothing to do. I feel trapped. Stuck. Yuck.

Maybe I just need to become a Buddhist. Try to escape the existential banality of my own mind. Maybe I just need to be more like my Zen friend. He is happy all the time. He lives alone, owns very few things, works a ordinary job, meditates for an hour every day and is happy just being. Pure awareness all the time. This just doesn’t work for me. Too dull. Feels like a self induced lobotomization. I feel like there is something inherently sad about the person who has to trade in their ego for pure awareness all the time. What a dud you become. This is one way of being a suicide bomber but without the bombing. You just commit suicide by consciously choosing to no longer identify with any kind of ego. Pure bliss, pure awareness, all the time. No thanks.

So what do I do? What is to be done? Didn’t Lenin ask this question. Even he, the great leader of Russia dealt with this problem. What is to be done? I don’t know. The sun is coming out and that helps. Find meaning in work, relationships and passions. This is what Richard Dawkins, the great scientist tells me. But a person needs a ready supply of interest in order to cultivate these things. I have no interest in much. I don’t have enough interest to plant a flower or go for a walk. I struggle to even water my lawn. I try to find meaning in literature and music but my interest in things seems to last only for about an hour a day (usually after morning coffee). It then dissipates away like the morning fog. Drinking coffee in mid-afternoon can extend or add an extra hour of interest in my day. But it also adds more anxiety as well.

I want to be a suicide bomber because I don’t know what else to do. But I could never blow myself or anyone else up. That is ridiculous. Absurd. But wouldn’t blowing up a dream, because it is actually a nightmare, add an element of excitement to my life? Would being this kind of suicide bomber be an effective way to quench my unquenchable thirst? Would it be an accurate response to the banality and existential despair I feel? This American Dream, I believe, is the cause of how I feel. Debt, mortgages, dull career choices, not getting the satisfaction I thought I would get from all the things I have bought and achieved. I want to know if President Obama can relate? Can you? (By the way, I think you are the greatest President in American history.) In one way or another I have done everything I was taught to do. I have been a good kid but just not very ambitious. Because I refuse to just accept the fate of being average, of being just like all the other unlucky, suburban salmon swimming up stream together while staring into cell phones and unpaid bills, I live in despair. I can’t seem to just swallow the Kool Aide.

I want to be a suicide bomber but I also realize I never will be. One can have a desire but never act upon it. I want to be a porn star but also never will be. I want to be Thom Yorke but also never will be. I want to be a Zen monk but never will be. I want to be a successful artist and writer but never will be. I want to be a published graphic novelist but never will be. I want to be a happy person but also never will be. I want to be at peace in all my relationships but never will be. The list goes on and on. Isn’t this the pain of wanting? Most of us unlucky bastards know we will never be the thing we want to be. Maybe this is the source of where the pain comes from. Isn’t the American Dream all about wanting what you can never have?

The only real answer I have thus far found: anesthetize yourself with Netflix.


Stuff To Make Sandwiches With


All of our lives are running away from us and all we have to let us know that this is happening is our withered reflections when looking in mirrors. I am someone who is continually aware of how my life is running away from me. Often I will look at pictures of people in the 1950’s and 60’s and think about how their lives have completely run away from them. I am well aware that I am up against the same fate, every moment of every day.

I have a particular practice or daily exercise that I employ for better managing the feelings of dread and futility that arise when a person is aware of their life running away from them. I make sandwiches. I try to make at least two sandwiches a day but on a bad day I will make five. There is no greater satisfaction in my life than eating a sandwich that I have made. The thicker the better. I do not enjoy thin sandwiches. Thin sandwiches are for those who are not courageous. Thin sandwich makers are so afraid of the realities of life that they do everything to calorically restrict themselves so they can feel the illusory impression of being immortal and unaffected by aging. I prefer thick sandwiches because not only do they satiate the more fear prone parts of my brain, but they also allow me to better enjoy a life that I know is running away from me.

I use the healthiest bread that I can buy. This means bread with a high fiber and seed content. Not only is this bread delicious but I do not feel so guilty after eating large amounts of it. I know that I have superseded my daily recommended fiber intake and this helps me feel more confident about the workings of my bowels. I prefer using organic mayonnaise on whatever high fiber bread I use, but since my wife is vegan I normally have to resort to using organic vegan mayonnaise. The good thing about using organic vegan mayonnaise is that I can use larger amounts of it and not feel so doomed to coronary heart disease. I also like to use large amounts of organic spicy mustard, the names of which I can never pronounce. The combination of organic vegan mayonnaise and organic spicy mustard usually and temporarily suspends any kind of existential dread.

My wife and I both try to keep our refrigerator loaded with stuff to make sandwiches with. My wife is younger than I. Not much younger in terms of the span of human history on planet earth but much younger in terms of the deterioration of the human body. Fourteen years can make a massive difference when it comes to the ravages caused by aging. But because my wife also suffers from a certain existential awareness (a fundamental signifier of an intelligent mind) she too is aware of life running away from not only herself but also from her beloved husband and her even more beloved three dogs. In a way I envy her youth. Even if in youth a person is aware of their lives running away from them they still have the underlying comfort of knowing that they still have a good amount of time to lose. Once you are older, the awareness of life running away from you fills you with more despair (or denial) because you know you have much less time to lose.

My wife has picked up the sandwich making practice from me. She also finds it an effective way to deal with the awareness of a run away life. I appreciate that she dedicates just as much interest in keeping our fridge filled with stuff to make sandwiches with as I do. Because my wife is still young enough where she still has the ability to have an incredibly attractive figure (which often provides a person with the fit illusion of being immortal) she does not make her sandwiches as thick as I do. She usually makes her sandwiches with things like organic vegan cheddar cheese, organic sprouts, organic pickles, organic lettuce or organic kale and organic sauerkraut. For some reason she always insists on toasting her seeded wheat bread, which is something I never do. This is another luxury of being young- you feel like you have more time to spend on doing trivial things. I never toast my bread, only because I feel like I just do not have the time. For her she still has a good amount of time to give to such superfluous things. (This is why most good art, literature, film and music is made in youth. A young person has more time to spend passionately dedicated to such things. Once a person is older they just want to spend time with life or living because there is less time and energy to give towards working at things that feel more superfluous the older and sicker a person gets.)

I stuff my sandwiches with a plethora of different organic things. I use various kinds of organic nuts, organic onions, organic vegan cheeses, wild tuna or wild salmon from a can, organic humus, organic pickles, organic sprouts, organic vegan sausages (usually uncooked), organic cabbage, organic kale, organic mung beans, organic sauerkraut, organic habaneros and organic baked barbecue potato chips for extra crunch. I find that stuffing my sandwiches with things that create a crunch effect allows me to discharge a lot of the anger and frustration that I feel with regards to a life that is running away from me and everyone I love. Crunching is a very effective way to deal with this chronic frustration that I feel in my life.

It requires mindfulness and slow movements to keep everything in the sandwich, rather than falling out onto the plate. What I have found is that with the right positioning of everything inside the sandwich and with mindful movements, overboard condiments can be avoided when eating a thick sandwich. Whatever things do fall out on to my plate, I make sure to eat once I am finished eating my sandwich. I look as this as a kind of dessert.

My grandfather, on my father’s side, used to do a similar thing. After the age of forty he was also very aware of life running away from him. He often spoke about how he could not believe how much older everyone was getting. “One minute they were young and filled with life and now they are older and filled with all kinds of unwanted obligations, wear and tear,” he would say when talking about friends, family members, old lovers and celebrities that he liked. Every day for lunch he would eat a large hoagie sandwich. He lived in Philadelphia where there was a hoagie/steak sandwich establishment on every corner. Philadelphians obviously are also very aware of life running away from them and deal with it by making and eating very large sandwiches. Have you seen how big these things are? Some people refer to them as subs, because they are so long. My grandfather would eat one all to himself. Everyday. All alone. A sandwich filled with not organic cheese, meat, hot peppers, shredded lettuce, tomatoes, mustard, mayonnaise, vinegar and oil. He would shake not organic pepper and salt on top and whenever he took me to a hoagie place on one of my yearly visits he would always say, “It is all in the bread kid.” To this day I still believe that to be true but instead of using freshly baked white sourdough bread, I use high fiber wheat or rye seeded bread.

I have found that making sandwiches on a daily basis has been an effective, short-term way for me to deal with the day-to-day knowledge that my life is running away from me. The thicker the sandwich the better. But I also realize that this is a short term solution. I have to keep making sandwiches, sometimes several times a day in order for it to work. Once I am done making and eating my sandwich it is a matter of an hour or so before my sense of life going quickly by returns. I notice when it returns because I feel somewhat depressed. This is usually when I will make another sandwich. If I am away from my home and not able to make a sandwich I will settle for having one made for me. It does not work as well, but it still eases the pain of knowing that it is all quickly passing by.

By the way, now it is Fall. I stay inside as much as I can when it is Fall. Fall is a season that can literally fall on you, so please proceed with caution. Look up, even as you eat sandwiches.

Dysfunctional Personalities

Are there any personalities that are not dysfunctional anymore? Are there any personalities that are not self obsessed and who do not get defensive and passive aggressive when things do not happen how they want them to? Lets face it- people are really fucked up. Welcome to the main consequence of over population. You know the number one cause of your stress and unhappiness- other people.

I don’t think human beings are meant to be in close, daily contact with one another. Especially not in domestic or marital relationships where you see the person or persons everyday. If we were, they would not always go so terribly wrong. This idea that human beings are social creatures I think is a bunch of BS. Ultimately this idea is a way to sell products, structure society and create families. If we were really social creatures we would not all have to buy so many books and take so many workshops to learn how to become more compassionate and loving people. No, I think human beings mostly do not get along. We don’t like one another. Especially when we spend more time together.

For the most part everyone is fucked up. We would all be much healthier, much better off if we could learn how to be alone. But because we have been conditioned to believe that being alone is a bad thing, a boring thing- we just do not know how to do it. We have been frightened out of our aloneness by this belief that if we are alone we are not ok. What a bunch of horse shit. Nothing could be further from the truth. It is when we are alone that we are ok. (You know who is least affected by heart disease? Hermits.) But just like you, I am terrified to take that step into my aloneness for longer than a few hours at a time.

Personalities, at least the ones I come across, are generally dysfunctional. Personalities that are easily hurt, easily angered, easily set off. Personalities that shut down when you do not do what they want you to do. Personalities that cut you off if you do one thing they feel is wrong. Personalities that will impose all their crap on you even if they know you are suffering. Most personalities can not get along. When personalities do get along it is usually because they are faking it. If they really lift up the hood and face all the issues that are under there, it would not be long before the relationship falls apart.

Maybe it is just me. Maybe this is only my experience. But I don’t think so. I realize that I spend my days surrounded by dysfunctional personalities. I am a psychotherapist and my customers are all dysfunctional, fucked up personalities. My father and mother and sister have terribly dysfunctional personalities. My wife also has a dysfunctional personality. I would even say that my dogs have dysfunctional personalities- especially when they start viciously barking when there is no one there. I spend day after day in some sort of personality conflict. If it is not with my clients it is with my wife. It is not with my wife it is with my father or sister. It is an absolute disaster for me. I can not go two full days without not getting along with someone. I try but it never works out. One wrong word or move on my part and I am faced with yet another personality conflict.

My personality is also dysfunctional. I am very fucked up in many ways. It is frustrating to be a psychotherapist and know that your relationship with yourself, with your wife and with your family is more fucked up than a lot of the troubled people who you work with. I am sitting there listening to other people’s personality conflicts and trying to give advice on how to better deal with it. But then when I find myself in my own daily personality conflicts every piece of advice I give goes out the door. Makes me feel like I am just selling bullshit snake oil to people for a good amount of money. If your own prescription does not even work for you and your own dysfunctional relationships, how the hell is it going to work for others? What does it mean when you sell something you know does not really work? Capitalism? Making a living?

We are all fucked up. Society has become another word for people selling other people things that do not work. Even if the Buddha lived in today’s society, his personality would be dysfunctional. He would have to go sit under a tree not in search of enlightenment but in search of lowering his blood pressure. Our dysfunctional personalities have us all so tormented and messed up that the only way that we can really find any kind of relief is to vegetate in front of a digital screen. Nothing can really fix a dysfunctional personality. At least I have not found the cure yet. Talking about it does not seem to help for more than a day. We will all continue to endure the pain, struggle and eventual disease that dysfunctional personalities create. At least until we can really learn to be alone. I mean really be alone like that psychotherapist guy who has given up all worldly pursuits and possessions, built a very small home in the woods and intentionally speaks with no one else just so that he can find peace in his inner world.

Backwards Man.

Putting my shirt on backwards. Putting my pants on backwards. Waking up upside down. I just can’t seem to get it right. Doing everything backwards. Paying my bills backwards. Exercising backwards. Having sex with my wife backwards, which often ends up with me doing it all wrong. Masturbating backwards causes me to just get my cumm all over myself and I really do not like this. I read backwards and usually never reach the beginning of the book.  I am not sure where all this backwardness has come from but I have my ideas.

Ever since I bought a house in the suburbs and began a career where I am doing work that I really do not like, I have been enduring an incredible amount of stressfulness. All of these unwanted obligations, all of these things that must be done just cause me to overreact. I get easily overwhelmed I suppose. My nervous system and stress tolerance levels seem low. Maybe I am just not made for all the burdens, obligations and worries that come along with middle class life. Years of dealing with a difficult father have worn me down. My adrenal glands have just grown weak.

This is where I presume all this backwardness has come from. It is the short circuiting of my neural systems, the result of too much stress. But shouldn’t I be able to better handle all of it? I can’t afford to be putting my clothes on backwards and going to work. I will lose clients if they see me this way. I can not afford to be driving my car backwards down the street. I could get into an accident and harm others and more importantly I could harm myself! I can not afford to be a psychotherapist and be caught speaking to clients backwards. It makes me appear unfit for the job. Even as I write this now all of my thoughts are happening in a backwards order but I am trying hard to straighten it all out.

Is anyone one else feeling this intense stress that seems to be inherent in trying to survive in our current world? Am I the only one? There is this pressure on my chest that will not lift. Does anyone else feel that? I don’t see anyone else walking or driving backwards so maybe I am alone. I look for other people wearing their shirts or pants backwards but I do not see anyone. I want to find just one other person who suffers from this. Someone who is walking their dog backwards, having sex with their partner backwards, showering backwards, brushing their hair backwards, reading backwards. Someone who is experiencing some sort of backwardness in a world where everyone seems to be following in a straight line. Why can’t I?

I am concerned about this. My wife is concerned. We are not sure what to do. My wife wants me to relax more. To stress less. But how? There is so much to get done! I have drawings to make. Novels to write. Short essays to post on my bog. Sculptures to finish. A house to keep clean. Bills to pay. Plants to water. A wife to get along with. A body to keep in shape. An iPhone to check on. A business to run. Phone calls to return. Dogs to feed and walk. Books to read. Records to listen to. The list goes on and on. How am I supposed to not stress with all these things that constantly need to be done? I meditate. I masturbate. I am thinking about starting to smoke weed again. I am obviously not handling this stress well enough on my own. Everything is happening backwards. I am worried that the planet will shift and start turning backwards. Then what? Then what will happen to us? What will then happen to my wife, my dogs and all the birds I love?

Turning My Wife Into A Part-Time Whore?


I love my new reproduction Eames desk chair. But this is not what I want to talk about. I am hung over from three and a half glasses of cheap French Rose wine, drunk in consecutive order last night. But that is not what I want to talk about either. Right now I am having around fifteen to eighteen drinks per week. I am also smoking a minor amount of weed but a minor amount of weed has a major effect on me. But this is not what I wanted to talk about. I think for many forty-five year old men having fifteen to eighteen glasses of wine a week is nothing. A pebble in a pond. Many out there drink much, much more. But for me, who has always had a difficult relationship with booze, it is too much. I could be a healthier and more stable person if I did not drink nearly as much. If I did not smoke weed. If I was sober most of the time. I know this for a fact. So why don’t I do it? This is not what I wanted to talk about either. What I wanted to talk about was I wonder if maybe I do like the extreme idea of pissing all over a naked woman? Or smearing my shit up her ass, while also smearing it all over her face and breasts? I wonder if I like the idea of cumming right into her face and open mouth and smearing my cumm all over her body? Or I wonder if I like the idea of standing naked over her naked body and pissing into her face and open mouth? Just giving it to her gross and dirty. This is what I wanted to talk about. I know these are terrible things to think about. I know it feels like I am being degrading to woman. But is it really terrible? Am I really being degrading to women or is this just how my Judeo-Christian culture has told me to feel? Is it really that bad to want to cumm all over a woman’s face or to want to stick my shit up her ass or have I just been conditioned to think these acts are repulsive and disgusting? I mean don’t most of us just do what we are told is right? In my real life I can’t really do these perverted things. I feel too embarrassed. Too wrong. I become too shy. But occasionally I think about these things. This is what I wanted to talk about. I often wish that my sexual behavior could be less inhibited and more forward and embodied. Is embodied the right word for it? I imagine that someone who can comfortably cumm or piss all over a woman’s face and like it, actually enjoy it and feel no shame as a result of it, is a person who is fully embodied. Fully strong and confident in their body and sexual behavior. This is how I would like to be. To be able to watch porn with my wife or sexual partner and cumm all over each other while getting off to pornographic things, how fun this would be! To be able to shit on my wife and rub it on her face and breasts, how liberating this would be! An attractive and sexual wife (like mine) is a vehicle through which a man can explore these raunchier things. A wife is a kind of guilt-free, willingly exploitive sexual partner. If not, then what is the point? To just become banal, asexual and mundane together while worrying about paying all the bills? I wish I could explore these fully immersive and embodied sexual behaviors with my wife. Not try them but engage in them on a more regular basis. This is what I really wanted to talk about. You see I am very shy. I become very disembodied with sex. I feel like I have a difficult time staying embodied because I feel embarrassed or not confident or bad or fearful. Like one of those bugs who curls up in their shell every time you touch them. This is what I do and I don’t like it. So many wasted opportunities for sexual exploration. I say that cumming all over my wife’s face would be degrading or weird but maybe that is what I really want. How do you cumm all over your wife’s face and fell ok about that? That is your wife! A wife is not a whore. A wife is almost like a mother. Take one step over from mother and you are at wife. How to be so sexual with a woman who is almost like a mother and a friend? I just don’t know how to do this. I’m too respectful. I could do it with a whore. I could do it with a random woman who I do not really know. It would not be easy but it would be easier to get off with a woman I do not know. But with a wife? How do you shit, piss or cumm in your wife’s face? I mean that is sacrilege! Not a nice thing to do. How can you turn your wife into that kind of sexual object? This is what I really wanted to talk about. I just don’t know how. Even when I fuck her from behind or when she swallows my cumm after a blow job, I feel bad. I feel like I should not be doing that. But my wife is sexual and attractive. She is the perfect vehicle through which I can explore such exploitative sexual things, but I just can’t! She is my wife! Maybe if she fucked other men, maybe if she became really slutty outside our marriage, that could work. I could see her as more of a whore. But she is my wife! I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. I want to take care of her and keep her safe so I can never be fully comfortable with her fucking other men. There is risk involved and a part of me would feel like I drove her towards taking such risks because of my inability to be as sexual as I would like with my wife. Because of my need to turn her into a whore. Maybe we should get a divorce but still stay in a relationship, still stay life-long-partners, but if I take away the label of wife then maybe it would be easier to piss, cumm and shit all over her. Maybe it would be easier to rip her clothes off and masturbate on her breasts or turn her around and slip my dick into her ass while slapping her the entire time. If she was not confined by the label of wife maybe then I would be more able to treat her like a whore when in the “bedroom.” This is what I really wanted to talk about. I have a very kinky and sexually transgressive mind. I don’t mind this about myself. I think it is healthy. Where my sexual thoughts go is usually to a very primal sexual place. I want to fuck women. I want to rip off their clothes. I want to stick my dick deep into all parts of them. I want to cumm all over faces and breasts while looking at them in the eye and then feeling great about it afterwards. (All of this is consensual of course.) But I never act this way. I am always inhibited. Always reserved. I do not want to think that these things are bad but I do. I do not want to be a product of my Judeo-Christian conditioning but I am. The shit gets in there and it keeps me from being fully embodied when in the sexual act. Having a wife makes it three times harder than having a girlfriend. Having a girlfriend makes it two times harder than just having a random one night stand. So I just watch porn and live out my sexual fantasies privately through a computer screen. How pathetic is that? Why not go out and take what I want? Why not be more embodied and take some risks? Your wife would have no problem watching porn and masturbating all over each other. She would enjoy that but it feels too wierd to me. I can’t help feeling like I would be doing something wrong. Feeling bad. So I exist in sexual conflict. Sexual confusion. This is what I really wanted to talk about. My sexual confusion. I am really not sure what to do because she is my wife. A wife is not a whore. I don’t know what to do about that. A wife deserves respect. The same type of treatment you would give to your mom. But a wife also gets all of the unexpressed anger and irritation that you have towards your mom. It gets misdirected and expressed towards the wife (the hazards of being a wife), which makes it even harder to see the wife as a sexual object. A wife becomes buried under so many issues and problems that are not even her own. What I am trying to say here is that my sexuality is stuck. Inhibited. I am not sure how to bring it out so that I can really act out the things that are in me. I realize that the way a man feels about his wife is also a result of social conditioning. In reality there is nothing wrong with cumming, pissing, shitting and doing other transgressive sexual things with a wife. That is part of what having a wife is for! A safe and secure person for you to explore perversions with! But social conditioning tells us this is bad. Our relationships with our mothers tells us this is bad. Making the wife a kind of substitute mother rather than a part-time whore is just a form of social conditioning. No one talks about it but this is what men are told to do. This is why most married men watch a shit ton of porn instead of acting out sexual fantasies with wives. So I don’t know what to do about it. I could take some sort of action and just start cumming on my wife’s face even though I know I would feel really uncomfortable about it. It would be hard to act out these sexually behaviors but maybe I could just force myself to do it? Push through the heavy resistance coming towards me, from me? Maybe if I just did it enough, just felt uncomfortable acting out these various sexual behaviors with my wife, but still do it, things would get much easier over time? Maybe then I could turn my wife into a part-time whore? Maybe then we could also have lots of sex with other people as well, guilt free? I don’t know. This is what I wanted to talk about. Because what I know for certain is that what I am doing now is not working. I am drinking too much. I am watching too much porn. I am not having much sex with my wife. I am standing in too many corners watching the world go by outside my door. Looking, always looking for too many whores, but never actually finding one, except on the existential computer screen.