Lone Sloan Delirius

AMERICA UNDER REPUBLICAN RULE

2010-10-31T10:33:00.003-04:00

The date won't matter accept it's the future, the future insomuch as enough time has passed where a few individuals remember with sorrow how life used to be, before the destruction of all collective memory, before, indeed the drugs, the terror squads, the endless wretched parades showcasing republican leaders, multinational corporate slavers, and a return to American values where force not reason dominates all policy, all decision-making, all methods under the false name of patriotism, faith and social policy.

The Democrats along with the independents are a fading memory. Perhaps someone remembered bitterly how the independents were absorbed into the fascist republicans through their inability to resist the constant compromise against reason. The liberals were too impatient. they were too spoiled, and through their temper tantrums against anything resolved against their immediate satisfaction. "Now!" they said,"we want what we want, now!"

Now is the season of infinite grey skies, tattered hopes and dreams, with conscripted minorities sent into infantries to fight and die around third world countries. War never ends, as they remind us when telling us on Fox News Corporate --- that the reason for war is to yet again protect America's interests, which ironically coincides with America's corporate interests. Then there are the weekly round up of protesters whom attempt to tell the truth about our system. They are labelled at public sentencing hearings,(there exist no more trials,)as unpatriotic, members of an underground terrorist organization, lacking family values. Consequently, like the others in past years, they are sent to mysterious places unknown to the general public perhaps to be tortured, probably executed.

Shrieking decedents of Palin, insane clones of Dick Cheney look out over a nation where blacks and Latinos have long since lost any true rights recognized by what used to be the constitution. Constant republican demonization of all ethnic groups, except conservative whites, make the social consciousness of being black their consensus of social, cultural and biologically inferior. Citizenship is denied on basis of race, and the imposed impoverishment is reported as the minorities lack of overcoming affirmative action, which is also characterized in terms of the only expanation for any black success. (God knows it couldn't be on merit)

Its a sad world these days. Evangelicals everywhere imposing their religious corporate doctrine as the singular standard from which all morality is measured. God resembles a strange hybrid of white industrialist and wild-eyed preacher-politician whose version of American history seems like a fairy-tale only a propogandist would endorse. And of course under republican domination we no longer have national forests. we no longer have pristine acres of geogrphy and coseqently many species of animals have gone extinct --- after all as they said, we needed the oil, and a bunch of dumb animals were in the way. Scientific progress is unknown, because it conflicts with religious values, so we live with disease, hunger, deprivation, ill health, with only selected rationing by the government. Only upper members of the constituted 15% of the country's population maintain anything like what can be recognized as personal wealth. The top ten or so corporations own 90% of the economic, productive, and distribution of all goods and services. basic utilities are controlled by a cabal of mercinary industries, which implements basic water and electricity to the highest bidder.

they tell us we're free, but then why are there so many iron fences around?

Lone Sloan Delirius

Archie summers
(Drawing: That Michelle Beauty by Adam Narcross graphite on paper MMX)

THAT OLD GANG OF MINE

2010-10-29T20:27:00.002-04:00

Goodness how the time flies.
Well if you are one of the three people who has probably visited this blog, it is well noticed that there has not been an entry from any of us for quite some time. Assuredly, even this minor sample is surprising considering how active our past efforts used to be. But, as anyone beyond the age of the teen may know, time and time produces considerable constraints on time, and time with the added dimension of adult priorities even more so.

Its not as if LSD ever broke up as a group. There has simply been other things we,together or separately were much engaged. You see, keeping up with a blog is sometimes trying, and one's imaginative output with all attempts to be a consortium of uniqueness cannot always produce consistent results. Nonetheless there had been talk dear reader. That old gang of mine through contemporary correspondence have made mention of providing a few fresh morsels upon which fresh entries can be made. I suppose we believe that there is something interesting to say. And since the blog hasn't become erased from the web, why not put the damn thing to use?

Of course it hasn't been easy getting the old gang back to the table. The girls have moved on to lives demanding more of their creative attention than they previously expressed here. And the team artist, has embraced the studio and gallery circuit as well as running his business. As for the rest of the fellas, motivation back into the world of opinion-making has only recently become amendable.

So what can one expect? Well, for one, Adam Narcross and Michiko Katsuhito have resumed work on The Illustrated lazy Geisha, which currently is serialized on their respective social networking sites. Adam on Facebook America and Michiko on A Japanese version of the same. Fortunately he's okay with serializing the progress here. As well as resuming posting images of his paintings and drawings for the rest of us as we saunter through our literary observations. So that's all for now, and hopefully there will be more to come.

Lone Sloan Delirius
Lord Els

(Painting Red Queen by Adam Narcross

YORIKI'S SALACIOUS OBSERVATIONS IN ALTERNATE UNIVERSES

2009-01-14T01:27:00.003-05:00

The LSD boys have no problem telling me that what I'm doing, I'm doing also with degrees of variation in a different universe from which, I currently inhabit. For instance, Lord Els informs me that in one alternate reality I am speaking better English and writing better sentences that do not constantly conclude with annoying prepositions. While in another I'm laying him out for bothering me about such grammatical trivia, because the more assertive me in this universe is likely to tell this arrogant git, that the concept of grammer and sentence structure is just a subjective sociual construct with no bearing on the fact that the majority of the literate public is more than comfortable ending lots of well understood sentences with prepositions.

Meanwhile, in another alternate reality, slightly further away, I did actually say yes to attending that orgy,at Gramercy last weekend, moreover because in that universe my father was still alive and I only attended out of a nasty sense of rebellion and I was 17. While I was attending this orgy, I was also wringing my hands in alternate reality 3,456over whether I ought to attend the orgy even though I'm very uneasy about letting a lot of strangers run up in me, just to please my Senator husband. Who happens to be up for re-election the next year, and I wonder how it would look if the Goddamn left-wing press get's hold of the fact that the Mr. and Mrs. Flagstone of West Virginia's oldest post '68 Republicans actually frequented shabby spots in the seeduy section of DC to satisfy baser urges we publically decry in others.

I am also concerned for the twins I do not have in this reality, but upon meditation, grow worried here about the possibility of a scandal there, even though in universe 124, I don't have kids, and I'm not married to a senator, but a producer of extremely juvinile porn videos. But I must admit since I'm married to a porn producer in this universe, its still 1985, so there's a lot of cocaine on the sets. I, of course wear uninspiring black basic heels because in '85 no one wants to go barefoot on these dirty excuses for sets, so if you think about porn from most of the 80's you'll notice everyone is wearing basic heels, and lots of stocking garter thingies. (This is because some of us gals are getting long in the tooth by '85 after having become regulars in the industry, around 76' and one of our little tricks is to wear stockings to hide the cellulite in a pre-cosmetic surgery age where we still thought twice about breast implants considering how awful most of them actually were, of --- sorry, --- are.)

However, in alternate universe 45 Its 1973 and I'm starting to get a name in one of the more popular series of nicely rendered softcore series that compete with the slightly better Emmanuelle series, that will become a regular feature on a popular new cable channel in the early 80's called Cinemax. I don't know it yet, because its only '73, but I'll have a fairly respectable cult following I won't trul;y appreciate until I kick a nasty heroine habit common to sexy softporn stars of the 70's. I will of course for one reason or another have done at least one exceursion into hardcore, but this particular film will probably be lost to time and memory like Misty Mundae's early hardcore strangulation thingie of the mid 90's.

In alternate universe 567 I'm doing quite well as an officer in the Isreali army. Apparently, I'm not Asian there and In the universe one dimension away, I'm doing quite poorly as a soldier in Hamas. And to think I thought I had problems worried about seeing my senator husband's political future go south into the political toilet over a little orgy, when in fact as a female Palestinian with a secret Jew lover on the side that likes to make underground sex videos of us doing it agaist the wailing wall after hours sells very well in Syria, Egypt, Iran and West Virginia. Proceeds of the sales are placed into diversifies stock with the Federal Reserve of England, who doesn't mind that some of the money might have gone to the PLO, if I weren't so dodgey about the whole bringing down the west thing. You see when your stock values head north its quite easy to see the value of capitolism. I mean, I know it sounds a tad selfish, but you can't blame a hot piece of Muslim woman like me for wanting out of the impoverished streets of Palestine anymore than anyone blames a rapper for relocating to a nice mansion in the good section of white suberbia from the inner city ghetto.

I note now that I doubtin all probability in any alternate universe that I join the Peace Corps. But I do volunteer to sell magazine subscriptions during my sophomore year in High School in universe 9,076 until I realize I could do better than winning a VCR by prostituting. And upon further thought, I could finally get a handle on that Corvette thing by agreeing to appear in a few porn movies my sleezy California surfer boyfriend has been trying to get me in since that wild orgy in West Virginia. He tells me that he's got a great line on a senator that buys cocaine from him. "He'll put up the money, and we can make really cool art films about a slutty Isreali soldier. We can call it; Make Kosher Love not Jihad War." Intrigued, I say 'yeah,' which is easy for me only after a shot of cocaine, cause that's what us slightly santimonious vegans always say when we're high on our ethics soapbox.

In more than over seven hundred and thirty nine universes I die of a drug overdose. In at least fifty of these universes I die of Aids, because --- hey it only '83 and I thought it was a gay person's curse. I distinctly remember in universe 458 I can't still convince my Southern Baptist parents that I wasn't gay as I'm dying in a Grenwhich Villiage hospital. As you may imagine its quite a sed and disturbing scene with a lot of shouting, yelling and daddy crying out if only I hadn't dropped out of middle school and come to new York to ther Village where its only second to San Fransisco in its abundance of Hell-bound faggots. "But straight people get Aids too daddy." I implore, crying.
"That aint what Falwell says, and everybody knows Falwell speaks directly to a very antisemetic God!"
His only consolation is that of all the horrifying things that can befall having a dying gay daughter in the early 80's is discovering that his princess of the south shacks up regularly with "niggers" in Harlem. So I don't tell him that. because despite his ignorance, I don't think my last acts on Earth ought to be hitting him over the head with my exploits with several members of the Mandingo tribe. God knows the videos will tell him soon enough.

In alternate universe 24 the plane misses the Twin towers and instead hits the Metropolitian Museum of Art, destroying the Kieth Harring Retrospective, which from the Republican standpoint isn't considered necessarily a bad thing. And now that I think about it, its not necessarily a tragedy warranting national indignation from most of the moderate Liberals too. The second plane does not hit the Pentagon, but instead chips a bit of paint from the corner of a Cosco and provides a day's excitement in an otherwise boring rural county. The third plane doesn't land in a field, because the passengers on that plane were mostly members of the Civil War re-enactment Committee on the Confederate side. Apparently trying to hold up a plane full of middle-aged Lutherans isn't a good idea after they've just about depleated the plane of its tiny bottles of single serving scotch.

My mind reels at the infinite possibilities bound up in multiple probabilities whose chances are legion as aspects of simultaneous events crowd with every possible outcome except the outcome I'm now experiencing of.

Written by Yoriki Motuoko

Painting In Progress by Adam Narcross

(Detail episode nine "The Ghosts of Your Former Lovers")

THAT FIRST TIME

2008-08-16T08:24:00.002-04:00

Some past time, when I was much younger, I was told, amongst other things, that I lived in a sex obsessed society. The other things seemed variations on established themes and perhaps if I wanted to understand vague parameters from which i may discern meaning --- then a detour from bouts of debauchery on campus should evenly give way to pursuing philosophy. provided that I wanted to know what truth is, which as you know is something better considered than practiced. Like higher forms of mathematics philosophy can become equally complicated and like higher mathematics that is rarely utilized as day to day discourse, so too is higher philosophy. Perhaps knowing a bit of it can assist me with continuously rigging the game of life so that I can manipulate the outcome from causal initial conditions. I could do this I thought so that I could have the type of relationships with men for motives I assumed at the time were justified on condition that I achieved an exstasis with a great undefinable mystery and by doing so exhibit to the world my grand nobility.

When I wanted to lose my virginity so that I might enter university with my head held high with the full knowledge that my route to cosmopolitan sophistication would go unchallenged by the inexperience projected by my less adventurous sisters of my hometown, I set out to accomplish my task with all the fervor of a prostitute. Having sex is easy for attractive women that are young. Having sex without seeming to appear as a slut is something like the difference between direct brutal honesty that is usually off putting, and tact, which bothers to consider the form of how honest is presented. For myself, the first campus party was just as good a place to start as any, right? So, I go, and i dress sexy, like the girls in the magazines who have only barely enough sense to be provocative just short of appearing like a whore. I am at the wild party full of drinking children fresh out of high school so that I may finally get my whore on before the official beginning of the first semester at university.

I wasn't to concerned with whom fucked me provided that he wasn't walking around carrying a contagious death sentence. Sure I wanted him to be handsome. I did want a gorgeous semi-androgynous boy who probably suffered bouts of faux depression. I imagined he had long hair, you know, the stringy kind that frames a cherubs face, but without the distracting baby fat. he certainly would be sort of thin, a bit underweight with those slightly sallow eyes that hint that he might be a heroin addict when the zeitgeist is right. he wouldn't be an intellectual, he would think he is because he might believe I am impressed by what is supposed to pass as a tender side where he spouts off bad poetry, and the songs he's writing for a band. They always think that if they can recognize Bob Dylan as a pioneering genius and a spokesman of a lost generation, then they are brimming with intellectual fervor, this despite the fact that he probably had no a clue about the significance of the Higgs particle.

The man that gets me drunker than I already was --- is not the man I have previously described. He is, I vaguely remember a man who loved Roman history because unlike the Dylanesque androgynous contemporary man, prone to metrosexual something or another, Roman men didn't have time for a whole lot of pretentious nonsense. Grown men and women fuck, period.

I think he told me he liked my eyes. He says something sort of uniformed about my Japanese style though I'm Chinese by ethnic geography. he mentions a slurred thing about Godzilla and how he's totally down with the whole metaphor of Godzilla anthromophisized into concerns over nuclear something, which i do not get, because I'm only eighteen and incapable of sustaining anything from which deviates from my self-centeredness. I tell his that I'm Chinese. It seems important that I make this distinction. He didn't look like he cared, and truth to tell i didn't either.

I know I didn't plan to lose my virginity to a person like him. But i did, and I suppose I came, he told me so afterwards. I must have passed out and missed it, so he says we should try again and we do, but I was really, really drunk and I didn't really, really know him. I remember he made a comment, no, actually he asked if his dick was big enough, and I slurred that I didn't know. I assume all dicks are big to a virgin because traditionally it always hurts the first time. I'd like for him to have had a big dick, it pleases me immensely to imagine that he must have, I doubt many girls brag that their first time was with a man that didn't have a huge cock.

We ended up having sex in a dorm room. I suspect he fucked me while others stood about, drinking and doing the things young girls and boys do at parties. I suspect that another man climbed on top of me and that somewhere else somebody had a video recorder and was instructing me to move my leg this way for a better view. I remember not wanting to disappoint the movie making boy, because he seemed really engrossed with creating a fine product.

Susy --Suzy---Susie, i think was a strawberry blonde chick in pre-med. Like myself, she was drunk too and the guy who liked Roman history told her to eat me out.
Now things were going to far. After all I had my pride, drunk or not. I may be a bitch but I'm certainly not a butch. My arrogant declaration of my preferred sexual status meant little to Susy --Suzy ---Susie, because she was stronger than me, and pinned me to the futon and ate me out and made me come. I accused her of cheating, because I didn't have my mind fully prepared to act on a disgust I know i wanted to have, but not time enough to muster.

Then Roman history guy fucks me again and I here another woman say: Come on her face. She sounded like a cheerleader, you know the kind with one of those high piping voices that seemed full of enthusiasm because she's a team player. She's probably a popular girl who gets invited to all the cool pretty people's parties all the time. She probably was one of those girls with an inside track on which professors to fuck to keep a high GPA. I reconcile myself to getting to know her better.

More drinks and singing and swirling music. Nine Inch Nails, I think. The room grows somber, a discussion about the war in Iraq makes us all feel self important. We somehow manage to seem more profound than we really are.Amanda the campus volley ball star inquires to the movie "Memoirs of a Geisha" and how it gave her a great deal of insight into Chinese culture. She's blonde with big blue eyes so she's half way allowed to be sort of stupid because she's very pretty, and we let pretty people get away with so much more. I mention to Amanda that "Memoirs of a Geisha has about as much cultural credibility as Edgar Rice Burroughs's uniformed account of tropical jungles in an Africa reputed by evidence to have none. I tell Amanda that this best selling widely read book about the erotic adventurers of a Geisha was written by a man who's real contribution to Asian understanding for Western minds was his prolific ability at exacerbating already well established myths and misconceptions about Mikos and Geishas, he's probably never met. I explain that the training necessary to me a miko or geisha is rather tedious and wholly unnecessary if all you want to do is fuck a lot of men for cash and assorted prizes.

But it makes no difference to her. We're still drinking and we have to drink a lot, because we're all mostly underage anyway but good grief, what do they expect us to do on a college campus in our spare time? Study?

Terry, I think his name was Terry. he said he liked me, and eventually he fucks me too and I think I have my first real orgasm with him. But this one big buck black guy that fucks me takes the question of orgasm out of the equation. I tell him, Christ man, you hurt me. I wonder if I'll be able to walk again. Terry fucks me some more and talks me into sucking him off and because I'm a little embarrassed to be doing all of this in front of all these people, I swallow his load, because somehow it feels too slutty not to.

The parties are like that, and I felt great because when the semester finally got underway, I knew that I wasn't going in a virgin but a woman.

(Written by: Heavenly Zhao)
(Painting: Profane Love made my Architect by Adam Narcross)

Young Woman of the Paid Nights

2008-05-03T18:50:00.002-04:00

There is seemingly always a cost. A cost somewhere to be paid, a value to be recognized and the object of desire from which the costs are to determined. And for this man it is this woman in this place far away from eyes of those that cannot afford such costs, eyes usually filled with scrutiny borne on the faces engorged on sanctimony or drunk on judgement.

But you would pay the costs and pretend that its for something else, like the sparse room on the outskirts of town. The room that is part of a collection of small sparse rooms, where other costs are paid to other women for time spent without the painful formality of romance, along with its unrealistic expectations along with its emotional tolls from which extract greater depths of pay, with no promise for a return on the investment.

So, there she is, in the sparse room with a light coming from some unknown place. And you say: How much?

She says by reply:Everything within an inch of your immortal soul.

You tell her: Its a bargain.

You might tell this woman, in this room secreted in a place along with other rooms on the outskirts of town where the rain never stops and everything is humid with moisture, something she already knows because she has not aged sufficiently enough for people to stop reminding her.

You might mention that she is beautiful.

She would tell you: It is this garment of beauty that rationalizes the costs, which for better examples can charge even higher prices.

You might laugh at this, maybe not. You might have second thoughts, maybe not. You might even feel a swell of anxiety because there is a possibility that you might fall in love as one slips into despair, maybe not. You wonder at the unknown within a sphere of experience that has yet to differentiate between the basic act implicit within the yielding promise of this woman's body, in this room amongst many rooms in this place on the outskirts of town, where the rain, like tears from a shattered heart cannot cease but drench the Innocent with the guilty.

Even so, there is time, you tell her that you plan to take your time with her, so as to commit to memory the aspect of time distilled within what fluctuating existence allows. Even so, you will recall an aroma of cinnamon, citron and an ocean tinged with the taste of salt as a prelude to an expectation of her skin.

You want the anticipation to be part of the affair, you will want to inscribe the moves made leading to your investigation of her body as something separate from the personality within it. You will not want her to have a personality other than the one you project onto her, other than the one you impose as part of the conditions justifying the costs for her services to be rendered, in this sparse room amongst rooms in this place on the outskirts of town where rain wails like sheets of damned angels pleading for a second chance.

She is like every woman. You tell her that you prefer her as something indistinct from the women you pass idly by on the street, at the movies, at the grocery store, in the office where you might work, or the movies or magazines or the park where they are reasonably young or not, but not too old as those women that are too old as those that are too young can only be regarded academically because all else is forbidden or aesthetically unappealing. As a man the rules are different, youth and age are under different considerations with a flexibility unique to men of means.

She might be an Asian woman. One who is articulate. Maybe Russian, maybe Alaskan, maybe Ethiopian, in the light of the room along with the other rooms in this place on the outskirts of town where the rain washes away colour but leaves the depravity. its hard to tell.

Regardless of what she may or may not be from places that hold but a passing interests for you, that she is beautiful surpasses all other competing considerations.

This young woman of the paid nights is dressed in the sort of normal clothes, which you plan to tear from her. She will have a skirt that isn't too short. She will probably wear glasses, and have her hair pinned back, she might be disguised as a librarian, maybe not.

You won't start right away. You will want to preserve some ounce of civility. There might be a dinner, something reasonably resembling the very rituals with which her accommodations with its promises of carnality later is what you wanted to avoid in the first place.

She will say: Will it hurt?

You promise her it will.

Smiling, she will say: Then I'll remember it all of my life. Until the day I die.

She does ask: why should you pay for what you can have for free?

You inquire: What is it do you think I'm paying for?

She sweetly replies with eyes grown heavy in lust and mischief: You are paying for the sweet event of our bodies struggling to consume the unfathomable, inexplicable sensation that hopes to kill but won't. That you pay for the privilege of sinking into the moistness of her young body even as you taste her breasts, her thick brown nipples, her tongue, or wallow in eager hunger licking along the pulsing slit of her sex so that she may cry out and beg and shudder and bring the rains inside as it pours outside from her. She viciously points out that within the midst of these acts that she will want to hold it, stroke it, maybe lick it, taste it, and at a crucial moment swallow its jetting contents.

She will say: you pay for this, and whatever tenderness that can be milked out of a degree of self-deception where love is sensed along the margins.

She tells you this in the dim light of this room of rooms in this desolate place of ash and smoke on the outskirts of town where the distant horizon is obscured by torrential rain that grows ever louder so that somewhere the neighbors cannot hear murder

But elsewhere there might be a television inducing soma for the masses, a mother yelling at her kids, a father reconsidering his earlier decisions in life, and old person laying in a bed realizing that his final breath is moments away.

However you will correct this woman of the paid nights. You will say: I am not paying for the promise of your young body. I am not paying for the satisfaction of urges that sometimes is a weakness for men, nor the tenderness and tangy taste between her legs or faint salt tinge of her breasts and nipples, nor the forceful shifting of her thighs with your own as you push deeply into that maw of clasping elegance while twin mouths utter gasping annunciations that dissolve into a regression of primal grunts accented by undulations from so much pushing, plunging and violence insinuated by two bodies sweating the evidence of a mingling sheen of scent and aphrodesia.

You tell her: I am not paying for feeling your sex clutch mine when a release destroys time and space and reduces us to the most basic elementary aspects that allows for a brief moment knowledge of an elusive unification, the truth of that singularity, the revelation that distinctions between thee and thou are merely a previously insurmountable projection belonging to the realms of consciousness responsible for mutual self-deception making up the lie of the reality of the man the woman, the room of dim lights within a place of similar rooms possibly with similar people, in this place on the outskirts of town that is in the eternal descent of rain only an insubstantial mirage whose existence is as questionable as tradition and less reliable as culture.

You tell her that you are only paying for her to leave after satisfaction has become achieved.

You tell her that you are paying for a persistence of memory as an experience implicit in that thing as it relates to you but external to her, maybe not.

She might laugh a high piping laugh as she unbuttons her blouse, unpins her hair, while stepping out of her shoes and skirt.

She will say: of course, there is always a cost.

(Writing and Painting by Adam Narcross)

And Now the War

2008-04-27T21:00:00.004-04:00

Its all over now

Hillary R. Clinton will not be the Democratic party nominee for President of the United States. No doubt about it, the going for Hillary is rough. For the better part of the last 16 months Hillary Clinton's position seemed virtually uncontested. And as some news reports have characterized, Hillary's upward climb to become poised as the frontrunner for the party's nomination and contender for president possessed an air of inevitability.

Gosh, everyone thought so. I certainly thought so, and for a while even supported it. But that was then and this is now. My, my, the times they are a changing, 'aint they? But somehow, we must find a way to settle an internal dispute amongst Democrats that, like a full two seasons of "Dynasty" played out for public scrutiny. hell, not even episodes of "Friends" were as much the subject of water cooler debate as the saga of Obama and Clinton. And oh, my, what a saga it turned out to be.

Interestingly enough, who knew there were so many ideological differences amongst the Democrats? Who knew that there are Democrats that frankly think very little of blacks? And that the Latino community is overwhelmingly untrusting of ethnic minorities, which Obama is a representative of. We watched the dirty laundry of the Democratic party unfold week after week in the breads and circuses of our media. And perhaps we were astounded that such ideological diversity existed. I mean the notion that there is something called a white blue collar worker that isn't Republican is the kind of revelation almost as worthy as the shocker that concluded "The Empire Strikes Back." Apparently, the whole of the Democratic party is not a bunch of elitist latte drinking Birkenstock wearing liberals dreaming of drive through abortions and tofu restaurants.

It turns out we can be just as mean, closed-minded and bigoted as any 8th grade educated West Virginian. Or as open to lifestyle alternatives as a state on the West coast with a Republican Governor whose former occupation was acting in the kind of urban cinema specializing in new and improved ways of showing how many creative ways a person can be simulated to die.

As the Falconcrest adventure played out with our gal Hillary 'in it to win.' There seemed for a moment as her chances dwindled in the winning department, that somehow there might be an eleventh hour plot twist, just like in the bad movies of the early 90's. But wait, no, that didn't happen, which goes to show you the difference between cinema and real life is usually less romantic when the results are far, far less agreeable to the dreams where miracle exemptions happen all the time. Sadly (depending on if you supported Hillary,) Obama's camp avoided the cliche of becoming the opposition group that kicks a candidate when she's down.

Over and over he spoke of Hillary's determination and tenacity as a quality to be admired. he refused to belittle her. Obama's campaign was deferential to most of Hillary's request. Krickey, one might say he was plain old accommodating. So when it came time for that 11th hour turnabout, when in the midst of seeing Hillary not giving up, the crowd suddenly begins chanting "Rocky, Rocky, Rocky..."
The music swells to a triumphal accord, a new determination flows through the beaten and bruised warrior, who-will-not-give-up. However the record scratches abruptly, the curtain quickly descends as the sun on a once promising coronation is forced to see the inevitable reemergence back into the primary universe from the parallel Bizarro universe that allowed Hillary to temporarily assert a reality not in accord with common wisdom.

Shit, how in the HELL did he survive the scandal of his pastor? And wait one damn minute what about all that stuff on Saturday Night Live where someone got the supremely silly impression that the media was somehow concerned with his comfort over Hillary's? I mean can't any scandal stick to this man?
Adam is reminding me that there is only two things that can ruin a politician's career. A live boy or a dead girl.

Presently lying to a traumatized American public so that an innocent country can be an insane President's experiment into preemptive war resulting in the unnecessary slaughter of hundreds of thousands of civilians isn't quite enough to get you fired. But flings with high-priced call girls and male massage escorts won't save you anymore than writing erotic E-Mails to under-aged Congressional Pages. And God, don't get me started on how fleeting job security is if you like a wide stance in a public restroom at airports.

So far Obama hasn't been linked to a dead call girl or a live boy scraping out a living on the sexually exploitative strip club racket. Insofar as anyone knows, Obama doesn't appear to share Marion Berry's fetish for Hookers with a heart of gold plating and a need to share Crystal Meth.

So no, Obama wasn't going to be destroyed by his former pastor. No matter how Sean hannity continues to characterize him as an extremist radical hustler. Sean, listen to me, old boy, its 50 Cent you want for that sort of thing, not Obama.

For the first time in decades never has the American and international public found something as traditionally boring as a Presidential primary so nerve-wrackingly exhilarating. Normally primaries are simply coronations for the popular favored party representative, whose delegates are grandfathered from a series of backroom deals where funding is cemented with lobbyist in exchange for under-the-table favors later.

Not this time.

The enduring battle was at times vicious, yes. And at times downright spiteful. Remember Hillary once could find nothing in Obama more intrinsically substantial than he 'gives pretty speeches.' Well, now the poor thing is reduced to approaching,the nominee, hat in hand, head bowed in humble defeat, to indirectly solicit that she is 'open to the VP spot.'

The battle is over, the war has now begun.

John Mc.Cain is the Republican candidate for President of the United States. His position is, well... Somewhat confusing. You see, McCain is actually giving speeches, however haltingly about, gasp, principles! He has suggested in easy to understand terms that the discourse in Washington has become so corrosive, (paraphrase,) that the interest of the 'American people' isn't being served. Which is odd since this is a fact that's already well known by the very 'American people' he's speaking of that's not being 'served.' Furthermore, McCain seems content to avoid mentioning that it is his party that's responsible for the corrosive partisanship that has characterised the Washington agenda for the last seven and three quarter years.

Still, hearing McCain allow himself to fall into a blubbering rant about what he believes America and Americans need is like watching a fish out of water speaking about the benefits of oxygen undissolved in salt water. You see folks, republicans don't usually give speeches that reference plebeian ideas like public service outside of the ultimate sacrifice in wars Republican politicians tend to love consigning other people's sons. husbands, daughters, and wives to possible agonizing death, or dismemberment.

Moreover, republican politicians are used to delivering heartfelt sermons related to God, guns, and gays, from an authoritarian judgemental perspective. In the past, you would hear these ideologues rant on about patriotism as though their party held the monopoly (like Christianity)on morality. These self-righteous speeches almost uniformly had a target, which was defined as the next popular threat of the year to be stood up against. Especially since those willing to empathize with the threat are almost always liberals.

So, it sounds strange to hear McCain attempt a civil discourse without the usual jingoistic rhetoric. Actually it sounds amusing too.

McCain speaks in a halting, seemingly thoughtful way that betrays the fact that he's not used to speaking to people fed up with God, guns, and gays as the centerpiece of political discussion. Whoops, what do we have here? The economy? well John, it was your boys on the right sorta responsible for the unspoken unadmitted recession, right? Arrgh! what else do we have, an obviously failed foreign policy that has made America into an aggressive power mad bully. say, John, didn't you vote for the policies that helped exacerbate our foreign policy nightmare?
By the way, John, exactly what was your position on deregulating energy so that power companies could be free to rape the helpless consumers in California.

These are merely musings. I don't follow politics to the same extremes others completely fascinated by the intricacies of it practice. I suppose I could take a lot of notes, from a lot of sources, and compare my evidence for subjective analysis. But y'know every time I pull up to a gas pump, I just don't feel like I need a deep knowledge of the issues to know times suck. Things are expensive, morale is at an all time low. I grumble in tune with a nation of affected grumblers, I feel a sense that the whole damn thing is a goddamn scam and Christ, when will this silliness called the Bush Administration finally end before what little is left spirals down the toilet.

Sometimes I watch the news and see well-dressed newswomen I can't stop wondering what they're like in bed. Yes, they are saying facts and figures, but my, my, they sometimes have that slutty Shannon Tweed power lawyer thing going and before long I have to turn the channel and get my news from an older less attractive man with one of those distinctive voices that sound either like my father of grandfather. Perhaps its sexist, but what can I do about my feelings. Of course I try to watch miss Couric, but eventually between her ambitious account of hard news, I cannot help but wonder what colour her bra is.

Its not always like that, so the feminists can relax. (but I doubt they will.) But enough digression. The main thing now -- is that its all over and the battle is over and the war is begun.

Will the party unify in time to stop the next Sith Lord from inheriting the title from Dick Che-- uh, George Bush?

Will Hillary's 17 million supporters get behind Obama or in a fit of indignation, deliver the country over to the next Sith lord?

Will Hillary maneuver her leverage with those supporters into a means of forcing Obama to accept her for the VP spot?

Time will tell.

(Written by Richard Everest)
(Illustrated by Adam Narcross)

A FEMALE PERSPECTIVE

2008-04-27T20:55:00.005-04:00

I was born a female. And as you may imagine correctly, I matured more or less into a woman. Previous to my maturity, I was a girl. And at various times between girl and woman and at times depending upon the crowd I'm within whose company I am a part, I am a, lady. In others, a dame, and when there is a disagreement where I am the subject, a bitch. When the aim is to cut deeply when all other insults fail, the ultimate, cunt is brought out.

The fact that I am a female and that by synonymous cultural consciousness the other fact that I am a woman, like girl or any of the multitude of designations of feminine qualification has got me wondering if to be a woman has any credence because, let's face it... Isn't 'woman' more accurately a social construct that implies a mode of expected behavior shaped through several millenia of culturally-shaped values created by men?

Much can be said about an inverse of the same social construct for 'man' as opposed to 'male.' In the end, or thereabouts, male and female may only be the physical and biological differences between the two. But ah, 'man' and 'woman' surely imparts a suggestion well beyond mere biology and I suppose encompasses an entire array of psychological and philosophical elements giving over to a group consciousness concerning 'identity.'

So, when i say 'female perspective' I must take into account something that until recently, I've thought little about. I mean, I realize only now that if there is a distinction between what we think embodies 'female' and 'woman' beyond any play for those willing to argue semantics, I must admit that while i might have an intellectual grasp for the 'woman's perspective,' I might not know much about what it means to account for the observable world as a 'female.'

If I must ponder an a perspective at all as a 'female' then in just the biological sense, my perspective should be indistinct from what is thought a 'male perspective.' Indeed, our genders share much more on a fundamental level than society has allowed on a purely psychological level.

As a recent example, I point out that a month ago I arrived at a startling conclusion that I was a lesbian. Such revelations to one's self in a moment of clarifying honesty is more frightening than one might expect. But like taking the plunge into the deep end of the pool without testing the temperature with my big toe, I told my LSD teammates before I told my aging parents. (Trust me, I chose the harder group first.)

I still remember seeing the LSD guy's faces when I laid it all out during those rare moments when we're all in the same room. "So this means there's no chance for any of us guys to---"
"I wouldn't go that far," I told Alex.
"But if you're a lesbian, then you're not into men, so why would any possibility exist for you to be with men?"

And it is here that I gave my grand 'ol speech about the concept of designations, which by any objective lights shouldn't inaugurate any specified rules in order to fit whatever category to fit a predetermined definition. "Men in prison, whom have consensual sex may not be gay. In fact there is some acceptance that some forms of same sex acts is just a way of relieving sexual tension when circumstances make the usual means unavailable. For women it can be the same, even if a lesbian decides to have a man from time to time. its not unprecedented."

"So you're not ruling out the possibility of sleeping with a man in the future?"
"No, I'm telling you, I'm a lesbian that's definitely going to have sex with men in the future barring any sort of relationship commitment with another woman.
"Well wouldn't that make you bi-sexual then?"
"No, not in my case. I don't plan on going out looking for a man. I prefer women. I'm just being realistic by avoiding the trap of social expectations designed to tether me to someone else's idea of what validates my sexual choices."

I'm smart, and LSD guys are uniformly aroused by smart women, and this is a supreme irony in my life, because I know they are smart men. Intimidatingly smart. I mean these guys are off the charts smart. As a female-woman I, like Michy, Heavenly, Yoriki and Li, when she was alive, preferred being with them more than our extended female friends.

When I am with my envious female-women friends outside the group, they interrogate me relentlessly, "how in the Hell did a white woman get accepted into that male boy's only club?"

The answer was so easy. Then when i pondered the significance of the answer, it struck me that suddenly I understood why woman still have trouble relating to men, and quite possibly why despite the epic material written on gender dynamics, trouble continues to dog our present culture. I explained that LSD guys are similar to pack of wolves. Now the mystification most people are brought up with is that wolves are wild vicious animals that just kill and mate and kill and mate. You know the whole werewolves thing. But we know that in reality wolves especially packs of wolves are very social,(within their packs at least.) But an outsider can get in. All you have to do is earn their trust. However to do so, requires a great deal of patience.

Men are brought up to view women as living embodiments of deceptive purpose. So they hold back their true feelings for a long time. They are very cautious about whom they let into the fortress of their minds. But when you do get in, and a trust is established, you're not a woman in their eyes, you are a female. And as I mentioned earlier, besides a bit of anatomy, there is little else to distinguish between the genders. I may be presumptuous to say this, but perhaps the path to equality isn't by continuing to cast males into a persona meant to justify female hostility.

With my announcement, I received a flood of requests by lesbian and transgendered groups to speak at various events. It was assumed that having decided upon my orientation, then by osmosis I must also embrace a political belief on par with some of the radical notions associated with feminism.

What a sad accounting that, I was forced to decline virtually all of their populist rhetoric. I told them I'm around men more than they, and their presumptions about the gender was wholly unrealistic as a general character. How shocking had it been when I revealed that the feminist ideology was the practice of sanctioned misandry and I wanted nothing to do with it.

God knows after taking a woman's study course in college, I simply do not think I could stand to be in a room full of so-called progressive women, whose vitriol towards the male gender easily blinds them to the fact that men are diverse like women, and like women have their faults as well as their virtues too.

I cannot tell you what a liberating feeling it is to enter a room full of LSD guys where other men are hanging about, at the pro shop. "Oh, that's Susanna, she's alright fellas, somebody get a real drink for her." Then I'm in the group as just another person whom they are as open to as they are amongst themselves. My being a female is an inescapable fact, but its of less concern to men who trust me. The pack, as Lord Els' put it, wasn't something I was let into. "Like every person here, you earned your way on your merit."

I cannot tell you what a liberating feeling it is to be asked an opinion like, "What about it Suse, this thing in the damn City Council, what do you think about it?" This comes from men sitting in the clubhouse in lush highback chairs smoking very nice cigars, which I smoke too. Then more rewarding, "see fellas, you got to think of different angles like Suse over there." Approving nods all around. Or when I go into one of the gangs local restaurants. "Hey Suse," one of the boys waves me over to a table full of men laughing and having a time of it. "Boy's this is Susannah, Davenport, she's with the LSD gang out of Carolina." A chair is added, and a menu is in my hands. Before long I'm debating, laughing drinking and sharing that rare camaraderie with the boys.

Like anyone with common sense, not all men are confident with the same level of maturity as those of LSD or the Wake County Dons, or even the Steppenwerewolves out of Virginia. In fact some men can be just downright childish. God knows I've seen the pouting, whining version. or the overtly effeminate kind that never tire of explaining why men suck (Like Joss Wheden and that embarrassment who writes, 'strangers in paradise, Terry Moore. )

"Honey, I like hanging out with the meateaters, I like being around guys that won't break down the first sign of a strong wind. I like men that looks a challenge in the eye and say, I'm not afraid, bring it the Hell on!" I love hearing my boys laugh that deep throaty laugh that comes from way down inside. I especially love that they don't mind telling me they think Ellen Barkin is still the hottest fucking broad this side of planet Earth. I love their schemes and dreams and conquests and the way they support each other when the chips are down.

My female friends beyond LSD are of the opinion that men don't communicate. They point out the literature confirms so by a variety of academics whom claim to have decoded the male mind. "Rubbish," I find myself telling them. Men communicate just fine, they just don't always vocalize it. When Billy Anders lost his father earlier this year. The boys and girls of LSD and a few other groups gathered to pay tribute. The men spoke little, instead they nodded, made a few gestures, and in a word, communicated in a dialogue that didn't require a word to be spoken.

They know about the healing power of silence. Do we women? No they don't want to talk about it, and sometimes no, they don't want to discuss pain. My experience is that it isn't internalizing feeling, its managing feeling.

Adam, my sweet baby explained male feelings in terms of how men cope with grief. "No, the old fashion types don't like to talk a lot about it. We like fixing problems not dwelling on why the problem happened. There's something healing in constructing something." Maybe in us girls' efforts to find universal fault with men to assuage our own depths of periodic irrationality, we believe that men should adopt uniquely feminized traits. Some of which, I think can be useful. Yet, I also think that in the quest for a sense of gender balance, we've demanded more than what's reasonable for men to adopt. We've turned testosterone into a bad analogy for male aggression rather than see it for something that allows men to get hard jobs done.

I'm a lesbian who loves the men in her life. I don't know if my depiction thus far is adequate enough to be called a perspective at all. I'll admit its quite subjective and certainly I'm not speaking with anything like authority by which I can claim a universal perspective. Still for anyone reading this, i do believe that there is a distinction between the biological female and the socially constructed psychology behind the declaration of 'woman.'

Recently Gay marriage was made legal again in the state of California, much to the outpouring of joy for those supporting gay rights. But as you may well correctly guess. Allowing gay marriage means overturning what some people claim to be a heterosexual privilege and a right. While the extremes of both the lefty and the right structure their reasons on claims of basic civil rights verses fundamental traditions ingrained within a universally understood definition of what marriage is,--- those of us in the center attempt to make sense of what the ramifications will be in terms of whether any if all traditions should or should no longer be respected if a minority within society decides to disagree with some of its characteristics.

On the surface, the right for homosexuals to get married seems like a straight-forward case of equal rights for everybody. I posit that there is an underlying complexity that is possibly overlooked within all the screaming and pronounced shouting

Whatever people might believe, its seriously silly to equate seeking gay rights with black civil rights. Many associate the endeavor as the same, but I'm afraid separate dynamics were at work in terms of rights for blacks. For instance, black people already had rights, they just were not recognized by the authorities and society that was supposed to enforce them. But it goes deeper than that. ethnic racism was based on clearly irrational principles that revealed American claims of liberty and freedom as an embarrassing fraud.

The argument in the context for gay marriage is presented with many compelling reasons. Civil unions won't do because as one opinion offered; accepting civil unions is like accepting second-class citizenship. Unfortunately this may be a weak argument considering that the lives of most prominent homosexuals seem hardly to qualify in the same fetid atmosphere during pre-civil rights America. (I seriously doubt that gay people have to read signs in this day and age with "Heterosexuals Only") And unlike the jury nullification trials of white men responsible for killing black men, we know Mathew Shepard's killers were not acquitted.

Saying gay people in America will become second-class citizens if they have to settle for civil unions will not pass the wider public perception tests, and if the voting public in California perceive that they've just about had enough of gay moral blackmail to extort more designer rights, Gay marriage in California may not last longer than November.

And it won't be the right-wing religious extremists that end it.

(Written by Susanna Davenport)
(Painting by Adam Narcross)

Next Alex examines WHY MOST MOVIES SUCK. That's right, the last decade of films have been formatted by a formula that attempts to please everyone, but end up revealing a horrible contempt for an audience the writers and directors assume are too stupid to see the demented old man behind the aged and faded curtain working the decrepit illusion-making machine

(Richard Everest)

A MALE PERSPECTIVE

2008-04-27T20:52:00.006-04:00

Of late, I've been finding myself in circumstances where gender topics have been reaccuring in general conversations, from which my opinion is increasingly sought. Usually I try to steer clear of many of these topics, insomuch as the male perspective isn't generally considered necessary in order for female writers of the topics under discussion have already made up their minds about men in general. But with the present election involving to the extent someone whom happens to be a woman, demurring from some aspects of more popular gender discussions is increasingly unavoidable.

My own observations about what I suppose is a woman's perspective on contemporary American men, is often that the majority of these writers,( of articles, blogs and news items) is mostly incorrect, and presume a knowledge about men based on highly subjective stereotypes. If you read gender related articles by women where men are either the topic, or women the subject in relation to men, only a small number are written without an undercurrent of ambivilence toward men in general. When men are part of the topic, you may notice that the tone of the discussion (as presented for reading, or video essay etc...) present the male through a singular lense of condescension, derisiveness and with terms that leave an overall impression that the male gender is the sum of every negative in terms of relational values relevant to women.

My experience is that I now rarely read articles on gender by women. I'm not alone in my thinking. Many of my male friends who have tried to read similar gender articles tell, me 'after the first couple of sentences, when the tone quickly makes childish references to men, I just stop reading and find something more constructive to do with my time.'

And its not because they, or I particularly disagree with the some of the issues that are important to advancing any cause of equality for anyone, whether they be female, gay, or transgendered. But wasn't one of the problems women had in the past with their concept of past patriarchy is the summery judgements aimed at women that rarely allowed women into important discussions about issues of social policy, resulting in a one-sided value judgement?

From time to time, one of the fellas here or myself will take a stab at presenting a dialogue that attempts to illustrate a growing number of contradictions within the basic assumptions female writers on gender issues have embraced as a primary paradigm. We attempt to present a fair and balanced account of alternatives to what has become a one size fits all impression left by some female writers that appear content to encourage advasarial notions about the male gender.

For instance, when I've read articles in magazines or blogs in the past where I felt the basic undercurrent was hostile to men, I point out specific obvious examples where it is unreasonable to sustain a simplistic black and white conception of my gender. The responses are usually tepid, and sort of agreeing, but largely ignored and only reluctantly acknowledged in the face of previously written accounts where men have been described synomously with the negative.

While no sane man would debate against a past repleat with instances of abuse against women. Some taking a multitude of forms such as denying women a reight to vote in America, or policy making positions in government. Writers of feminist themed literature almost never are willing to credit men with advancing a steady refinement of society, in which its cultural values shifted against the very paradigms that prevented the advancement of women. Instead, it appears far more benificial to the rhetoric of the feminist ideology not to speak of any sustainable level of male achievement whatsoever. It seems easier to relate to men only in one dimension, typically taking a percentage of unstable men and utilizing this group to define the whole.

Cleverly a type of generalization creeps in with constant references to men side by side with demeaning modifyers like 'childish,' 'spoiled,' 'boy,' 'immature,' and the very much overused, 'fragile male ego.'

That much of this insensitive marriage of writing about men from a context that purposely ignores many fundamental positive acheivements has only served to accomplish a high level of male alienation, and therefore also alienating much of male empathy for a number of women's issues that men might otherwise consider.

Along with a constant undercurrent of male antipathy that is more and more encouraged by American feminist-oriented writers, few men are bothering to offer a defense of their own gender against ill-informed analysis. One result by male silence that refuses to openly challege such one dimensional assumptions, is an overall impression that the feminist-oriented writers must have a correct point. And that men tacitly agree. Another result is that when men are brave enough to defend themselves, they are instantly labled misogynist, chauvinist, neaderthals, and just about every indictable persona under heaven.

Most of their views, are trivialized, or thrown into the camp of ideas similar to what very dumb frat boys tend to say. Also, when men point out logical aurguments that prove inconsistencies with some of the assumptions female writers on gender present as 'the basic nature of man' type dialogues. The response is typically directed at presenting that particular man as a perfect example of a whining man intimidated by female power.

To go deeper let's take the subject of power as a concept. female writers are very quick to speak about social justice and equality, until they reverse themselves by pandering to a contradiction where they assert female power, sexual or otherwise, is simply a natural product of human existence. read a few articles and you'll arrive at the flavor of conscious admissions of superiority OVER men in terms of female sexuality, instinct, thinking, empathy, and all the positive modifyers denied to men.

But how is that promoting equality?

When I point out major judicial biases within the court system with documented cases that challenge assumptions about male stereotypes as presented by increasingly bebunked statistics relating to male on female rape, and domestic assault. And how the presumed supporters of equality remain mysteriously silent. The answers tend toward either an admission that such knowledge was something they didn't receive for whatever reason. Or more grotesquely, a series of rationalizations where the put upon male victim somehow deserves what he's getting, and even more perversely, that his unfair treatment is somehow just to make up for oppressions in a past, from which he was never part of the policy process of oppression.

When I asked a lawyer friend of mine, what is the punitive damages a man can collect after spending several years in prison after its proven by DNA that the rape allegation made against him by a woman accuser turns out to be false. He replied, in the US currently no punitive condition exists.

Women will write numerous articles about how traumatic being an unjust victim of sexual assault can be. They will write how such trauma adversely affects their lives specifically in terms of trust issues with men, from which few men could blame her for having. However, do women consider the similar trauma men face under relateable circumstances after years of false imprisonment, where he mat have been the victim of prison rape? The answer lay in this observation as a question. How often do you read articles about this subject from women purporting to support gender equality? How often do you read an article from women about subjects where the woman shares equal culpability with men in relationships that end badly? If a man beats the shit out of a woman, do these writers ever balance their reportage to also include instances where a man has saved a woman's life or valued property? And finally, if a man uses deception and manipulation to exploit women, do women writers on such gender subjects leave an impression that such men are to somehow be commended for excercising a warped excercise of gender empowerment.

I find it odd that when female writers write in laudible terms about feminine abilities to beguile a man, entrance a man, and use an array of deceitful tactics to extort resources from a man its approached as if its a virtue. So what does such attributes mean to a male reader. On the one hand in order to decieve a man he has to place some degree of trust in the woman presumably intent on making him a victim. Therefore based on such logic, how are women to advance within contemporary society when the number one element needed to do so is trust? Personally the ability to deceive a man or woman only tells me that such a person is actually a very weak individual that's morally bankrupt. They can't cut it in an honest game, so they take to manipulation, deceptions and an entire host of rationalized sanctioned acts that can only reveal that the last thing you can do is trust them.

In the 1600's New England certain Christian religious fundamentalist utilized the same assumptions about enchanting, deceptions and other internal gender attributes regarded as part of the femminine arsonal of gender superiority to burn women at stakes.

Unfortunately, this is something you will probably never read from a woman writing about modern men within a context of gender equality. (Over the last fifty or so years, the male mind has evolved significantly. And as evidenced by contemporary standards within varying fields where we may observe distinctions regarding gender quality of life, employment oportunities, and positions to inluence political and personal policies in government and within the decisions from one's own life, Western woman is further advanced than at any time of the past.
Men within the present day continue to acheive in areas of science medicine and space exploration. In fields of chemistry, and philosophy as well as expanding stylistic visions in the fine arts. Western man can proudly regard his achievements. But contemporary man isn'r willing to settle for the challenges settled. No, man and the male mind seeks to investigate deeper into still as yet adequetely addressed social issues that creates victims male and female.
The mind of modern man standing from a vantage point where he may examine the last hundred years is deeply self-reflective. And it is this honest attempt to redress the existing problems afflicting the human condition that man attemps yet again to creat those axial ages toward greater glory of humanity.)

Contrast the above statements with what is typical of feminist writing. Men and the term human is almost never applied. Men as advancing toward something beneficial to both sexes is almost never investigated beyond a scant few acknowledgements that suffixes with the obligotory but and however, which invalidates any previous reference to male credit. Instead you will undoubtably read the same old, men don't understand, men don't get it scripts. Feminst oriented writing never tires of making sure that undercurrent denoting the male mind as little more than something only capable of childish ideas.

Of course most female writers on gender can't be bothered to point out that most men do not actually live in a state of male dominated bliss in some version of Paradise on Earth. They can't be bothered to mention something men have known for centuries, and feminists refuse to consider. Life is difficult, life is hard. Fairness like opportunity is as random as it is engineered. And like fortune doesn't play favorites. More men are poorer than women think and most men do not hold Fortune 500 jobs. However, feminst orienting writers, proclaim either through implication or impression a special intuition ---- a special insight into the male mind. But let's examine what this insight invariably leads us. Men are abusers, women share no culpability for social problems some regarding domestic violence, or the male version of rape, which is the man proven in at least 70% of the time, falsely accused of rape and assault.

Men are childish.

Its men whom have to learn about female desires and ideas. (Strangely these writers presume to know all there is about men and are exempt from learning more about us.

Men are violent, uncaring and as Gloria Stienem wrote. "Men are superflous."

Men are aggressive...

I think you get the point.

The make up of modern man in modern feminist ideology cannot and will not add to their list of male failings things like... A history of superb music by the likes of Mozart, Hamdel, or Stravinski. Of man's achievements in sculture, building cities or formulating laws that eventually found the value of huiman life as a personal right needing no judgement from kings.

In science, technology and a range of deep emotions stirred from some of history's great poets from Homer to Keats, to Dante to Milton. Amazing works of literature from Shakespear to Victor Hugo, men have attepted with varying degrees but always evolving steps to evaluate the human soul. And in this journey, difficult, sometimes with setbacks and tyrants seeking to retrogress matters. The whole stream of the male mind has brought us to our present day.

Ask youself, when women write about men, how often do you read what appeared above, sans the references to feminist impressions of males whoilly in the negative.

Many feminist writers love to write what men need to know, and what men need to think. Since its assumed men are easily grasped, because, well, y'know despite evidence of history, the male mind simply isn't complex, women are by impression excluded from having to learn about us.

Even when acknowledging advancements arrived at by women, these writers almost never attribute these advancements to men. They will list a group of female pioneers and establish practically every observable social growth to them. Under any rational degree of thinking, any progress made by women in the last fifty years without male contribution as part of elevating the human concern is not only irrational, but illogical on the face of it.

Then we come to the word Patriarchy.

Men control this, and men control that, and women are not this and women are oppressed under the ideological void of a notion that the life of a woman is not equitable to that of men. However, under a matriarchy the impression goes, women as leaders are somehow immune to embracing the same corrupt egoist tendencies of men. And therefore society would function better.

Let's examine that for a moment.

While most women beleive female genital mutilation is morally and ethically wrong, how many publically give the same weight to oppossing male castration?

While it is well understood violence toward women is bad and should not be encouraged...

...Female violence against men, destroying his property, and denying men equal expression for reproiductive rights is not only tolerated but in not too subtle ways, encouraged.

With just these few examples, try and picture exactly how a Matriarchy-based society could possibly be much different than the less savoryy element routinely attributed to patriarchy. Let's be honest, isn't there a whole lot less patriarchy in 2008 than in 1908?

Now lets briefly mention the concept of male dominence and power as it relates to how some feminist define it in abusive terms when men hold it. The male ego, reputedly too fragile to share power with wopmen equally is part and parcel of man's failings. Therefore male application of power is generally characterized virtually as synonomous with abuse.

Proto feminist will lecture such patriarchical abuses were the result of egotistical men too afraid of a woaman's inherent sexuality. However, feminist often describe this sexual power as something asolute and justified in the course of sexual manipulation and coercion. Sexual power has to be power over something, or someone. If its bad for men to refuse to share power, how is it good for women to utilize sexual power with the same oppressive motive they attribute to men?

As I come to the conclusion of this minor essay. I would point out that I've only written a rather broad outline as part of a response to some of the tone I detect in literature written by women where men are part of the subject. I've brought up a small selection of basic contradictions I think anyone reading some of the available literature will easily detect.

Contrary to what Gloria Stienem has been quoted imparting. Men are not superfluous. And contrary to the rhetorical question by Moreen Dowd, Yes men are necessary, And contrary to the fictional characters, like Murphy Brown, and the anti male hostility of the movie Baby Mama, fathers are equally important in a child's life.

And to Joss Whedon. Feminism is not a state of being, its another ideology based on a series of false premises that in practice is completely at odds with what it in theory purports to be.

Equality is a human initiative of a progressive human mind supporting rational streams of logical discourse. Inequality is not rational. And no gender is qualified to decide for the other in absolutist terms that only their version is the only correct version for what encompasses the whole of equality.

( Written by Lord Els Grey)

(Illustration by Adam Narcross)

Next: A Woman's Perspective

One of the differences between LSD and some other blogs dealing with gender issues is that Equal time is given to the LSD girls to offer their oppinions, ideas and challenges to subjects where gender is presented. LSD woman Susannah Davenport offers her views on topics ranging from modern female identity and the recent California court decision to make it fully legal for lesbian and gays to become married. Don't miss the views from the ivory tower.

Richard Everest

I'LL Take You There Part 6.1

2008-04-09T21:35:00.001-04:00

I wasn't born into poverty like my ancestors.

I know very little about my ancestors except that, according to my grandmother, they were poor. What evidence to validate such a claim assumes that since most people were indeed poor in the backward well of time --- assuredly my ancestors had a high probability of having once been impoverished as anyone else.

No one likes being poor. And those whom like it less than most, are motivated to cease a life of poverty through various means, mostly involving opportunistic causes thinny disguised in benevolent terms. Of course for those that were above average in their ambitions, something like a realization takes place. Something nearly akin to enlightenment, but with far less virtue.

If there are going to be rich people, then there must necessarily be poor people. One has to accept a paradigm supporting relational values, which ultimately involves actively working to keep a higher number of people poor, if there is to be any plausable distinctions between the classes.

After all, there is only so much room at the summit. Certainly far less in rarified air than space along the base. Way down there some where where most of the trash and obsolete refuse is consigned. Another way of putting this is that wealthy people, (in the spirit of achieving that alternative enlightenment, I mentioned earlier,) is a realization that the best resources on the planet is not infinite, but finite.

Perhaps way, way back in a history when the limited shape of the world was only a speculative matter for philosophers no one thought much about, it seemed that things had an infinity about them, which allowed daydreamers to attach their ambitions to a boundless future even though we now know that all futures are bound with a reality of diminishing returns.

Its bad enough that rich peoiple such as myself --- and my family eventually have to die like poor people too. I mean, wasn't it those pesky philosophers that made the case that human equality lay in the fact that, material accesibilty aside, we are all mortal. Which is another way of saying that cultural and social superiority through hereditary refinement means nothing to a hungry lion if its just thee and thou on the African plains. Sure we may live a little longer, but there's nothing like the comfort of justifyable superiority through an illusion of immortality.

Well we aren't Gods, are we? And because there is a nagging certainty that death touches us too, we must ever be aware to be good sports. The poor, however unseemly are people on the basis of their obvious qualifications as humans.

If history teaches us anything, its that the road to recognizing humanity in a particular ape decendent species, well the only species that didn't die out, or were killed off by a more agressive (probably less humane branch of evolved ape species.) Wasn't always dependent on caring whether we were all mortal. (No matter waht the greeks used to giggle about 3,000 years ago in the agraga.

An addendum to the human experience making it fashionable for idle jet-setting rich people to finally recognize equitable value in the working class is dependent on aknowledging that there is something about their lives that may actually be more fulfilling than our own. Trust me, its disconcerting that we here in the upper levels have to deal with a sense of ennui. Apparently a life with just enough struggle carrying some degree of risk is alleged to provide sufficient spice to life, which we manufacture artificially in all of our travels to contries filled with poor people we have somehow come to marginally envy.

It was one of the reasons why I found myself in Tangier. It was one of the reasons why a life of adventure got me and my ilk a reputation for being an adventurer. And I must add at this point that my long storied reputation in the salons of my well-heeled socialite aquiantances, placed me out of competition as suitable material for marriage. After all, even today, a reputation for being an adventuress hardly sits comfortably for those preferring a woman unexposed to (certain) experiences. That is, to be an adventurer is akin to putting one's self into situations where part of its attracting romanticism must involve decidely novel indiscretions of the carnal variety. More-so than usual -- as based upon a sense of the vague number of affairs permitted a woman before she becomes ineligible for serious, less adventurous, stations within a context of marriage.

Back now in England, After having been ruthlessly ravaged by A, and chasing him over most of North Africa. I am witness to his impending marriage to one of the socialites he also dallied with in Tangier. How she was able to snare him is a manner of speculation from which I cannot possibly fathom. Apparently life is a bit bleaker than one brought up on John Hughes movies would beleive.

Nick bainbridge, on whose estate the wedding was unfolding once said, "happy endings are for saps. Life is a continuum of highs and lows, victories and defeats. How is it a happy ending when the best you can settle for after a crisis is breaking even?" More often than not, surviving means accepting less than what you have. And life is literally an existence of ever diminishing returns. "All to dust and cold ashes. Nothing lasts forever, not even the sun," my father was fond of telling me.

Lady Beaumont, always an epitome of elegance sometimes made me secretly desire to be a European white woman. As an Asian, I've less to complain about than let's say an Eskimo female. perhaps, I think as I see a man I adore standing in front of another vastly glamorous white European woman, that I must get used to settling for a rather ungratifying role as A's mistress. I only dimly hope that, fidelity for him is as flexible as those rationales giving wings to excusable ethincal perceptions. Still, i'd rather he not be married at all.

If its a question of love. (See gales of laughter at the mere suggestion.) Who the Hell ever marries for that. Poor people convince themselves all the time that love is enough. And in those false promises stage of most relationships, the 'lovestruck' are willing to make all sorts of elaborate promises in the name of love and devotion. My goodness, to hear how people brag about what humiliations they are willing to endure as proof of affection can only result in malicious tithers when even the smallest discomforts later become grounds for contentious divorce and bitter child custody hearings.

Realistically speaking, it appears that more people fall in hate much easier than in love. Personally I think we have Christianity to thank for an epoch of falling into hate when the drug of love wears off.

But except for the day, A moved closer to marrying that bitch, I'm not typically so cynical. In fact on most days when I get my way, I'm not cynical at all.

Normally, these kinds of narratives involve a rather explict commentary involving complicated stages of the ceremony. You know, what the preacher says, and vows spoken, rings exchanged --- you know, all the familiar unchanging cliche's that i'm confident is firmly cemented in enough of the popular consciousness that I certainly do not have to belabor this literary account as if it wasn't.

Suffice it to say that I wasn't paying attention. I was just a very attractive body in a very expensive dress with impressive decollatage. (Which might call into question the questionable extent of exactly how Asian I might not be. Breasts like these aren't indicative of my ethnography.) Suffice it to say that a commotion of sorts was taking place at the alter --- of which I was becoming dimly aware. (Maybe it was all the Brandy I consumed in the hopes of solice.) Suffice it to say, I heard, A refuse to do something that the preacher asked.

Peering ahead, clearing my vision, I observed the preacher's face descending into scarlet. But, A kept shaking his head. The sound of muffled giggling distracted me, and its origin belonged to Sir Alex and Lord Cadberry. The two gentlemen that alluded to 'something' undefinable at the time. Now, i was making a connection, though its meaning was only unfurling as my hopes bouyed.

To be Continued.

Written by Michiko Katsuhito

Illustration "Reebound Rising" by Adam Narcross

Translated by Alex Summers

THE BELLS OF POLITICAL ACTION

2008-03-27T20:46:00.003-04:00

Its getting about that time again. Everyone is speaking about it, and by it, I'm referring to the democratic battle for the party nomination.

Its heated, its sparked conversations and debate as well as its share of arguments. And well --- just a minute, who can remember in recent electoral history when anyone got this excited over the nomination process? As one friend from the Pro Shop explained to me, "the party nomination wasn't any different than a coronation." Which meant that almost a year before the general election, the candidates were easily decided upon, and the process of delegates were nothing more than part of the window-dressing leading up to the convention.

Not this time.

And dammit there is a justified feeling that the stakes couldn't be higher. Instead we have two democrats that are fighting it out to a point where people sense that the hard fought and harder fought gains made by Democrats could self-destruct with a perception of internal party schisms that can only assist McCain.

There are a growing number of concerned Democrats that view Hillary as the presumptive nominee whose refusal to acknowledge that her tenacity (commendable at times) is taking on the self-righteous indignation of Ralph Nader. More than a notion, her insistence in continuing to stay in the race appears to display more and more signs that --- despite what everyone else is seeing,--- her perceptions have degenerated into a similar state of delusion that allows Bush to continually deny the evidence of faulty decision-making before his eyes.

This inability to see the forest for the trees is exactly what sane people understand about Bush and his administration. Hillary doesn't perceive any potential for harm within her own political party, and like Bush, appears to refuse that what the people think should have little value against the barometer of her political ambitions.

The mantra of Health Care from her doesn't seem to take into account that her plan may be good to some degree, but its fixed compulsory nature doesn't mesh with a reality in which this population is in a constant state of flux.

Even her steady critique of Obama's presumed lack of experience rings hollow when one considers that one of the major problems in Washington, is an ongoing belief that above a certain station the whole damn things one big private social club. Isn't it a bit insulting to imply that the conditions for competent leadership in American politics should be based on serving for aeons within an atmosphere proven to be rife with corruption in order to qualify?

Shouldn't any person be allowed to believe that the desire to be President, with one's own life experience outside of conditional Washington membership be enough?

Recently Obama gave his observations about his relationship with Pastor Wright, which (I supposed because it couldn't be avoided) dovetailed into explorations on Race conflict in America. Some got it, others didn't. Conservatives, (as usual) refuse to so much as consider the content of Obama's points. Instead, conservative commentators railed on about what he should or shouldn't do based upon their characteristic prejudices. If he had repudiated the pastor they would've said he's a phony because he bent to outside pressure. If he didn't repudiate, then he's obviously a man whom hates America.

Let's try some honest perspective. Why does the pastor say the things he says? Where can a frustrated black person go to have his grievances redressed? The Government? The media? The answer is practically nowhere. I'm, sure there are well-meaning whites that think the America they live in is the same one blacks also inhabit. And most American whites aren't comfortable honestly confronting the lingering effects of their history on minority groups. (Which is probably why you rarely see movies or TV shows outside of sugar-coated documentaries about life before 1900.)

The common refrain from conservative American whites. (The same one's who openly embraced the racist tactics of the Southern Strategy) is a very insensitive, "just get over it!"

Oddly enough Jewish people aren't asked to "get over" the Holocaust, any more than people living in the south are told to "Get Over" losing the Civil War.

White Americans have a calender filled with annual observances of the past. Entire holidays are devoted to revering men whom owned slaves and volumes of thick books are written praising their moral convictions. Only blacks in America had to fight to get a holiday honoring a black civil rights icon.

Conservative whites are hardly known for their recent history of racial justice. And when anyone black submits questions to them about the discrepancies, they're Radio and TV personalities are quick to simplify a very complex issue by accusing inquiring blacks of "Always blaming whites."

So the black church tends to be where one can go and have the issue addressed with something like sympathy. But how its addressed also includes venting frustration from a sense of pent-up injustices.

Personally, I don't go to church because I'm too secularist and a practicing Buddhist. But I'm not so unconscious that I believe that Pastor Wright's less savory comments is the sum total of the man. He has preached that black men and women must take personal responsibility within their lives for the bad decisions some have made.

The part of his sermons excoriating black youth for some of their lifestyle choices isn't played nor voluntarily mentioned by conservative pundants. And if the truth be told, few black people go around blaming the white man for problems everything their/our lives.

But beyond one man's conception of race from the pulpit, Obama has pointed out that The future health of America cannot continue to ignore an issue that makes everybody a victim. When blacks and whites in this country resist trying to overcome conditioned assumptions that play to fear and ignorance, we are all less than our potential.

Written by: Adam Narcross

Illustration Adam Narcross (Page Ten) from the upcoming second episode of "The Illustrated Lazy Geisha"

(Can you stand it ? Michiko returns with a brand spanking new chapter of "Ill Take You There." And, oh my, the controversial 2nd episode is quickly coming. 26 new pages of T.I.L.G.)

We Miss You

2007-06-11T19:22:00.000-04:00

The Goddess has gone out of our lives like the light of a star. Its extremely difficult to imagine what life will be like knowing that I shall never see her face except in memories or be the recipient of one of her classic smiles.

We were decent enough to put the world on hold while we sorted out our feelings. So, no, at least for a few weeks, we did not allow the Earth to keep turning, and no, we did not acknowledge that business go on as usual. My Li is gone, and I refuse to allow her passing to be just another departure within an indifferent universe.

Each of us have said we'd write about aspects of her life, and I'm not altogether if I can properly do it. I can say that she was one of the decent people. That she never complained once during her fight with cancer how unfair her situation was. Not once.

I can say with absolute authority without exaggeration that Li Zhao did not fear death. Characteristically, she chalked things up to karma, and always said her consolation was that we're all indiscriminately subject to the wheel of karmic existence.

By the time I met the rest of my LSD teammates at the hospital, Li had already sunk into unconsciousness. An event, I was later informed had happened suddenly the prior day.

Li was cremated as she wished. Her funeral was conducted to reflect her Buddhist philosophy. She left this world aged 37 years old. I regret I'm not writing more poetically. This is the best I can do at the moment.

Adam Narcross

My sister in arms Li Zhao is no longer with us. I've spent many days since her funeral crying, tearing my hair out, and carrying on rather badly. I could not conceive that within the midst of my grief that I could be consoled. But time makes allowances and so does distance.

Its not fair, and I cannot embrace a God that cruelly strikes down the good while allowing the wicked to prosper. But that's just my anger speaking isn't it? But this hole where my heart is, I cannot fully explain why it persists in presenting these hollow sensations that alternately angers and saddens me in the fashion that it does.

I loved Li, and though the spectre of death was with her for an entire year, I guess I refused to accept the inevitable outcome. Every visit to the clinic and every check-up became routine and her coming out of it seemed so routine until she finally could no longer fight the weakness and pain that once was held back by a variety of drugs.

Li faced the ultimate grim end with courage. She didn't shed one tear, nor did she lament her circumstances. Once she compared living to a candle's flame. A lot of attention is placed on the ornament and design of the candle when the real beauty is the flame itself. In people its only when the flame of life is extinguished do we see the candle for what it really is, and however beautiful the design, it is never as able to illuminate like the flame in its full glow.

She was always filled with sayings like that. She's known to have a talent for finding the philosophical underpinning to most situations that I wish I could. A few weeks ago, as she was in failing health I asked Li what should we (LSD Floating World) do when the time came. "Replace me with a more reliable model," was her answer.

Michiko Katsuhito

It hurts, it just hurts like Hell. Li you were always one Hell of a Woman. My life was better for knowing you. We sparred a few times, but of all the men who desired you, it was I you taught the full measure of sensuality. You rewarded my patience with the softest kisses I know.

Looking back, I'm glad I fell in love with you, and even though you're gone, and I feel like a fool writing this, I'm writing it anyway. We didn't always agree, but when it came to things that really mattered, nothing could separate us. You've done more for LSD than you probably realized. Your boundless enthusiasm will not go diminished. Your project is now our project.

Archie Summers.

She was beautiful enigmatic, very, very, very zen. She faced life and death in equal measure and brought light to the darkest corners of life's struggle. Always a teacher she taught us how to live by teaching us how to die well.

Lord Els Gray

It was a hard secret to keep. 'Don't tell anyone I'm dying of cancer.' And why, because Li didn't want to be trouble for those that cared deeply about her. The irony doesn't escape me when during times in the recent past she would listen to someone complain about how tough their lives were. And that she couldn't possibly be able to relate. Li could've told them about her own condition, but never did.
Even when others were ranting on and on that she was somehow unable to face their version of realistic suffering, she never defended herself, with herself. I was tempted on many occasions to reveal what Li was going through to those whom imagined that what amounted to their vain problems was nothing compared with knowing that you don't have long to live.

But Li always said, that was unnecessary because the quality of life wasn't in the faults you find amongst the living, but with seeing the true beauty of this world by looking through the layers of obscuring anger, greed, and pettiness that kept people from realizing what they truly have. She said to us all on more than one occasion that for her to have succeeded in becoming enlightened, if but for a moment, was worth giving up whatever time she had remaining.

I know she reached enlightenment, because she said she woke up the moment she recognized that liberation wasn't something you seek, but realize was always within.

Yoriki Matuoko

When I was introduced to Li's father, I knew then where her strength came from. My father was a drunk who liked to do abusive things to hurt people so that he could seem powerful.

Mr. Zhao had come to America to be with his daughter as he had been with his wife. He was stoic, serene and ultimately a figure of solid control. But within this control was a very passionate man that understood the most intimate processes of human life. This wisdom wasn't easy to gain and the sacrifices demanded of him throughout his life was not always in keeping with his own sense of right and wrong.

When I spoke with him after the funeral, I told him that I had not known Li very long but I appreciated the time I got to know her. He smiled, and said that in his life he had seen many people lose their loved ones. Its the volatile history of people possessed of ideas that quickly forget the quality and value of living. He told me that he recognized this trait in human nature very early and made sure Li grew up not making the same blinding mistakes that informed his youth.

Almost four decades of Li knowing that love is always the right answer meant more to him than when a person realizes too late this fundamental truth. She had that knowledge early, and so the quality of her life was enriched longer for it than without it.

Susanna Davenport

NUMBERS

2007-06-11T18:20:00.000-04:00

Part of growing up and becoming an adult is having to face choices and revelations that aren't always comfortable in our lives. Often dreams that were born from our youthful dreams unravel in the face of insurmountable obstacles that were unforeseen within the magical realms of very magical childhoods.

As time continues its steady, and then somewhere around the age of 35, its unrelenting pace. There is a feeling that the original intention undergoes constant revisions where the first plan is diminished under the realization that one must settle for less and less versions of that original until at last, sometimes not even that remains.

In men this is part of what is sometimes referred to as a mid-life crisis. This business of taking stock of the first half of one's mortal existence is also the period where many of our values are seriously considered. Entire belief systems are thrown into the balance against the reality of our experiences. Facing the prospect that too much of our lives might have been in pursuit of a grand illusion is at once a terrifying prospect and a means from which at last we can choose to spend the last half liberated from the delusions forming the center of the values that no longer seem applicable in the face of lived experience.

For those that try to hang onto the old order, I suspect this sense of denial that we as men may no longer be socially relevant in the commercial and sometimes aesthetic sense of the word is really too unnerving. Thus, some of us retreat back into a regressive infantilism. The most obvious characteristic of what I mean is the traditional middle-age man suddenly purchasing ostentatious sports cars, while attempting to carry on an affair with some 23 year old that's often too vapidly self-centered to tell you that the sun does not indeed rise and fall just east of Daytona beach.

Still for those of us willing to embark on the last half of our lives with something resembling an open mind, the realization that we can continue to develop our minds to its conceivable fullness allows an opportunity to enrich our lives beyond the dogmatic shell games offered by religion, politics, fashion, and cultural allegiance to a nationalism. which in itself is little more than a construct designed to give otherwise poor people a rationale to fight and die for a government that simultaneously uses its power to inhibit the poor that sacrifices more than what the wealthy politicians themselves are willing to risk.

But along with age and the new spirit of self-determinism comes the sad fact that our friends and relatives die in ever increasing numbers. Its a long way to go about it, but I prefer context however bad the form may be. And it is with this subject that I now deliver the very sad news.

Li Zhao is dead.

If there is a more tender way to put it, and I'm sure there is, I'm not at moment able to do so. For those wondering why we haven't posted for so long, the reason must by now be clear.

Cancer is not pretty, and the weeks leading up to our darling Li's departure from this passing show of life was not made prettier with all of our private knowledge that there could be only one terrible conclusion for a woman we all loved.

She received the diagnosis a year ago, and she informed us six months ago that the type of cancer that everyone survives is not the kind that she had. We never pressed her for details and we never spoke about it except where it couldn't be avoided. Her desire was to live normally as was possible until she couldn't. Other than the girls and boys of LSD and a few very close relatives, Li wanted no one to know of her condition.

Like I said, cancer is not pretty, and I will not offer up a romantic picture of the last three weeks of her life. Witnessing pain and not liking it reminds me and the gang that our revulsion to human misery is one of the essential essences of our humanity. I loved Li very deeply. And she lived and died in love with me and those that inspired her.

When the doctors told us that she was drifting, we were all there. There were no words like in the movies. No final proclamation of ideas, nothing. We sat in the chairs provided for us and her father and little sister. At some point a doctor came into the room and after a brief examination just looked at us.

Soon two nurses entered the room and began turning off the equipment that I assume helped make her last moments painless.

I don't know exactly how long we all just sat or stood looking at Li. Michiko and Yoriki who often said that they would not to cry in public made a rare exception. For us guys, though I doubt our refusal to shed tears in public will undoubtedly seem wrong somehow, it is a matter of face, which for a Chinese man is very important. Her father needed to see us face the demise of his daughter as he faced it. With dignity that honored her short life.

Of course once alone, I assure you plenty of tears marred many a face.

The funeral was thankfully a brief, affair. All of her students, friends and colleagues were there. And we discussed our memories of her. Recalling the bitter and the sweet. When at last i asked Adam and Michiko what they planned to do about the graphic novel, Adam said he finally understood why she made so many notes and wrote so many scripts. But even knowing half a year prior that she was dying it didn't seem real to any of us until the final month. However, Adam and the girls pledged themselves to continue work based on her notes.

Perhaps its one of those things that always happens when the whole gang is standing around trying to decide what to do. Lord Els said that the biggest mistake the girls were making was trying to make a human story a singular woman's story. At which point he announced that if there's going to be any graphic novel, he was going to contribute his expertise. This was immediately followed by Richard deciding that he would contribute too. I then joined, followed decisively by Archie, who originally had less certainty about the project.

This decision wasn't dramatic, it was made very matter of fact. Its the right thing to do, that's what Archie told me. You see, earlier i mentioned that at a point in a man's life he can use the last half of his life to develop his mind or retreat into psychological regression. I personally don't know how working on a long graphic novel will accomplish a form of enlightenment. But I do know that the themes Li was exploring may very well unfold the means as we go along.

And maybe that's what it means to head out into the great unknown. To have the courage to face the future without knowing just how it will all turn out. Maybe, perhaps, I hope so.

Alexander Earl

I'll Take You There Part 6.0

2007-04-29T17:23:00.000-04:00

I recall that my father didn't want a daughter.

He wanted a son.

This desire is universal throughout the world. It is, a common experience for fathers to want sons. They place within their male offspring whatever hopes and ambitions that they were not able to achieve, or place as their male offspring's greatest impediment to their own individual identities their own successes too monumental to match.

Yes, father wanted a son and received me, --- a daughter. I do not propose, as he informed me when I was old enough to understand, that I should pretend to you otherwise. On the question of whether he loved me as well-meaning fathers should, he replied yes, but it took a long time to do so.

I relate this much because though my mother, to her credit accepted me unconditionally, I spent the better part of my youth always trying to win my father's approval. Apparently his love had to be earned, whilst my mother's love I took for granted. Indeed, it may seem odd to mention, but I do not believe I would have fought for my mother's love as much as I did to obtain affection from a man who counted as one of his supreme regrets that I was not born a son.

I think now of poor Trevor. A man whom I abandoned for a man who abandoned me in Tangier, all those years ago. I meditate on the lives of my gender and the string of lovers that are casually cast aside so that we may pursue or be pursued by the next novel entry within our lives. The post lovers are forgotten. no not really, but they do become like fading ghosts don't they. Only when we make the mistake of attaching ourselves that was far worse than the former, do we look backwards and realize with all due reluctance that perhaps, in trading out for up. We've really traded down and out.

In the contemporary moments, I find myself wondering if Trevor has moved on, found another woman, become married, and perhaps become a father. I wonder if when he is in the arms of the woman with whom I am replaced in affection, does he think of me?

Only now do I find a sense of shame with how I sent him packing. When a man makes an investment with his feelings to a woman it is no small thing. When we dismiss this sincere act of trust, we destroy something in him that makes it difficult for the next woman to earn his full trust. I know that its the same for us too. So when i think of my A and his aloof quality, I must ponder that what shaped this terrible savage man must come from experiences too distressing to imagine.

I am in the large room in Dunham Hall. The wedding will shortly begin. I had been informed that there may be light at the end of the tunnel yet. There are the men of the line all around. laughing, chattering away in their tuxedos while clutching their drinks. I try to perceive all those unique incidents of their lives that have brought them to this similar standing. Yes, they laugh easily, too easily. They speak with more confidence than I'm used to seeing in other men.

Some pass a glance over at me. Their eyes do not disguise their keen interest in my body, and nothing in what I can detect on their faces exhibit the slightest degree of shame for their interest. Their gazes are gazes of appreciation. I am looked over like a fine piece of art rather than a side of beef, which is what the barbarians of the lower level are likely to do.

Those eyes probe my face and body like hands exploring every swell of my breasts and every dip below my stomach. It warms me, I am warm, they have warmed me in the passing heat of their lascivious regard. You may be surprised to discover that at that moment I dreamed of being a whore in a well-established and respected bordello, whose been presented for perusal by the fine gentlemen, one of whom will delight for a high 2,000 HK my more intimate company.

I fantasize that it is A who bursts through the door, smirking, eyes filled with his familiar devil's glint. The other fine gentlemen step aside as he marches up. "been a long trip, Sally," he tells the mama san.

"Blimey sor," one of the gentlemen cries out, instantly recognizing him. "Ayes thort ye worn't du back by this com'n fortnight, by God!"

"The bloody Typhoon turned," he answered, turning to see me, and wiping his mouth and ten days growth with the back of his hand. "Checked the barometer this last hour, Aye she's holding steady at 29.8. But if this bloody rain doesn't let up." A left the sentence incomplete, letting the dire possibility hang in the air like the dark clouds outside.

"Goddamn those bloody nobs," Sir Canterberry groaned aloud. "No wonder they leased us this damn rock. They knew we'd never make a proper go of it for all the typhoons. Blasted bloody Chinese."

"Hong Kong's got the best harbor this side of the Her Majesty's property. Britannia's no different mates, early on, even she had to be tamed. For Britannia was as wild as they come. And its to the credit that we British are born tamers of land." A looked deeper at me as he said it.

"Then I am to take it Lord, that you regard Britain as that which must be tamed, like a woman. To be conquered?"

"Aye, if she plays rough like these typhoons, like these cliffs and all her rugged ways, aye."

"Please Lord A, take no mind t' th' lass," the mama san urgently broke in. "She velly bad, heya?" Then turning to me, she chided in Cantonese, "a pox on your opinions, heya? Am I house of parliament or succulent house of joy? What for you make quarrel with 'spectable mens, heya?"

And, A in perfect Cantonese says: "Its good that some fine establishments keep a spicy meal on the menu. It helps keeps the dish available for strong constitutions."

Now smirking, very interested he walks around me, staring as though I should desire to be written by him. beast, cruel fathom of devil's blood. "I cannot keep the scent from your nose Lord A," I say imperiously, "but I can keep the taste out of your mouth. The young sir has already lain down 2,800 HK."

"John, rescind your 2,000HK. Pick another, this one needs a MAN to ride her."

"But, A..."

"I's no use young sor," Old Raymond spoke up, going to the kid. "best ye be lett'n somebody wit 'sperience handle this'n, by God.

At that A threw down upon the floor 500HK. The mama san blanched. "But missee, she newsies, first time heya? Cost more yes?"

"No more missee. First time lack experience. More work for me. Not payee for more workee, heya."

"A voig'n?" One of the men said. "Hw kin ye tell, by God?

"Aye ye can tell alright," A explained. "Ye can tell by the whites of the eyes, by God. Everybody knows the whites of a virgin's eyes are cloudy."

"Is that so?"

"Its a fact. The cloudiness comes from being out of tune with nature, by God!" And as if to underscore his point, A conspicuously hitched up his belt and added, "fortunately I've been known to put a few girls in tune with nature, just like I'm going to with this hothouse Venus Flytrap."

"Michy do wake up, old girl," Lady Cadberry tugged me out of my fantasy. "I say, you were rather a long way off. I fear had i not arrived at the opportune moment you might have had to dash off and change you Victoria Secrets."

"Oh, so sorry, Lady Cadberry. I've decidedly been of sorts lately."

"Yes, I rather you have been --- with A about to marry and all that."

"She's not right for him, I said it."

"Michy, nobody is ever right for anybody until they've been married ten years. After that, you know its love because in ten years you'll see all those things early infatuation blinds us from seeing."

"I just never thought I'd have to settle for becoming A's mistress, is all."

"That sure he won't be devoted to his future bride, are we?"

"If there were gold medals handed out at the Olympics for blowjobs, I would be ineligible to compete for being overqualified. Of course he'll be devoted to her, --- academically.--- But men like him don't forget the best they've ever had."

Then the announcement arrived. A young man, brimming with new world enthusiasm. "Everybody, the ceremony is about to begin. It looks like we won't have to lower ourselves to a Catholic service after all."

"I say, does this mean we'll have a respectable Protestant service?"

"Yes, now everyone hurry."

My heart sank lower than before. I felt dizzy as if something dreadful was happening specifically to me. It was all I could do to keep my head high as I filtered with the rest into the chapel. "Joss," my grandmother would tell me.

"Karma" my mother told my father when he was informed that I wasn't a boy.

Ahead, moving toward the front pews, I saw lady Beaumont motion to me. I went to her. "Surely, I haven't been placed on the front row," I moaned.

"Oh come along Michy and be a good girl will you. You're a woman of the line, part of the peerage and privilege. Its your duty to sit with the rest of us upper level at the front."

"But A."

"Oh for goodness sake, stop going on about it luv. Things are going to work out dear, trust me."

"How can you sound so confident?"

"You've only known A for three years, dear. I've known him most of my life. So has my husband and many others here. Honestly, I think you know him very well too, and I can promise you, the fact that a very significant person doesn't know him well enough at all will work completely to your advantage."

"But THAT woman, she knows A as well as anybody."

"Yes this is true," Lady Beaumont agreed. But think like this, its better to have a front row seat for the one important person that doesn't know him at all."

I wracked my brain, but for the life of me I couldn't think whom that would be. Then the music began and my worse nightmare started to unfold.

To be Continued...

Written by Michiko Katsuhito

Translated by Alex Earl.

Illustation by Adam Narcross

Meanwhile... A few days from now, another episode of "The Inferno" will be posted. And I want to publicly thank the girls of Lisa league for their support. They did a nice mini interview with our Adam for our sister site Lisa League 9. I am told Li Zhao is next on their interview list of LSD girls.

For those in the know, around town. Lone Sloan Delirius will shortly be no more. But don't worry. We're only undergoing a name change to further equalize the contributions that the girls have made over the last few months. The name we've decided on is "Floating World." And in a couple of months we'll move to our very own web-page.

Also along with some other enhancing changes, photography will appear from time to time. As was demonstrated last posting. Until then thanks for dropping by and please leave comments if the spirit moves you, or just keep flooding Michiko with E-mails. She's rich so its not like she has anything better to do with her considerable free time.

Richard Everest.

Highest Common Denominator

2007-04-22T11:45:00.000-04:00

This world is extremely complex. More often than not there are fewer simpler solutions to social problems manifested within elements of our American oriented society. Thus when something happens like the Imus Affair, there is a sense that reasonable, sensible people will step back and take a good long look at the multiplicitous issues surrounding concepts like why "we" shouldn't tolerate anyone calling black women "bitches and ho's"

Perhaps in the ongoing examination, which until the Imus Affair, was relegated only to those, which popular media paid little attention, we will avoid creating a reactionary inquisition of sorts. Its too easy to allow ourselves to be drawn into believing that the Imus incident should give free reign to oppressing freedom of expression and speech as a component of that expression.

After all, as insensitive as Imus' remarks was, he didn't break the law. He didn't violate FCC statutes, and within the context of his show in general, I have been informed that he's said far worse about people from other ethnic stripes than just black Americans.

I'm not defending Imus, I personally do not agree with his characterization of the Rutgers basketball players who happen to be female. I'm merely attempting to offer a perspective that questions whether anybody who says anything offensive to any group of peoples should be fired from their jobs. I wonder if in ten or twenty years when this subject is examined, will those supporting his firing be cast in the same reactionary light as conservative Republicans that supported a war against Iraq after the Bush administration exploited their emotions?

Recently there has been a tremendous tragedy at Virginia Tech. 32 people murdered by one student whose mental health issues triggered within him a rampage that many of us are still reeling from. More disconcerting, we are informed by authoritative sources that we must expect similar acts elsewhere, and more distressing --- is that the Virginia tech tragedy will in all probability initiate a trend in acts of mass-murder- suicide.

Apparently Middle-Eastern Terrorists isn't the only thing Americans have to worry about. And for those whom have studied patterns within our social culture for several years, these acts of devastation are hardly surprising. Something is very wrong with American society. And there are many whom believe that if we do not seriously examine the aspects of aggression that is well-entrenched within the collective social consciousness, then our problems will continue unabated.

We can think back on an issue with the Imus affair and point to a few glaring acts of hypocrisy. Rappers whom are black utilize far worse characterizations of black women than Imus, and yet are allowed a reprieve from scrutiny on the basis that coming from a black male of popular celebrity status. Of course this is all hogwash. But if one listens to those defending the most popular forms of contemporary rap. We are to believe that there actually is a right time, and a right place to denigrate black women in general. Keep in mind that this line of logic is presented exclusively by men within that branch of entertainment with less to lose than the gender that they degrade in rhyme and image.

One has to wonder if the persons they denigrate agree with them that there is a proper moment to be called a bitch or a ho. This is, when spoken about in a manner which lends the character as a general term defining black women regardless of merit. Unfortunately, contemporary rap appears to provide little deviation in regards to the descriptive characterization of black women. And since one of the main goals of Hip-Hop is to ingratiate itself as part of mainstream society, then why should those tolerant of it find Don Imus' words offensive?

Do they not understand that this is what mainstreaming looks and sounds like? That the limited world-view of most hip-hop/rap should give an impression that the very insensitive approach to characterizing black women, should crossover to basic speech from a white person is the victory of mainstreaming sought out by Hip-Hop.

Too few within the hip/hop community are willing to examine its own philosophy, which in my opinion is a philosophy of materialism and unrestrained appetite. Ethical or moral concepts obviously have no place in Hip/Hop philosophy, and given its approval of 'Hustling" as the preeminent lifestyle of Hip/Hop philosophy, honest appraisal of conceptual truths is discarded, because in essence "hustling" is really about lying for a living.

Understandably then, the advocates for lying for a living will attempt a defense of their genre by misleading the concerned public by forging a conceit that it is not they, whom influence the problems within much of black youth. School teachers, parents and society is scapegoated so that the proponents of Hip/Hop will not be forced to admit their own significant contribution to the intellectual retrogression of black youth and its disrespect for black women.

Hopefully those that refuse to allow Hop/Hop philosophy to continue unexamined of its contributive influence will spark a turn-around in social thinking about something that expressive mostly aggression, hate, and violence.

As far as the underlying issues involving the tragedy at Virginia Tech. Perhaps this society needs to take a close long look at some of the cultural traditions, which assists normalizing abusive patterns of behavior that exacerbated the preexisting psychological problems of the south Korean student. Too often how we solve our problems is with violence. Violence is so endemic in this country that we've made heroes out of those whom take a position advocating it. Too often has this country diminished proponents of peaceful resolution by attributing a form of weakness onto those advancing non-violence.

ADVICE FOR THE EVOLVED MAN

On a personal note, recently a good friend of mine revealed to me that he discovered that his wife was having an affair. He expressed to me that he wanted to do violence to the young man that is sleeping with his wife. As for his wife, his rage was of such extent that it was all he could do to refrain from finding a gun and killing her.

He added that, he didn't completely recognize that part of himself that desperately wanted to use violence, since by nature and application he is not a violent person. I told him that I completely sympathized with him. Few men will get through this life without suffering a similar betrayal of trust and faith. I also told him that whatever his feelings were, violence will not solve his problem, nor will any satisfaction gained from it result in a long-term appeasement.

I reminded him that as a true man of the line, he had a responsibility to himself and to those with whom he is an example to put his advanced civilized being first. The person that allowed himself to seek pleasure at the expense of another man is not a man in the true sense of the word, and less than an animal in all sense of the term. As for his wife, she allowed herself to relinquish her own humanity by purposely breaking faith with him. These things happen and as angry as he was, a man of the line is well trained to refrain from reactionary acts of speech and violence, especially against women.

After giving him a brandy we spoke at length about what he should do for his future. My advice, if it is possible was to try and work the relationship out. No man appreciates being the cuckold anymore than a woman wants to be called a bitch or a ho. Its degrading and in the end tells the victim much about her feelings to someone she no longer respects.

He asks what I would do in his position. After some consideration, I informed him that I would call upon my own considerable inner-strength. I would acknowledge the reality of the circumstances. I would acknowledge the intensity of pain such an act of infidelity would cause to me. And then I would remind myself that I exist in a world where these things happen enough times that I would have to be delusional to believe I might be an exception enough to avoid suffering the same fate.

I explained to him that as a man of the line, we are trained to maintain a significant part of ourself within ourselves. This aspect is not to be shared with another person. because as the training manual points out, when a man gives all of himself to anybody he loves, what remains of himself if the relationship ends? Just as a man keeps a private study within his home, which no one is allowed inside except he, so must the same exist within a man's mind. When all else fails, this is the place mentally and physically from where he can seek safe refuge and rebuild his life.

I bring up this piece of recent occurrence with one of the gentlemen of the line as a counterpoint to what is possible when there is something to offset actions that sometimes lead to violent acts. A well-trained man of the line never seeks revenge. Justice, yes, but never revenge. Men of the line understand that karma is a real thing, and our acts contribute to the environment that pays out as well as collects debts.

Unless it is understood before a formal commitment between the couples exactly what the nature of their relationship will be, (open or closed). the pain and harm that arrives with infidelity will create an environment from which the guilty party will be forced to accept in the future that his or her own pain is guaranteed when they or someone close to them is a victim of infidelity.

Realistically, its probably not a good idea for marriages to be sexually closed. Perhaps its disingenuous to demand sexual fidelity as one of the principle proofs of love.

At this point I suppose I should explain what is meant by 'man of the line.' Essentially, a man of the line is a man with highly evolved sensibilities. Any man can become a man of the line, because the 'line' is a metaphor for principles that do not bend, break or curve. Because of the socialization responsible for conditioning men to accept constant compromises to his own masculinity, he is taught to somehow feel uncomfortable within the natural facets of his manhood. As a result many men feel diminished as human beings. His natural pride has been reformatted into something he should feel ashamed of. His confidence becomes built around accepting that it can only come to him through external social and cultural allowances that often force him into accepting dehumanizing doctrines such as acknowledging a feminine side.

It may be controversial to say this, and I must accept that there is a chance I will be misconstrued for mentioning this. But no man of the line will allow a feminist to define who and what he is or should be. The truth is, you do not have to be a feminist to believe in universal human equality.

Occasionally those that forget that they possess inner-strength will feel lost, confused, angry and helpless. This sense of being lost is like living in a nightmare from which one cannot awaken. Most attempts to reconcile this feeling sometimes suggests a man takes positions at the social extremes. One extreme is that --- in relation to women---- they adopt the characteristics of a misogynist or chauvinist. On the other extreme, he may adopt the characteristics of women. I will point out that I do not regard homosexuality in men as an extension of this characteristic. The fact is some men are and some aren't. Sexual orientation is not and should never be considered the cause of a person's problem.

Now, because becoming a man of the line requires what will seem like a radical departure from what is considered normal male behavior, a man seeking to evolve himself will have to accept that the climb upward requires effort and work. Thereby he has to be trained. Through devout training he may do much to liberate himself and find the better part of himself. The training is always different for each man because each man is different in his own way. The dogmatic approach usually creates more problems than it solves so that's why the training isn't codified with a method.

At the end of the training, the man of the line doesn't become a philosophical superman. He does not become absolved of life's pains. He will still suffer the aches and pains of this life. The difference is that when he has to endure disappointments in life, he can take refuge in the well of inner-strength and well of peace that he develops inside of himself.

As for his treatment of women, far from advocating women as something strange and impenetrable, he gains a level of insight that allows for him to regard conscientious women as great educators from whom they can learn how to improve their quest for greater civil evolution. The man of the line always should support women whom desire to communicate the common human goal. The man of the line will see only the inner regard of a woman because he knows the outer image is not always indicative of a woman's inner personality.

Written by: Adam Narcross

Photo: Cosplay

(Note: We rarely use photographs but this is an exception because it was posted by request.)

Meanwhile.... There are more changes ahead. Big, giant, fat changes. In a month or two this blog site will be taken over by Liza League 9. At that time the LSD gang will move to our own website. Another change, after much, much, much discussion, and in the spirit of starting a new venture with the girls already part of the creative team, it was decided that we adopt a new name for the group.

(Besides, finally we won't have to keep explaining that LSD isn't our ode to a psychedelic drug.)

Inferno will continue running its next two installments here, as well as T.I.L.G ep.2. By popular consensus our new name will be FLOATING WORLD

Alex Earl

THE ZIPPERMAN COMETH

2007-03-31T21:30:00.000-04:00

Several months ago Tricia, from WoodNotWood experienced the kind of heartrending close calls one hopes will not repeat itself. Her son, you may recall was the unfortunate object of a very serious motorcycle accident. The extent of his injuries was reported with honesty, virtually no sugar-coating and honor.

For a mother the merest possibilities of losing a son, (for some reason daughters are mourned slightly less from mothers,) is an agony with little to compare. During that time LSD sent our heartfeld wishes and prayers for her son to pull through.

And guess what?

He did.

Recently, while most of us were gallivanting in our own lives, Tricia sent Adam a very nice rendering created by this same son when he was 13 years old. Perhaps we are mystifying a bit, but who cares? Adam's reaction to the drawing was he did indeed get a big kick out of it. We began remembering about our own early teen years when the world was open bright and possibility like hope sprung from every new experience.

For men, youth and the future was bound up in our desire for exploration and adventure. We were eager, unbridled and ready to dart from one adventure to the next. Our heroes were larger than life as was our ambitions. We read comic books, listened to Prince songs and tried to figure out why any man would carry on all over a girl.

Shortly after we list our virginity and the addiction set in, we had our answer. But before then, when we knew innocent pure joy, rivalry, jubilation we were able to invent out own pantheon of Gods and Goddesses. Adam said his was the "T-Birds" a comicbook he created and illustrated during his university days.
The drawing above is Zipperman and he is the creation of Tricia's son. It is based in part on his original drawing. Earlier today, Adam appeared in the studios at Floating World to drop the drawing off.

On a humorous note Tricia has indicated that there might be more going on in the subtext of the original piece than her son may or may not have realized. At any rate, Adam thinks its a grand old idea to post Zipperman as his way of sending a speedy recovery one of a kind card.

For myself, I look at this drawing and it brings it all back. I can hear our laughter way back in the good old days. I can recall running long and far until my lungs were fit to burst. I remember just hanging out, with the fellas, knowing that I lived in a larger than life world, with larger than life ideas. Its difficult to explain it but sometimes we can become so lost in our adult sense of the serious that we can forget that laughter and smiling used to didn't need a reason.

Thanks Adam and Tricia for reminding me that I need not abandon laughter for the sake of laughter. Life is short and we only have one of them, so live and let live.

Alex Earl

TRAILER for The Illustrated Lazy Geisha episode 2

2007-03-31T18:42:00.000-04:00

I feel much better now that most of our stolen art now rests with us at LSD. The entire affair was something that I hope never to repeat. That aside, the creative minds can resume work and hopefully in a couple of weeks we can have a cleaned up version ready for post sans mistakes and typos and all that stuff.

Because its taking us longer than anticipated to finish I'm willingly obligated to shoulder much of the reason why we're late. My scripts have evolved into the sort of thing that requires a lot of art from poor Adam, whose been nothing but a good sport.

He still is, which I'm extremely happy about.

When the girls and I began this project, we didn't delude ourselves. This was going to be hard work. Very hard work. We set the standards for ourselves high because we are working from source material that is beautiful in its economy and poetry with language. My desire was to bring art to it that was equal to the narrative beauty of the original prose.

I believe we've accomplished close enough to it. Also, as it will probably become evident to anyone who has read Nina's inaugural piece, episode 2 is what we call 'padded'. Which means that scenes are longer, and created in extensions whereby people whom were not mentioned at the X-mas party are mentioned. (In all probability Lisa wasn't there.)

And speaking of Lisa. Because she figures prominently in a later episode down the line, I thought it might be a good idea to give her a cameo so that a history with her can be established at the start.

Now, for the fans.

Thank-you (and you know who you are,) for all the support you have shown me during our quest to get the art back. I honestly did not realize that anyone could be so taken with Adam's art that anyone would try to steal it. I want to thank Shoal at Flickr who alerted us to matters that led to the return of our pieces. In return LSD is proud to furnish our modest fan base with original art for his Flickr site.

Now, many, many people send us E-Mails. I check mine infrequently, very infrequently. So please, please, please don't send them to me if you expect a timely response. I understand most of the e-mails are quite lengthy, which has been the reason they don't go in comments here.

Adam and Lord Els have secretaries and Michiko strangely likes answering Adam's mail. Obviously she has spoiled him to the point that he bothers rarely to respond when Michy will.

On point what you guys want is some sort of taste for an episode that, though mostly completed, is still in a rough cut stage. As a fan of Millar and Hitch's "The Ultimates," I deeply sympathize with concerns regarding the gap between episodes. No one cries and pouts like Yoriki and myself when they keep delaying their issues. (of "the Ultimates.")

So I thought, wouldn't it be the bee's knees to put out a trailer for episode 2.
Below you will find a taste of what is to come. And despite what may seem a lot of arbitrary scenes, have no fear. Episode 2 is a coherent story with dialogue, characters, a plot and sequential art.

What is below is a small sampling of the 35 pages we are cleaning up for future presentation.

Teddy, Mike, John, Larry, Stephie, and the bunch at Neo Noble House the answer is, this is a girlie book that guys can like. So yes, its unashamably girlie.

Teddy, the answer is yes. Adam has mentioned that drawing the sex scenes made him slightly uncomfortable. He also said that its because he's still getting used to it.

The answer is, 'no' Brenda. Yoriki has no plans to pose for Edwin's graphic novel. She told Lord Els that our project is a one off for her. Which means she's retired after the Graphic novel is completed.

The answer is 'yes,' Mike, Yoriki did pose and have real sex with Archie who plays Jeff. And yes, it was surreal watching them go at it while Adam quickly made sketches.

Rory, the answer is, 'maybe,' to a sequel. But lets finish the first book, first.

Katherine, the answer is yes, "The Inferno is expected to take a long, long time to complete.

The total number of pages estimated for the Graphic novel is now 300. Episodes 2 and 3 will eat up a respectable fifty pages or more combined and that's just about the first Nina tale.

Alright that's about it, please enjoy the trailer and leave comments telling us what you think, as well as constructive suggestions.

Li Zhao

Meanwhile... The world of self-help books, new age spirituality, and more than that, the engaging world of women over 30 within the "Logan's Run" culture of commercialism and men who find what a 20 year old has to say is less prone to future litigation than their mature counterparts. Be with us for Susannah Davenport's satirical jaunt "Final judgment.

Lord Els

Lone Sloan Delirius.

2007-03-31T18:35:00.000-04:00

2007-03-31T18:31:00.000-04:00

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2007-03-31T18:18:00.000-04:00

I'LL TAKE YOU THERE Part 5

2007-03-29T22:19:00.000-04:00

I know I'm in love.

At the part of the lengthy struggle, when, finally us girls are forced, for once, to be honest with ourselves, we have to say it. Not to him, whom has cornered the market on our admitted affections, but to ourselves, by ourselves, alone as we believe the next few breathes will be our last.

It is here, within the suffocating cocoon of loneliness that we reach this conclusion around the same moment we discover what true unadulterated regret tastes like. And I'm in the middle of one of Tunisia's more unforgiving deserts. I am, without water, which is odd because I'm loaded with cash in the one part of North Africa where the prime currency is liquid, and not the monetary kind that does me no good.

I'm on my back in the hot sand.

Beach sands are never this hot, and the air never as arid. The sun up above sneers at me because it seems clouds don't come on this part of the neighborhood, and as I lay and roast slowly in Allah's Easy-Bake Oven, besides admitting I love a barbaric insensitive savage, the upper-most competing thought was regret that I'll never get to show him exactly my impressive my oral sex skills.

We know that I'm speaking about an event that happened two years ago. We know I survive the ordeal, and we know my predicament was due, in rather a fit of impulse whereby this smooth oriental snob simply decided that she must have her way and pursue the freebooter, A. Across Africa.

Remembering that the sky was a peculiar color, ash gray, bright, sometimes shockingly clear and blue, I try to think of something else besides sex, love, regret, and dehydration.

I cannot impress upon you how difficult this is to do when you're lying on your back too weak to move. And when I finally succeed in finding something new to think about, its the variety of new and improved bad tidings that made me wish I could have the luxury of returning to my previous slightly less bad thoughts.

But the Goddamn buzzards circling not quite high enough in the ash choked sky won't let me.

Out of Morocco I went with the caravan who wouldn't use anything but camels. Something strange about culture, customs and the fact that between Northeast Morocco and Tleman, Algeria there are no petrol stations. But pack animals and camels are good for the hundreds of kilometers, so say the nomadic traders that grinned while assuring me.

During our travels, which took place mostly during the nights where the cold made it hard to believe that the days could broil with remarkable inversion, we made our way into Algeria. I was astonished to notice the wide inviting immensity that is the Mediterranean Sea. Algiers hugged the banks of it like a selfish lover. Traders, markets, merchants, the colorful chattering of a dozen competing languages, each belonging to arms waving with gesticulation, inviting the spices of adventure. People don't know their world until they've dared step into the perils of another hemisphere.

You must not eat their shellfish lest you risk hepatitis A which is supported by their fruits, vegetables and water if you are too ignorant to boil it. You will have to get a number of painful shots before enterning Africa. Vaccinations for Heps, A and B. Rabies, typhoid, Tetanus, Malaria, and Yellow Fever.

I'm a careful girl, I dressed appropriately. Long sleeves and pants, I used Bed nets treated with Panethrim, and brought along my portable water filter.

Fat lot of good it did me when the buggers absconded with my property and left me to oversleep in the middle of the desert.

Bastards.

In 1862 I would have been called unfit for marriage for a number of reasons, the least of which is because I happen to be Asian. The most of which is because back in the halcyon days when Her majesty's Government could brag that the sun never set on her vast Empire. Supported in the Asias by tea and opium England (my great-great grandfather said En'grand,) could afford to look to what assuredly was its bright future. As long as no one mentioned all the escalating brush fires breaking out along its colonial holdings. America's Civil War with its embargo on cotton wasn't helpful to Victoria Bank. The fact that Russia was conspiring with France to make England limit her naval options closer to home instead of the Indian Ocean and the pacific made keeping that sun from setting a lot harder than anyone was willing to admit.

Back then I would have been called an 'Adventuress.' And whatever impressive context that has now, certainly wasn't admired way back then. It wasn't the lady thing to do. Dying in the hot desert wasn't a very lady thing to do. Becoming an unwilling main course for buzzards is really not a very lady thing to face.

But I wasn't fated to die in Tunisia anymore than I was fated to be taken by the rogue group of white slavers in Libya. I swear I die a little everytime when I remember the haughty jackal's face as he looked me over. Eyes scrutinizing. A gaggle of Anglo women giggling in the trains behind him.

"No, no, I don't think so," he said in Arabic.
"Not that I actually want to be in one of the bordellos or concubine tents like the girls you've abducted, but why?"
"No, no, you are beautiful, yes, very beautiful once the dirt and filth have been washed from you, yes. But no, we can't abduct you."
"Why?"
"Well, because you are not white," he replied shrugging.
"Are you kidding me?"
"We are white slave traders, you know. You are oriental, not white. Your hair is not blonde."
"Some white women are not blonde," I stamped.
"This is true, there are some with black-blonde hair, some with red-blonde hair, and others with brown-blonde hair, like Missy back there."
Craning my neck I saw Missy waving excitedly amongst other snickering girls. Its an insult. "Missy isn't what I might call beautiful," I roared.
"This is true," the head white slave trader agreed. "But she is white and white goes much further than yellow in these parts, especially in Egypt."
"You know, there's no such thing as black-blonde hair," I said.
"What does it matter," he shrugged philosophically as he mounted his horse. "Life is short and you have only one of them. Curious, I was under the impression you Asians excelled at knowing things like that. But I've been wrong before, good day beautiful but worthless oriental girl."
I watched him and his caravan of white slaves march off leaving me at the desolate market station in Libya. Its so unfair, I'm just as good a slave material as any white girl. Savage, I think. They take no consideration for what rejection does to a girl's self esteem.

A mumble in a mixture of Burber, Arabic and Hassaniyya French. Mostly I say 'fuckers.'

Two years later I'm in fine style at Nick Bainbridges' estate in Brittainia. I'm dressed in conspicuously fashionable clothes. Gee 'aint it great to play Upper-class Barbie with your own body as the Barbie to dress? When the food is as good as they get in the rarefied air of refined clans from the exceptionally well-heeled, its embarrassingly easy to forget the means by which such wealth was created, and the horrors levied on those unsuspecting proletariates worldwide, (but mostly confined to the third world) to maintain it.

In a few hours the man whose prick rightfully belongs for my exclusive use is getting himself all married to some blonde jezebelle with whom Lady Beaumont confirms is not a fraction the oral sex talents, I so painstakingly perfected since grade school.

"No Michy, she's not at all like you," she reassured me as I was holding my pose for the Indian, immigrant dressmaker.

"It's not fair," I pouted.

"God, I remember her tongue," Lady Beaumont made an uncharacteristically pained expression. "Like sandpaper, you know, like one of those alley cats."

"I remember," I said shuddering.

"One would expect by eighth grade that any girl of the proper ancestry to have gained some expertise orally satisfying their classmates. But the good lady fell well short in that department I must say."

"Practice, practice, practice," I launched, stabbing my finger in the air for emphasis. "That's why I'm so good at it."

"She's of the stripe my dear Michy that women are born accomplished kitty lickers." Lady Beaumont scoffed. "One must take it upon themselves to learn the art with serious dedication and consideration to the nuance involved with provoking the highest caliber orgasm possible."

"I agree, still this doesn't help me with, A."

"Perhaps, but there's room for hope yet, sweet Michy. I have been informed, not to any particulars concerning its details, but Lord Cadberry mentioned that Sir Alex had a short chat with the marriage priest. To what affect the arrangements were discussed, I am unaware."

"Perhaps there's been a decision to call off the wedding and her Ladyship can finally do the right thing and commit suicide," I said hopefully.

"No the wedding is still on schedule. But I have been given the impression that there are certain things about, A that compels me to issue a chit of hope as regards your unlikely, but possible prospects."

At that moment. A gaggle of little girls flowed into the room. Bright piping voices, faces full of gleaming innocence. One, presumably the band's leading voice chirped. Lady Beaumont, will you please tell the girls that it is not at all out of fashion for a young woman to trifle in adventuring, such as yourself and Michiko is reputed to have engaged."

Without a beat, Lady Beaumont smiled. "Now, now, angels, good girls don't just go off adventuring like that. Makes for questionable habits."

"But you and Lord Beaumont are known to excel in adventuring," one of the little voices exclaimed.

"I cannot deny the truth of it, angels, but you must understand that we were both very young, and as any good person that is well bred will tell you, adventuring by route of accident doesn't count. Now a sweet for anyone of you who can tell me what significant thing happened in 4,000 BCE? Alice?"

"Horses were utilized for riding on the Eurasian Steppes,"

"Very Good, a sweet for you, Alice, nor Mandy, what was the pertinent development of 4,000 to 35,000 BCE?"

"Coppersmelting!"

"Brilliant, and Deborah. What was the difference between Egyptian and Sumerian literature starting at around 3,000-2,8000 BCE?"

"Numerals appeared in Sumerian culture, while the Egyptians remained static using Hieroglyphics, which was different as it was pictographic rather than alphabetical. 2,700 BCE cuneiform signs and numerals appeared on Sumerian tablets, with a slanted double wedge between number symbols to indicate the absence of a number 0, in a specific place."

"Nancy, 2,300 BCE?"

"Proto-Indian writing in the Indus valley, of course."

"Michy, quick, 2,000 BCE?"

"Assyro-Babylonian cuieform decimal rotation gradually replaced --- supplanted the Sumerian sexagesimal system for repeating numbers below 60. For repeating higher numbers the sexegesimal place-value principle with base 60 was invented"

"And vowels come in about 800 BCE," Lady Beaumont included, clapping her hands at the girls who laughed at their own clever knowledge. "Now off you go, candies all 'round."

When they departed Lady Beaumont turned to me sighing. "Beautiful what can be produced when one doesn't have to endure the humiliation of public school education. I still get the willies when I imagine the girls being exposed to that lower-level rot. To think, there are people out there who grow up relinquishing the Easter bunny, but holding onto a made up sociopathic person called God."

"I wouldn't advise your spilling to the Baptist anything about Herodotus point of asking questions, rather than just telling what one thinks they know," I grinned.

"Let's get you ready for the wedding. Don't forget to bring plenty of that famous acid irony you like to toss about."

To be continued...

Written by Michiko Katsuhito
Translated by Archie Summers
Illustration "Bad Nina" by Adam Narcross courtesy of "T.I.L.G." Character folio

Meanwhile...
Because its been a while, Li and Yoriki thinks its a dandy idea to release what they call a mini trailer for "The Illustrated Lazy Geisha. Considering their relief that most of the artwork and scripts have returned to them. And that it will ease the wait until the next installment.

Adam also mentioned that he wants us to post rare guest artwork by an artist whom is Tricia's (of WoodNotWood) son. The gang continues to wish him a speedy recovery.

Lord Els Gray

THE INFERNO CANTO II & III

2007-03-29T20:17:00.000-04:00

PREVIOUSLY...

...Just halfway through this journey of our life... Dante reveals the crucial crossroads of his own existence and his concern about what this existence means within the larger scope between the familiar past and the unknown future. Middle-age has come, and the state of personal existence facilitates the crisis he feels as seemingly no path can lead anywhere except to more doubt, more uncertainty and more desperation.

One simply comes to these feelings as if one awakes from a dream to discover that life itself and personal existence may not have the value it once had when one is young and youth comfortably relevant. Partially awakened to the realization that middle-age is also a state where one's life seems less relevant, Dante attempts to recall the sensations that ultimately reminds him that despite his fervent desire to ascend back up the mountain where his youth once furnished him with his previous illusions. He admits that this path is no longer tenable as the metaphors for material hunger, reckless sexual appetite and transitory power refuse to accommodate the myths that once disguised them.

In despair, Dante is met by the Roman Poet Virgil, whom volunteers to guide Dante out of the valley where his crisis originated. However it must be from a different route, one that ultimately will demand of Dante that he confront head-on the very despair and doubts that he wanted to escape.

With no other means to ease his suffering Dante agrees to place his journey into the hands of the only man he respects as it is Virgil whom he reveals is the template for his poetic inspiration...

And now.... The Inferno Canto II & III

2007-03-29T20:14:00.000-04:00

2007-03-29T20:13:00.000-04:00

2007-03-29T20:11:00.000-04:00

2007-03-29T20:10:00.000-04:00

2007-03-29T20:09:00.000-04:00

2007-03-29T20:08:00.000-04:00

2007-03-29T20:07:00.000-04:00

To be Continued...

Adapted and Written by Alexander Earl
Illustrated by Adam Narcross
copyright 2007 Lone Sloan Delirius

Meanwhile... Michiko Katsuhito returns with a new installment of "I'll Take You There" Please join us then.

Archie Summers

DEAREST

2007-03-28T23:33:00.000-04:00

I always wanted you. I've known this for a long time, though I darest not tell you for fear sake.

I'm not suppose to say that you can do as you will with me, even murder me, crush me, triumph as I beg to crawl back to you. I'm not suppose to love like this. Its what everyone warned me about. They, would say, no Yoriki, its not wise, not that way, and certainly not for free. But I shake my head and tell them, I'm tired now. The war of the sexes has taken its toll on me.

I'm too tired to keep faking like I'm not interested in them, especially him. I'd like to take all those silly rules that got cooked up before I was born and toss them overboard. What do I care if he'll call me after he's gotten a piece? I'd give it to him again if he asked. I'd relish in the abysmal behavior of a girl that is all too willing to sacrifice her virtue at bargain basement prices.

I don't care about what he'll think of me later. I don't give a damn whether he'll respect me less for not having the decency to make him spend half of his paycheck on a nice meal. Or flowers, or gobs and gobs of stuff just to get me in the sack. Yes mother, he probably thinks I'm no better than the tramps on River Street. Yes father, being with Ted and John the same night probably makes me a pig.

Goodness is the price for getting all these great orgasms only that I'll be called the town slut?

SO WHAT?

I'll prance around, happy with my not so secret smile as I skip down the hallway to class with the firm knowledge that I refuse to allow culture to inhibit this wonderful tingling that frequents the hot spot between my thighs. If the other girls, you know, the stand up beauties who hold back, worry about their reputations, the one's who think its better to get drunk at one of the more risque parties so that they won't have to take conscious responsibility for the orgies they participate in while the cameras are rolling.

No mother, he didn't get me drunk, I desperately wanted to be sober to remember every touch, every fondle, every grope from his hands. Finesse? Oh, Heavens no that's for the chicks who believe men ought to work at sex like they work at passing the SATs. Hell, just cram it all in, and go to work baby. Don't worry about the lube, I got wet enough squirming with anticipation when you pulled up to the curb.

See, that's me throwing my head back in laughter, see, that's me when I take a perverse thrill and put in a video of one of those "Afterschool Specials" to play while giving this man I barely know enthusiastic head.

But they do talk, don't they? These guys spill it all, yeah she's a real ---- she'll do ---- But its not altogether true. I fuck only those I like and I like a lot of them. What? Apologize, for what? Getting laid when I feel like it? I will when the guys apologize first, and since that's not likely to happen, rack 'em up, so I can keep stacking them up.

Satire written by Yoriki Matuoko
Illustration by Adam Narcross

MEANWHILE....

Its been a long time since we've posted, but there's a good reason for our lengthy delay. Several weeks ago, the studio was a victim of burglary. Unfortunate in ways that were most profound because virtually all of the art and writings were taken. The computer, the drives, everything cleaned out by thieves.

And yes, all of the bristols and plates that were completed for Li's graphic novel, was stolen too. (She was not a bit happy about it.) So much work and effort seemingly down the drain was what we expected because law enforcement in North Carolina tends to believe that by giving you the facts of life, like, "well in most cases stolen property is never recovered."

When Adam returned days later after we informed him, He made a few calls and gosh two weeks later something miraculous happened. Apparently the thieves who stole our material attempted to sell it online. And some of the pages ended up in a Flickr site. Bought by a gentleman who wasn't aware that he had purchased filched goods.

Fortunately this gentleman is a fan of Adam's art, and has purchased works from him before. About one-third of the art posted here at LSD he, or one of his rivals buy the originals, except the Lazy Geisha art, which Li and Michy won't sell. Answering Adam's alert that art was stolen with a possibility that the thieves might unload it online reached the owner of the Flickr site, and after a few more days a sting operation was set up. When the Flickr fan put out that he was interested in advanced art from "The Lazy Geisha" graphic novel and that he was prepared to pay top dollar for it. Our thieves took the bait.

To make a long story short, eventually our drives, and writings and art was recovered. Well, most of it. Out of thirty-five pages of new Geisha art in various stages of completion, eight were deemed unsalvageable. The reason was because one of the thieves became so aroused at one of the sequences that he, well, he raped those pages and made quite a mess.

Li was definitely pissed off about that.

Adam graciously chalked out a few days from his schedule to redraw all the violated pages, as well as redraw some others that had been shown to what seems to be a growing number of frustrated Lazy Geisha devotees unsatisfied with the slow pace it takes to complete an episode. (We send out enough e-mails reminded them that since no one here is paid to produce T.I.L.G. work is done after the work that pays the rent and bills and high dollar liquor we consume at restaurants with pricey menus.) But the girls promise that what's coming is well worth the wait.

An addendum to this subject is the response the leaked pages have produced thus far. Li and Michy have had to remind their respective E-Mail fans that what was leaked, was only a first and second draft in rough outline. And must not be considered a final product. However the creative team behind the work is flattered by the response, and are doing all they can to firm up narrative sections of what has become a much longer second act than anyone initially expected.

Personally, since I'm in charge of budget, I would've cut half the allocation out of good sense if it wasn't for the fact that after reading Li's notes, I cannot imagine how an abridged version will surpass the present epic she's put together.

Still, I've got to put my foot down sometime, and we reached a feasible compromise that will support all parties involved. So The first fifteen pages will be released in two to three weeks, and a week later the next fifteen, and so forth. At least now the wait won't be much longer.

Thanks for everyone's patience

Richard Everest

MEANWHILE II

Now that things are getting back to normal Michy returns with another installment of "I'll Take You There." And Alex and Adam return with their second installment of "The Inferno" Canto 2.

Plus lots of goodies from LSD

"THE INFERNO" Canto One

2007-01-29T20:50:00.000-05:00

By now anybody that has actually read "The Inferno" knows that it was written some 500 years ago by Dante Alighieri. The popular title, which is incorrect is called Dante's Inferno. No, it is just "The Inferno" or "Inferno" depending on how exact the reader wants to be. After all, no one goes around saying Dante's Purgatory, or Dante's Paradise.

Another thing that probably is the result of great works in the antiquated literary canon presented almost exclusively through revisionist Hollywood, is that most people who encounter "The Inferno," are slow to realize that its a poem. Long yes, but a poem all the same.

And since most of the average American's knowledge about history is usually Hollywood's interpretation of it, much of the literary elements pertaining to deeper emotional issues than just the basic formula is mostly lost. But what if an interpretation of "The Inferno could be made into a movie? What would be kept and what would be jettisoned? This is a question Adam and I spoke about a couple of years ago, when we debated the merits of a movie based on Dante's most famous work. Adam's position remains that Hollywood would inevitably screw it up by hiring well-known, overly paid stars to be in it. And famous people will interject their opinions about the plot, the mood, along with a lot of refusals to do one thing or another. I agree with Adam on that score, but argued that the average film-goes doesn't want to sit through what may very well be a twenty hour movie. However even with sequels, an unabridged Inferno would surely span five full length American features. The downside to this lay with a reality that would mean one part every two years required ten years for the entire feature to be seen.

The only way I could think of succeeding is that the movie would regrettably be abridged, keeping only the less redundant elements along with obvious turns in plot and character.

After a lot of discussion, some which have already been reflected in previous posts, Adam and I decided to create an elaborate storyboard as we envisioned it for a movie that quite possibly can't be made. Our consensus was that it be unabridged, that every Canto would be shown. Narrative elements that could be expressed visually, where Dante describes the action can be omitted.

Another thing we wanted to do was to affirm the relevance of the story with modern themes. That is, while little is changed in terms of characters and events. The political, social, and cultural aspects that give rise to internal conflicts within any thoughtful individual is timeless. The dark wood is timeless, the slip into the wrong path and the subsequent consequences are timeless.

Therefore some scenes reflect a contemporary interpretation because the same political aggressions that abused Dante within his lifetime carry over into today, particularly as we look back with hindsight on the collective reactions and behavior of American citizens during the first few days weeks and years after 9-11.

Finally, The Inferno is about an inner journey, the inner turmoil of one's mind is the Hell one is forced to journey through if truth is the goal. In our storyboard version, our Dante's journey is inward, within his mind. Presented as a more conscientious form of mid-life crisis, Dante realizes he's become an age that is increasingly less significant within the appetites and external materialism of youth oriented culture. The road stretching out before him is a future that isn't bracketed by familiar motifs, fashions, or social acceptance.

The dark wood can be an expression of what a person imagines facing as they navigate the second and last half of a life absent of relevance. The true horror comes when he starts understanding that for all his piety, his complicity of superficial philosophies has indeed contributed to the environment that he now finds himself an outcast. "Behold,I have dug a grave,and for whom? Myself? And how often did I but laugh with my fellow diggers before we knew that it was to be ourselves the future occupants?"

INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW TO READ "THE INFERNO"

This series is meant to be read like most storyboards, which is vertically. Panel one is the first panel on the left the second below it on the left side, then back to the top of the right facing panel and down again. (Except for page Three, which should be read left, right, left, right as one proceeds downward.)

The stylistic type of illustration is more frenetic, and meant to convey a level of disorganization, ragged deterioration and nothing in a reliable balance. As the Cantos appear in future episodes, the artwork will gain a level of clarity as the storyboard depth of technical proficiency increases.

So Lone Sloan Delirius hopes you will enjoy the first installment of "The Inferno" Canto One

Alexander Earl

2007-01-29T20:43:00.000-05:00

2007-01-29T20:41:00.000-05:00

2007-01-29T20:40:00.000-05:00

2007-01-29T20:38:00.000-05:00

2007-01-29T20:37:00.000-05:00

2007-01-29T20:35:00.000-05:00

2007-01-29T20:34:00.000-05:00

2007-01-29T20:32:00.000-05:00

2007-01-29T20:30:00.000-05:00

To Be Continued...

Adapted and Written by, Alex Earl
Illustrated by, Adam Narcross and Alex Earl
Series Editor, Lord Els Gray
A Lone Sloan Delirius Original Production c.2007 LSD

Meanwhile...
In a few short weeks, the second episode of "The Illustrated Lazy Geisha appears. During a Christmas trip to Florida, Nina takes the first tentative steps to become what she is today. But before she can love another Nina has to embark on a perilous struggle to reconcile her memories against the only person standing between herself and liberation. Its not what you think it is, and what and how it turns out will be surprising. Don't miss "The Illustrated Lazy Geisha, Episode Two: "If You Will the Means, You Must Will the Way" by Li Zhao, Adam Narcross, Yoriki Matuoko, Susanna Davenport, and Michiko Katsuhito.

THINGS TO COME or Li Zhao gets tight

2007-01-09T20:56:00.000-05:00

So far the initial responses to "The Illustrated Lazy Geisha" has been very positive. We've received some delightful e-mails from our peers and others who have looked in and apparently liked what they saw. Though some have professed some confusion. A few have gotten what I am told reasonably decent answers from Nina, whom I'm very happy to say is supportive of our efforts.

Perhaps I should, as adapting writer do some explaining about a few of the images that have thus appeared.

We've been careful about calling the first 12 pages an "opening sequence." The concept is to imagine what it must feel like to go from one frequency to the other and only find a hodgepodge of violence that is cemented in the real world. My premise is that despite the allure of withdrawing into a fantasy world, all of us are well aware of social, economic and class conditions that impose competing values onto our varied existence.

As we see image after image, some sequential, others not, a consistent theme is utilized and its of a baby. Way back when the girls and I were tossing around ideas to make OUR project DIFFERENT than the usual "lets jump straight away into the sex scenes." we decided to create a kind of slow burn. A sort of contrast between one sensibility and another, which also allowed me to make a subtle statement about the hypocritical nature of society's feelings about violence and sexuality as depicted in this or any other medium.

We didn't want to hit anybody over the head with it, we wanted to be subtle, and hope it catches on subconsciously. Actually, though we see a lot of action oriented elements, you might notice how little if any the targets of violence are shown. At least not in the sense of people being shot or worse. The idea was to illustrate a view that we have as a nation perhaps become so desensitized that we only see the mechanics of industrial violence, not the wreckage to life and limb.

Personally, I think its vitally important to say to the reader that we shouldn't ignore the problems of our culture and the preconceptions of our shared culture. Something you are not likely to have mentioned on Mtv or "The Girls Next Door. There are of course virtues too and the greatest virtue has to be real as the world around those living within a day to day struggle to improve their own lives with a measure of principles given over to a reasonable degree of values inclusive to anyone who chooses them.

The babies are our former states of innocence before the stamp of our culture divided us into demographics, races, and gender with all the social and cultural socialization that allows us to sometimes feel superior and inferior to one another. An unfortunate side-effect is that our human sexuality doesn't naturally evolve, instead its a quick sprint of intellectual retrogression that is only still-born at the moment of our least mature outlook on things like gender rolls and gender expectations.

By the end, after all the chaos, our frequency reaches the youth, a boy who awakens and in the midst of this rather surreal moment is show the image of what's imposed as the highest relevant issue of his life. The supermodel. Forget the war, the government, the catastrophes of Katrina. In the end, the very way of life to be preserved is the one where all human relationships are reduced to a commodity of superficial values. Alas, he reaches up but like any good illusion, he can't touch it. She's not real, she's just out of reach and if he wants her he has to join the millions that surrender their evolving minds to take his place on the treadmill of that vicious wheel found in hamster cages.

But there is an alternative, there is an oasis, a place of refuge, and this is the stories of Nina. Tales of her life that aren't asking you to surrender your intellect. They are experiences from a woman of incredible beauty, not because she's a supermodel, but someone of real flesh and bone. A woman who lives our same air instead of the rarefied air of the Brittany Spears of Paris Hiltons of this world. This is a woman who relates that pain exists and that this pain makes loving that much more worth struggling to attain and keep.

But before you get to Nina's stories, you've got to be cleansed through fire. You've got to be reminded that suffering is universal and most of this suffering happens just out of earshot and eyesight. Only when you can understand that these stories aren't going to follow the same route as the standard porn fantasy will the actual scenes of erotica ring true as a universal experience.

This method is probably the closest we can get to articulating Nina's eloquent prose in imagery. One may think, that the opening isn't based on anything Nina has written, but I'd disagree. When you read between the words, this opening is there. When you see the children, the husband confronting his wife about an uncertain future, its there in Nina's writing, its there in Tricia's writing and more so now than ever.

No she does not write about planes dropping bombs, or the bravery of young men going into battle to bring peace, or more war. But its there in her use of metaphor. Its there in the way she pauses when she wonders about her life and how its come to its present point.

But now we're at the oasis, and what's to come will focus on the pivotal event that made this extremely beautiful woman begin her journey into herself by sharing it with others as perhaps one of the most tenderest acts of human compassion. Fraught with risk, and trials no different than what is related in the opening sequence, by the end of the next twenty page installment, hopefully you will agree that all which came before is quite possibly a symbolic metaphor for the struggles deep inside all of us leading either to the treadmill, or the oasis.

Now all I have to do is convince Adam to help me with the art parts again. Michy assures me he is susceptible to sexual coercion.

The next installment will be posted in three to four weeks.
And this time, no more teasing, you'll get to see Nina finally as an illustrated personality, thanks to our daring and darling Yoriki.

Li Zhao

Meanwhile...
... If the Inferno by Dante was a movie, what would that be like? Well Alex and Adam have attempted to visualize it in a series of storyboards. Next part one of our ongoing serialization "The Inferno Storyboards" This weekend on Lone Sloan Delirius

Richard Everest.

THE ILLUSTRATED LAZY GEISHA INTRODUCTION

2007-01-06T00:58:00.000-05:00

As it most certainly has happened, once again we were late with our homework, and for those looking forward since, oh, I think a week ago, the girls and, I are happy to report that "The Illustrated Lazy Geisha," is now posted for the discriminating satisfaction of our readers.

And, by the way I want to apologize for the tardiness (again.)

Now, for those whom have kept up with Nina's wonderful and insightful entries at Lazygeisha.com, what appears below will no doubt mystify those expecting well, something closer to what Nina herself writes. But fear not, there's no aim to radically alter the writings as extreme as it must certainly now appear.

The opening sequence is what you'll be seeing as a way of formal introduction to the serialization of the graphic novel. And the manner in which it is unfolded is meant to derive from an idea Adam suggested way back in the planning stages, a lot of months ago.

Instead of looking to other graphic novels for inspiration, Adam suggested we examine art cinema, preferably the European New Wave cinema, which by the way is a running creative factor in a lot of the writing going on around here, and in particular with Michy.

When I began attempting a structure for this endeavor, I did something, which in essence is taken pretty much out of Nina's playbook, which is to inject some of my own experiences as part of the creative process. And for those reading the opening sequence, or rather watching it, because there's virtually no dialogue yet. The point of the exercise doesn't become clear really until the 12th page. And if you can understand why a shot of an oasis appears, then you will have my precise feeling from when I first read Nina's words after Michy exposed my tender innocent mind to her site.

What will come later, and I promise, much sooner than later, will be the first story adapted from Nina's very first entry. The Title, Yoriki came up with, which I like, "IF YOU WILL THE WAY, YOU MUST WILL THE MEANS."

At this point I want to give a very public thanks to Adam for his generous artistic support. The vast majority of the pages below come from him, my own contributions was limited to some basic design and layout sketches which appear on the first and second pages. Everything else is pure Adam.

I also want to thank the LSD guys for helping me with keeping my scripts lean and sensible. I admit there were times I wrote sequences that got well out of hand, and well, that's what editor friends are for right?

Also Thanks Susannah for being patient with me.

But most of all I want to thank three fine beautiful exciting woman, whose inspiration and support makes this project so meaningful to me. Nina, SD and Tricia. "The Illustrated Lazy Geisha" is our way of saying thanks. I've never attempted a graphic novel before, I'm new to the experience, and with my fellow Three Crazy Asia (plus one crazy Anglo,) I truly feel our best work is yet to come.

Meanwhile, I hope everyone enjoys the first pages, and if the level of detail affects you as much as it did us here at LSD, then maybe the wait was worth it.

page one starts at the top.

Li Zhao

LONE SLOAN DELIRIUS

THE ILLUSTRATED LAZY GEISHA (Opening Sequence)

2007-01-06T00:43:00.000-05:00

2007-01-06T00:39:00.000-05:00

2007-01-06T00:38:00.000-05:00

2007-01-06T00:37:00.000-05:00

2007-01-06T00:35:00.000-05:00

2007-01-06T00:34:00.000-05:00

2007-01-06T00:33:00.000-05:00

2007-01-06T00:32:00.000-05:00

2007-01-06T00:30:00.000-05:00

2007-01-06T00:29:00.000-05:00

2007-01-06T00:28:00.000-05:00

2007-01-06T00:22:00.000-05:00

TO BE CONTINUED...

Coming DEC 31 The Illustrated Lazy Geisha

2006-12-12T00:44:00.000-05:00

You wouldn't have known her,
you'd have seen her everywhere at once,
in a hotel,
in a bar,
in a book,
in a film,
in yourself,
your inmost self,
when your sex grew erect in the night,
seeking somewhere to put itself,
somewhere to shed its load of tears.

(excerpt from: "La maladie de la morte" by Marguette Duras)

December 31, the mystery revealed, "The Illustrated Lazy Geisha"

Adapted and written by Li Zhao
Illustrated by Li Zhao and Adam Narcross
Based on the writings of Nina from "The Lazy Geisha.com"

Lone Sloan Delirius

Preview Third Estate

2006-12-12T00:21:00.000-05:00

Above is the rough early sample from Adam Narcross' graphic series coming soon. Yes we've gone on about it for a while, and with the new scanner operational we can provide a sneak preview into what can be expected in the weeks ahead.
Thanks Adam and Alex for providing us with this preliminary sample.

Els Gray

MEANWHILE...

2006-12-11T23:27:00.000-05:00

Finally, after a few months, a new drawing from Adam Narcross, the artist of team LSD. Which means, or in better verbiage, can only mean one thing. Our computer and scanner issues are hopefully at an end.

That mentioned, we're all very glad, because now we can upload all that other stuff that has been expected for quite some time. And to clarify, the first episode, known amongst us as the opening sequence of "The Illustrated Lazy Geisha premiers December 31. Followed by "The Third Estate" a week later and "The Inferno", four days later.

For those whom have been waiting, all of us here appreciates your patience. We do want to put our best creative foot forward and provide our breads and circus' with the highest quality our meager budgets allow.

And for those just tuning in I guess it wouldn't help to get a primer on exactly what the theme of LSD is.

Lone Sloan Delirius is a group, or team made up of nine artists, writers and philosophers of varying backgrounds gender and ethnicities. Like a musical band, except no one here aspires to be in that genre, LSD promotes the idea that art and entertainment can be enjoyable, sometimes controversial and without the dumbing down content that assumes everyone isn't willing to think beyond what Paris Hilton and the like do from day to day.

Are we out to change the world, no, its not likely we can accomplish that. But we do try, in a timely fashion to embark on our own little counter-culture crusade against producing cookie-cutter material that advances little in the train of ideas on various subjects.

It is our belief that like Television in its infancy, the internet can be a vehicle for more than just a means for mindless escapism, fantasy and one-dimensional opinions about the world around us.

Sometimes the topics we write about will not please everyone, nor do we expect tacit agreement on some of our points of view. Anyone choosing to add to what we write or illustrate is welcome to comment, provided it is in a civil tone.

And while this may seem as if we intend only to embark upon serious subjects without humor, such is not the case. Nine distinct personalities contribute to the creative process and while opinions from us may intercept, they also diverge.

So I think that's just all there is to say until next time.

Next Michiko continues her strange Odyssey in "I'll take You There Part Five," please join us then.

Susannah Davenport

Lone Sloan Delirius

THANKSGIVING before TAKING

2006-11-24T21:14:00.000-05:00

You have to give it to the Pilgrims from the class of 1621 for putting together a very decent party to celebrate the success of their harvest. They were, as you can imagine, truly thankful. If you need anything to convince you of their feelings of immense gratitude these members of the English Separatist Church were feeling, then look no further than the fact (well known amongst the 56 surviving members of an original 102 member landing party,) that if the harvest failed, well, let's say Hell offered plenty of spare rooms for them to join their predecessors.

This was the kind of gratitude that was enough to make white settlers actually sit down with the heathen Indian and actually behave like human beings. Well, when 92 of the heathen show up to a settlement of 56 squatters on someone else's property, I reckon its easy to suppress that good old fashion sense of Anglo-English superiority that would later go on to characterize much of what resulted in the near genocide of the plains Indians many years later.

They were a gracious lot. The mortality rate was high. Not enough vitamin C to ward off scurvy. The poor Native Americans got the worse of it, enough so that for the first year the settlers arrived, the smarter Indians kept a cautious distance, which at that time was pretty much all of them. One may conclude that the biggest mistake the Indians made was to close that distance by sending an ambassador to meet with their future assassins.

It must have been a glorious time. 1621, After a winter colder than a stepmother's love---the following Spring proved life indeed could be better in Mass. And with 46 less mouths to feed there was plenty of food for good living unless you were a vegetarian. If you happened to be lactose intolerant that was okay too, because there were no dairy producing livestock within the settlement. There also wasn't a structure large enough to accommodate the feasters, and just like every bad reenactment of the first Thanksgiving, it was held outside and not in the last part of November, when the settlers lost most of their number.

There was dancing and music, and hunting,. The heathen Indians were gracious enough to provide venison, (from 5 deer) turkey, corn, pumpkins (but not in the form we associate with pumpkin pie, and no, the turkey was not stuffed.) Some have even pointed out that amongst the festivities there was gambling, certainly some form of fermented cider. Edward Winslow gives a barebones account of what happened in "Mourt's Relation." King Massasoit, the head Indian in charge got along very well with the pilgrims and we have it on good faith that he was impressed with long sticks that went boom, and when pointed at living things the big boom sound actually caused the living object the long stick was pointed at to usually die. He was impressed by canons and hoped that an alliance with these strange pale-skinned people from a far off shore would prove advantageous against other tribes that didn't share his rather naive view of the settlers.

"Kill them now and be done with it," another Indian King admonished his counterpart.
"But they are peaceful peoples, decent and good," King Massasoit insisted.
"Fool, they are nothing of the kind. Behold that if you start feeding every stray animal that washes up upon yon shore, they will expect you to keep feeding them. Before long you will find yourself not only feeding these demons, but growing their food, making their clothes, and nursing their demonic offspring with your wife's milk while your own children starve. They will call this foolishness Mercantilism or worse yet, capitalism. No, I say be smart Massanoit, kill them off quickly before an infection of outworlder demons spread beyond our capacity to contain them."
"You are too cynical brother. They are strange, yes, conceited and have disturbing ways of spiritual worship, but as nobel peoples of civilization we owe it to ourselves to provide an example of our rich prosperous heritage for these demon's to pattern their rehabilitation on."

Squanto, the Indian shared King Massasoit's naive declaration that the English were nobel men. One can even say he was the Collin Powell of his day. Which is rather odd, since the English saw fit to make him a slave for three years in England --- after coming home from a year alone in the wilderness to find his entire tribe wiped out from European diseases.
One would think that after an experience like that, the last thing Squanto wanted to do was take up with MORE Englishmen. Like a lot of Native Americans was destined to experience, the price for dealing with the white man was more often than not, a prematurely unnatural death.

Technically there was no 'official' Thanksgiving. That feast with the Indians was a one time gig. All other thanksgivings since then involved no Indians, and none were ever invited again, except when people wanted to put on grade school plays about the first thanksgiving. Even today, no Native American is invited to partake in Thanksgiving, and it is only with annoying reluctance that Anglo-Euro-Americans acknowledge; that if it were not for the Indians they later gleefuly tried to kill off, (with a lot more conviction than the National Socialists in Germany attempted with the Jews,) The 56 settlers from the Mayflower (sometimes called the unholy ship of death,) would almost certainly have perished.

In Native American circles, thanksgiving is routinely referred to as 'massasoit's Mess', and sometimes Massasoit's folly. Surviving Native American commentary define Thanksgiving as number 3 in the list of "Dumbest Decisions in the history of Mankind. Marching into Russia in the Winter by Napoleon was number two and number one was West Africans believing that the three hour tour on an English/Dutch ship came with a return ticket.

The first African slaves arrived in pre-revolutionary America in 1611. And this was after the Europeans had already tried to enslaves the Native Americans and failed. Later the white man will succeed with getting even with the unslaveable red niggers in a variation of how the English eventually succeeded in getting even with the stubborn yellow niggers, which laid the groundwork for how American whites would appropriate vast rich lands from the coconut niggers in the pacific after trying it out on the siesta niggers in what used to be called North Mexico and now is called Texas and California.

As far as anyone remembers, black slaves were never invited to those early thanksgivings either. And when Thomas Jefferson, a man whose idea of enlightenment freedom for humanity was limited only to protestant white slaveowners like himself as well as all but one of the founding fathers, he scoffed at the notion of a day of thanks. A few slaves were heard muttering in the background, "well why would he think differently? When you've got free compulsory labor (with legally sanctioned rape included,) on a whim, you never come close to starving to death." One can accept that these slaves spoke from experience, as they would keep on experiencing like their Native American, Chinese American Mexican America, and Hawaiian American 3/5th human population up until sometime in the mid 1960's.

The London Stock Company that financed the pilgrims daring escape from religious persecution in England and later Holland were never reimbursed on the loans that they approved for these early settlers. In a stroke of economic savvy, it was determined that an expedition to recover their unpaid debt would exceed the amount monies initially lent. One might think that the English would make a stand on principle and go and get their money anyway. But the English were not Dutch nor were they Jewish and in the 17th century, there were no Templars ready to call in the debts either.

This business of not enforcing the pilgrims to pay their legitimately owed debt to the London Stock Company would set in motion a precedent that exist well up to our time. A little more than two-hundred years after the pilgrims of the Mayflower welched on what they owed to a business of the Crown, The American Colonies had become too used to not paying their debts and in a twist of irony, a few dressed up like Indians to toss tea no one drank into Boston's harbor. No one has ever been convinced that Indians actually threw barrels non-alcoholic tea overboard, anymore than no one a hundred years later believes Indians would throw hot gut whisky anywhere but into their stomachs.
But Indians were supposed to foot the blame, and anytime Euro-Americans needed a convenient scapegoat the Indians were always handy. By the mid 1980's to just a week ago, Republicans could rely on the ancestors of American slaves to provide a similar scapegoat to obtain votes in the south and mid-west. It was called the Southern Strategy and it was perfected by Republicans from the Nixon era. We don't know what it was called when Indians were the strategic target, but Manifest Destiny easily comes to mind.

During the gold rush of the 1800's none of the Indians driven by government decree off of their ancestral and treaty protected land was invited to participate in Thanksgiving celebrations held by the new landlords.

We know this because it was generally the policy of the United States Government to kill off as many Indians as it could, because the land of liberty wasn't tolerant of the heathen savage going around behaving as if he or she had rights.

Apparently that ancient sense of urgency and fear that humanized the first settlers to dine in harmony with Indians naive enough to think the good times would last,-- in fact-- lived only long enough to realize that such humanity didn't last beyond that first feast.

Four hundred years later, The Brave Yellow Eagle looked out across the fading plains of what used to be called an Indian Nation in southern California. He witnessed from a high cliff face a convoy of covered wagons. More that day than the previous day. He looked and despaired. He was later heard saying with monumental contempt, "Its a Goddamn shame. For every one dead buffalo six of these creatures come. When his wife admonished him for uncorking a bottle of whisky after his comment, he added, "trust me, in times like this, who'd want to be sober?"

King Massasoit four hundred years previous is thought to be the original writer of the classic song that was sung by a black man who throughout most of his life wasn't allowed in 90% of the available facilities in the richest country on the planet.
The song was "What a Beautiful World."

(Written by Alexander Earl )
(Illustration by Adam Narcross)

I'LL TAKE YOU THERE (part four B)

2006-11-12T22:42:00.000-05:00

I know I'm in love.

I see my reflection in any mirror, and she tells me, yes, you're in love. I agree, my reflection and I agree on a lot of things except what to wear. My reflection stares back out at me from a full length mirror and informs me, women reveal that they're in love, men have to confess it.

I know I'm in love because when I think about him my nipples harden. And sometimes I get a little wet. But then again, I get wet thinking about getting wet.

Its not complicated for me to reveal that I'm in love. However, the fact is that the man I love is going to marry another woman in less than a day -- is rather complicated. And being of a competitive spirit, there's a feeling of deep dissatisfaction, which comes from having been bested by someone else.

One of the young charming gentlemen hoping to make his way up the line truly wants to comfort me. He's so sweet, he's trying so hard. He's young and sensitive and says the right things as they are written for him to practice from one of those magazines that advise men on what to say to improve their chances of getting laid. He tells me his name is Greg, and that he's noticed that I'm looking a little sad. He wants --- by way of offering --- to know if he can help.

Such a dear.

So young, so new at this whole thing.

So naive in that manner befitting extreme youth.

I take the brandy he offers, I let him put his arms around me, I smile for him, and I look into his eyes. He whispers something to me that's supposed to sound profound. I nod in the right places, I even say yes at regular intervals so that he can feel as though he's making headway. I can feel his heart pounding, he's trembling now, because everything is going so well. He can't believe his luck and this awareness makes him stutter. When I finally speak. A woman to a boy. I tell him that if he were to succeed with crawling along my body under cover of darkness. It could serve to advance him too far in an art, from which my distant precipice of sensual satisfaction would render him with many years awareness of the low standards he can expect of his female contemporaries. No, I tell him, you have to die before getting into Heaven,

So, realizing that his advances are not working out, he protests, prods, appeals, tells me over and over again that I'm beautiful. He confesses love after having only just met me. Little Greg puffs his chest out and is resolved to commit murder for me. I'll give you anything, he tells me.

Its endearing, I admit. He is charming in his early twenties way. And he's at that age where he would throw the most productive part of his life away proving that he loves a woman like me. We're both sitting in the middle of the spacious ballroom by the bar. I lean back, open my thighs just a little. I inform him that he can have me if he truly loves me. He stammers that he does. How much? I ask breathlessly.

Greg recites poems of the very heavens to me. Greg compares me to the oxygen he breathes. He wants me to understand that I'm his heart. This kind of love, he feels duty bound to explain, on his knees, what's more, happens with this level of intensity only once in a person's lifetime. Anything he says, I only need command and his purpose in life is set. He takes my hands and looks up with eyes defined by imploring devotion.

And I, looking deeply into those dedicated eyes, tell him if he truly, truly loves me...

Then he is to rape me in full view of the public gathered in the ballroom. By force, I tell him, like a savage just escaped from prison seeking vengeance. I say when he does it to me he's to smack me, beat me up a little, tear my expensive gown from me and call me the kind of names you hear conferred to the negresses on BET.

Leave me on the dance floor in tears, with several years of therapy to look forward to, and I will love you forever. I promise I won't press charges.

The light goes out in his eyes. He sees that I'm serious, and whatever may count for new education, he realizes that he doesn't know me as well as he thought. He discovers with unrelenting terror that others with more life experience do not exhibit a complete biography. He wants his hands back but I don't let go. I remain poised, I keep looking at him, and he pulls his hands, but I won't let go. Instead I pull them up to my breast. You'll have to rip here, it makes the entire gown split in two.

Richard saves him. Michy that's quite enough, you're scaring the senator's oldest boy.

He runs along. He won't look back.

As Richard departs I see Lady Valance bounding down the spiral staircase with a look of vulgar satisfaction. Seeing me she makes a straight line in my direction. "Michy, sweetie, I do hope you'll make an effort to come to the wedding."
"I can't make any promises, its all so sudden."
"You're in love with A, I know things must feel awkward with the new situation. Of course I don't won't to boast, but," Lady Valance flashes a victorious smirk, "when I think that I've prevailed after so many others have tried to apply for the position."
"Lady Valance, I congratulate you on your coming nuptials. I'm certain that, A will adjust to life with someone like you."
"Someone like ME? Michiko, honestly dear, now do be a good loser and not hold a grudge."
"Well, I'm not used to losing, so you'll just have to get used to it."
"You mean like Japan had to get used to American occupation after World War II? You're from Tokyo aren't you? Quite something your grandfather managed to miss being sterilized from that big bomb that was dropped there."
"No, I mean like how your hometown Savannah Georgia had to get used to letting Sherman's black volunteers have first pick of the white litter to avoid being burned to the ground. Now, it seems you can't find any blond women there that doesn't get it out of a bottle.
"You've always had a mean streak in you Michy, I suppose I knew this confrontation was going to happen someday."
"You provoke me."
"Think of it as Karma. Something you people ought to be an expert on. Remember Trevor? You weren't exactly doing him any favors the night before you two were supposed to get married."

Well when you're right, you're right. And Lady Valance wasn't wrong.

There's something unique and singular about someone pushing your face deep into the manure of responsibility everyone's trying hard to avoid. Yes, we make excuses, we call things other things and when we do this, we plant flowers in mess, slap on a new coat of paint and make the unattractive seem beautiful.

In university, Lady Valance and I might have slept together in one of those orgies that spontaneously starts after someone begins speaking on the merits of freedom and liberation. And since everything fun is mostly against someone's state or federal law, sex is all we have left when a form of rebellious expression is needed to drive a social point home.

God she's beautiful. And when two or more beautiful women slide tongues together, even the preachers want to watch.

But back to karma.

Tangier is a place where the number of people drowning in poverty far outweighs that of the fortunate well-heeled monied class of which I'm a fashionable member.
So far, we tourists with gold plated visas and credit cards made of pixie dust scamper about the globe pretending that we do not own the countries we hopscotch through. Certainly we are eating better than the barely fed denizens. We buy or rent or commandeer palatial estates on hills above the poor indigenous peoples of wherever. We walk amongst them and watch their children follow us like flies, begging with hands out for what their parents aren't able to give them.

We pretend that their culture has value. And if it ever becomes industrialized, we might even respect them, and that's only after we discover that we can't destroy it with our rapacious engine of material fortitude.

But that's not exactly karma.

Karma is something else.

It was possibly noticed by Pre-historical Aryans spilling out of God knows where and into the lower Indus valleys of India. 5,000 years ago Indians in India didn't know they were Indians, anymore than the European settlers knew that the native North Americans were not Indians from India (which they still insisted on calling them long after they decided to agree that the name of the New World shouldn't be called New Delhi.) And no one can find the chap that named the country India, and chances are, whoever did probably never stepped foot in the place.
But karma was something they knew about and better than Christianity, karma had no Indulgences you can pay off to the papacy in return for a lighter sentence in purgatory on appeal. Karma was the universal, galactic moral credit card that kept sending the old unpaid balance from one life to the next.
You had to pay of the balance and the payment options can be quite imaginative. And the form of currency wasn't always limited to one's soul.

Payment wasn't a choice, it was an inevitability.

Looking up at A in that tent, after he'd forced all those orgasms out of my body. After he'd made me perspire in un-airconditioned air, where dust and color swirled in late evening, I found the strength to drag myself up to a corner. "Why are you here, in Tangier?" I demanded.
"Karma," he answered, pulling on his crimson jacket.
I see him from behind. He doesn't look back, he won't regard me. He's leaving just like that. And I can't leave it alone. "So that's it then, you're going, no cuddling, no I'm sorry I raped you on the filthy floor in a foreign country filled with people too ignorant to discover electricity without outside help?"
"It was good enough for your people from 1600 to 1868," he reminds me.
Furious I pull my blouse back on only to rediscover that most of its been ripped. "I loved this blouse. I paid a lot of money for it."
"It was in my way, it had to go."
"Violence isn't the answer, A."
"And yet none of that mattered when it comes to how we achieved our collective stations in life."
"You're a bastard. There isn't a decent rape crisis center in Morocco, I hope you know that!" I'm pulling my boots on. I tie my sarong about my hips, I march up to face him. "
A's eyes are hidden by the shadow created by the brim of his adventurer's hat. He gives a sly grin and says, "of the baby, should you not have foresight to be on the pill, is a boy, name him Conrad, or Max, or Austin. Do try and stay away from Lawrence, Jean, or anything French like Pierre."
"Or Trevor?" I remark coldly.
"One Trevor is enough don't you think?"

He exits the stage, leaving me in that tent, alone, sexually exhausted, and filled with the kind of anger only a woman in love is willing to expend on men we hate.

Poor Trevor.

We were eating dinner alone before A savaged my body. He spoke happily, I was all he ever wanted. He says, "tomorrow we'll be married." He says, " we can start a family as soon as I'm ready." I tell Trevor I adore him. I tell Trevor I love him very much. And when I find myself mouthing the words, I'm sure that I mean it. Not like all those other times when announcing affection in terms of love managed to be a slight mis-diagnosis.
But when he looks at me, is he really seeing me, or his projection of me? I find that men like Trevor assume many things about women. I suppose most of those assumptions are true. However when he gazes at me, does he realize how often my thighs have parted for those that arrived, came and faded into the past before him?
Can his mind withstand the fact that I've been having orgasms since grade school. Or that my first seventeen sexual encounters was with the junior high beauty queen who went on to become Lady Valance? Does he suspect that I've awakened in the middle of two or more naked men in Colombia, five years ago without remembering how I got into the plush rooms at another plush hotel?

Looking at me, so fresh and alive can he perceive that I've had two abortions in my life, and can he see this smooth face with jet black hair and almond eyes shed tears after the procedure was done? If he did, I know he would want to hold me, comfort me, whisper that everythings going to be alright. Trevor, my sweet, sweet Trevor would become a sensitive avatar and cradle me and fill my head with the myths of improbable fairy-tales.

A wouldn't cuddle me, he'd say, tough break kid, now get off the ground and get back up on the horse.

Women who think they're enlightened say they want sensitivity in a man. I suspect we say it now because its a popular notion. But popular or not, its like Archie told me. Having one emotional cripple in a relationship is barely tolerable, why should there be two?

"When I'm giving you head, why won't you come in my mouth?" I suddenly ask as he cuts his Brulon Steak.
"Because its impolite to do that, its not what a gentleman does to his lady."
"Lady Braughton is married to a gentleman and she says he tries to take the back of her head off when he comes in her mouth."
"Lord Gerald's always been rather --- artistic," he says this like its a human failing for those of us in the upper ranks. "Probably got the novelty from keeping company with the Bolshis in Carpathia ten years back. I warned him not to spend too much time with the local wildlife, there's always a threat of a gentleman going native. I guess we can be grateful that, perverse sexual negligence is a small price to pay considering the alternatives."
"Lady Braughton, says, she adores it. She tells me it makes her feel very intimate with him."
"Lady Braughton is a strange woman with stranger tastes. Now darling, must THIS be the main subject of conversation on our wedding eve?"
Smiling, I take up my wineglass. "No, of course not, dear."
I watch him dab the corner of his lips with a napkin. No, he does not wipe the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. And I'm grateful for that. Food and drink should be eaten with artistry. Its difficult to convey this sentiment to people who are starving and unencumbered by form when after a few days of doing without; --food finally arrives.

We're roughing it.

That's what we call it when we decide to go out among the beast of the field and appropriate the more romantic aspects of their lives in far away exotic lands. So we take to tents to sleep in. We lower our standards just a little and endure as the natives are forced by circumstance either by design or bad luck to endure. But we eat better. We still have servants. Those we do not bring along, we employ amongst the more knowledgeable wretches. And they become our tour guides, they secure our camels, and prepare an acceptable version of the local cuisine that we take as original delicacies.

We do marvel, that is what we can still do. We often look out upon their skies in majestic awe. We sit spellbound by their music, the symphonies produced so close to nature, we can often be drawn back in time to a pure state of being. Tangier's sky is unlike any sky in the whole of the world. Its all they have left of value after it has been passed around to the industrial nations of the west like the available whore of Babylon. She still retained the jewels of her sky with its luminous light unmatched anywhere else on the planet.
It is this sky I stare, as the sun descends like a blazing torch pulling with it all the fading colors below the horizon.
We pay good money in multinational currencies to witness this sort of thing.

And life moves slower here. The landscape outside of one of our supply tents supports the moving human and animal population dressed in an arraying mosaic of color so rich, that even nightfall cannot despoil the natural ornament, which are the lives of ordinary people.
Trevor wants another pillow, and I'm in the supply tent to fetch him one like a good little future wife. Bells and a smattering of Arabic burbles outside. I'm going through robes and fabric, I find a large plush purple pillow. Rising, I see A silhouetted against the tent opening. He's dangling a half empty bottle of Crown Royal in one hand.
"I can't see his face, but I can see the lamps behind him outside as young boys light them. But I feel his eyes moving over my body. Standing up straight, feeling a little self conscious I gesture to his bottle. "My, my, Crown Royal, A what is it? Are you trying to offend me?"
He simply stands there, looking. Then as though it were the most natural thing in the world, A says, "you'll do."

I watch him moving toward me, looming to block out the tent's exit. I make a dash for it anyway but he catches me by my arm and with a grunt flings me back onto the mob of pillows and fabrics. Looking up I see his head craned up to take more content of his whisky. Then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he unbuttons his shirt.
"You're out of your mind," I scream, "you wouldn't dare!"
"I'll do as I want and think nothing of it," he growled, towering over me.
"I'm not one of the local whores you sport fuck down at the Kasbah brothel!"
"That's good, cause I didn't bring any money."

So fast he's on me I try to pull away but he's stronger and pulls me to him. I smell the acrid scent of common cheap whisky on his breath, just a small step up from Ernest and Julio Gallo. His free hand finds the center hem of my blouse and rips it down exposing my bare flesh in shredded decolletage. His expression is pure hunger and approving satisfaction.
"A, don't do this," I warn, "I'm getting married tomorrow morning, my future husband expects me to be..."
"You're not marrying him," A tells me.
Stunned, I pull from him but he doesn't let me go. I think he's trying to kiss me so I arch my head back. I've made a mistake. His mouth is upon my neck. I'm struggling with all of my strength. I try to knee him but he's pushing me back onto the pillows and fabrics, pinning me. My breasts heave up and down. Its too hot, I can't breathe. His mouth finds a spot I wasn't aware of. And I cry out with the type of tone that only encourages him.
When he lowers his head to the swell of my breasts, I protest, I lurch up because his mouth is doing things to my body I'm not proud of. He won't let my hands go, which he firmly holds over my head. The heat makes it impossible to scream louder.

Then his lips and tongue slide over my erect nipples. I do cry out, squirming, feeling myself sinking into rapture. I beg A to stop, I plead with him, but no, he goes from one bared breast to another, lapping at my nipples like an animal licking blood from a fresh kill. What I hear from A is a guttural purr similar to wild lions. Below, I notice that his upper thighs press down upon mine and faces them apart. Oh, dear God I can feel his----
My sarong has gathered up around my upper thighs, and as he shifts to clasp both my wrists in one hand, the other trails slowly down my body, touching me sparking electricity along the way, down until I'm squealing with reluctant anticipation. I say no many times, but the wetness he sinks his fingers into calls me a liar.

The anatomy of a woman is the last true secret women have. When a man knows what he's doing, he brings things out in a woman's anatomy she sometimes didn't know existed. Like her G-Spot.

My eyes roll up and I do scream now. Loudly, panting heavily, bucking in violent spasms while his intruding fingers manipulate lust from inside of me, his thumb working my engorged clitoris. He punishes my G-Spot, moving through a torrent of gushing come released by contractions he will not let abate.

A finger fucks me to more orgasms than I can count.

I can't be sure when he plunged into me. But he did like a man seeking only his own pleasure without regard for my feelings. He is neither tender, nor brutal. Words have not been invented to describe the sensation. I cling to him while he ruts up in me. My Sarong becomes completely undone, and tears spill down my face, because my descent is quickening, and the heights from which I fall cannot be subject to redemption. I wanted to feel all of him I liked that it hurt a little, that every time he rammed into me he shattered more pieces of my ethical universe.

Gasping, I tried to think of Trevor, I tried desperately to replace A's face with his. But I was unsuccessful. The ghosts of all my former lovers faded, and whatever life I was permitted to have, lay solidly in a future untethered to the past.

His weight was uncomfortable, and the hard floor underneath the cushions scraped at my bare skin. Dust fell into my hair, my face, mixing with flying sweat. This was what good screwing was supposed to be like. No preliminaries, no politics, no dinners, no flowers, or accolades to my beauty.

It might not have even mattered that we didn't like each other. Sex and sensuality was a simple fact and truth in action required no encyclopedic text book of social vanities.

No it was just a man and a woman, whom he pounded into like any whore he'd pay good money for. And as bad as that might seem, I couldn't help but feel very flattered.

Later when I arrived at Trevor's tent. I let him fuck me. It was the least I could do. He reveals that something is different about me. He says its the best sex he's ever experienced.

I tell him he's going to have to alter his plans. Marriage wasn't going to happen. Things have changed.
His face collapses. Its a look that can break your heart. And I'm not so far gone into soullessness that I can't shed tears for the acute pain I'm causing him. He screams, he yells, Its someone else isn't it?
I nod. I won't say who.

I truly wanted to die then and there. Two conflicting emotions tore at me. One was despair at becoming the source of pain in a man I truly believed I loved, and the other was desperate need to be ravaged by A again. But life is not a book located at the Romance Section. People in real life get hurt, and consequences are long term and you do not get to go back and live your life the same way ever again.
Sinking to my knees, I bury my face in my hands and shudder as I cry. I then reach my arms out to Trevor who cries to. I say over and over again how sorry I am. And as he embraces me we sink to the dusty floor and he savagely fucks me like a man whose hate extends no further than the body beneath that's betrayed him.

To my shame, its only then I have multiple orgasms with Trevor.

Life in tangier doesn't take notice of the many dramas played out within its borders, and mine was no exception. By late noon, the jet setters are moving again. One party heading back to France, the other, someplace further east.
Sir William informs me that A took off early in the morning with the Happy Valley crowd toward Egypt.

The east was where the blazing sun perched high above the bleached and parched sky. Below was the endless ocean of sand with its deceptive dunes. So that is where I looked.

I cannot say there was a good reason to do what I decided to embark upon. Youth is a record of foolish decisions, and I should've known better. Because no one ever plans out the next two years of their life centered around one goal.

The empty desert was ahead, and catching sight of a caravan moving out, I resolved to accompany it. I would find A, somehow. I was a woman in love, and in love I was just as tortured as the real deal can make a person.

And I still had Hell to look forward to.

To be Continued...

(Written by Michiko Katsuhito)
(Illustration Adam Narcross and Li Zhao from "Some Ideas")

Lone Sloan Delirius

IN BETWEEN THE WRONG AND THE RIGHT

2006-10-30T13:22:00.000-05:00

...And boy did we get a lot of e-mails about the last two entries. And for all accounts the girls definitely had a better handle on the opinions concerning American men and women. The prevailing, and not unfounded summary was that the guys leaned closer to stereotypes than objective critique.

The easy way out is to shout; "No, see, I was drunk when I said those things. Did you know that I was an alcoholic too. And, and, I was abused as a child too." But no, when it comes time to admit that we might have in fact been wrong, the best thing to do is swallow all of that pride and humble one's self and admit it.

So, here it is... After reading through what we've posted very carefully. And discussing it with more pals outside the gang, our assessment of American women does prove to be less inclined to the level of diversity than is apparent in everyday life experience. That said, we apologize to anyone that might have read our entry with the idea that we think of American women from a limited point of view.

However, one can't say or write these things without some point where those ideas are birthed from some origin. Not that these origins for the thoughts put down should be taken as absolute opinion. The question of why such stereotypes manifested in the first place, as Michy informed us, had something to do with feeling stereotyped ourselves. Her insightful account tended toward something like this: "American men are indeed undergoing a change. Its a progressive change, but from our point of view the change involves feeling like we're giving up something. The obvious thing given up is a sense of control. This control isn't just limited to the other obvious concerns like employment, or even antiquated traditional rolls within the structure of family. But more to the depth of losing control over identity itself."

Susannah spoke very eloquently to us this past Sunday at the brunch at the pro shop, where she (I'm paraphrasing,) mentioned that: "No one notices how profound social change is or how significant its advancement of human society is part of natural human evolution until decades after when it becomes the new norm defining conservative doctrine. That is, what was once thought over the top liberalism yester-year is the contemporary conservatism of today. (conservatism defined in this context as the adjusted and accepted social norm.)" Her point is that during the time of change, many of us, men and women will feel suspicious of those changes and will feel that certain timeless values are in danger of becoming swept away on the tide of change.

Another element that was mentioned but not fully elaborated is that except for Adam, virtually all of the LSD guys have spent most of their adult lives in Europe and Asia. Our information about American women during those years was almost always based on what was portrayed on TV or the cinema. And we're smart enough to know better than to let these two mediums cement our thinking for us, but apparently upon returning to the states, we did/do feel that there is a difference.

I think I can safely chalk up our limited experiences to regionalism. And probably a level of bias has crept into even our perceptions along that line too. Then poor Archie has mentioned earlier this year that the identity of men in the social consciousness where culture presumed to be explored in media often finds men portrayed in the very light women decried having to endure years ago. "In just about any movie where you see a was and woman about to engage in a fight, or a battle of wits, its become the convention that the woman will predictably win. If a man mentions this glaring consistency, then he runs the risk of becoming labeled every nonprogressive thing in the book. So he has to remain silent lest he's branded a social heretic. No one here has anything against empowerment for women, homosexuals, or transexuals. However must it be attained at the expense of men?"

Why should men be expected to enjoy a movie where the females in it routinely beat up men anymore than an expectation that women should like a film where men beat up women? Now we realize some of these questions must sound juvenile and well out of context to experienced reality. But simply to pose the question shouldn't be considered a conclusive statement about the person asking it.

But these are merely points of origin where later discussions evolved, and might have appeared heavy-handed upon posting. Trust me, we were all concerned enough about it that we made damn sure the girls got in their say. And when they did, all of us guys sort of looked at each other and thought, you know something fellas? I think we might have been in error about some of our opinions. Some points we can stick with others we're realizing was unintentional stereotyping and we don't want to do that. After all, we're not the Fox News Channel.

At this time I want to send out a special thanks to our online blog friends D. Brian Nelson, who has been extremely helpful with provoking our own internal investigations. We know proven experience when we read it, and his is without a doubt worth learning from. (Yes we're probably plugging, but so what, the man and his works are exceptional in every way and deserves close continuous study.) Also I want to thank Salacious Desires, for her comment.

By the way, we will continue to bug her to write more, because we miss her that much. (But first, I suppose we'll have to put in a better appearance than we've been doing in the past.)

Also a big warm bright light of love goes out to Nina and Jeff "Lazy Geisha." Congratulations on the occasion of your wedding.

Now for anyone still waiting on the graphic novels and illustrated stories, our delay is due to scanner issues. When we switched over to our new computers the old scanner wasn't compatible for the Windows model we're currently using. And since no one wants a cheap scanner a high dollar version was ordered and upon arriving had been damaged in transport. We've since sent it back and we're told the replacement will arrive in the next four to five working days. Which we admit is better than nothing.
Once we get it, we will immediately start uploading new graphics, an extended opening sequence for "The Illustrated Lazy Geisha" as well as a loads of new original artwork by Adam and Li.

Until then, always say you're innocent of the charges.

(Written by Alex Earl and Richard Everest)
(Illustration by Li Zhao "Some Ideas")

Lone Sloan Delirius

AMERICAN MEN or THE GIRLS' TURN

2006-10-26T22:35:00.000-04:00

Our last post was interesting according to some of the E-Mail and single comment thus far. And while any point can be made to add dimension to the subject of American women, because the perspective of five men should not be the final statement on the subject. I recall Li's statement that one look to their own experiences beyond what appears here. I also recall the much welcome and valid insight of D. Brian Nelson, whose own experiences prove to be better rounded than what us gentlemen here have proven to be. But we're all in a process of learning. What follows is part of making good on an idea that any discussion on the man-woman thing deserves a fair invitation to both men and women, so without further rambling, the beautiful intelligent ladies of LSD offer their insights.

Alexander Earl:
I am with our girls at one of the finer restaurants in Downtown Raleigh to discuss American men. They are Li Zhao, Michiko Katsuhito, Yoriki Matuoko and Susannah Davenport, our latest addition to the group. Okay, girls, my first question is this: What's wrong with us American guys? And why can't we seem to find common ground after all these years?

Michiko Katsuhito:
The short answer is because you guys are still faced with a history where you're essentially forced to face that the once privileged position of male dominance no longer makes sense in modern terms.

Yoriki Matuoko:
My opinion is because we're trying to require each gender to assimilate roles in society that makes us feel unprogressive if we don't freely adopt them. For American women, its about wanting to project strength and ability while unconsciously undercutting the values of maternal qualities. American men, are having to project a level of sensitivity that feels to them forced. While these qualities are easier for some, its not always easy for others.

Susannah Davenport:
We're not too keen on learning each other's language. By that, I mean the American man's willingness to communicate with women sometimes seem obscured by an insistence on both sides that our differences make completely equitable communication impossible. We seem to want to keep our individual genders unique to a degree that full human communion has to be sacrificed to keep it so.

Li Zhao:
In this society countervailing influences from commercial media imposes contradicting ideas that have great influence with the public personas men feel obliged to adopt. In contemporary terms, American men have less role models supporting the values that influenced their fathers.
With American women the social and cultural shifts from mother to daughter is exhibited as a consistent march towards empowerment and strength while from the male point of view its expressed as a march towards weakness and disempowerment.

Alexander Earl:
Michiko, some of the LSD fellas often reference your writings in defense of some male traditions like resolve, strength and the sense of positive masculinity as necessary values that are under attack by certain progressive theories. If social progress is to make the world of men and women an exercise toward true freedom for all, should not those older traditions be abandoned?

Michiko Katsuhito:
This is the part where I'm unfortunately forced to attempt overcoming digressions into petty semantics. Let's understand that this question is typical and well-meaning. But, I hardly think that the efforts for dialogue can be rooted in either or, or either ain't declarations. Its been the failings of American men and women to think in that manner.
There is a sense that the solution lay explicitly with discarding anything of tradition as proof that one is willing to oblige progressive ideas. I've made statements in a variety of means where I've disagreed with completely abandoning some male traditions. And its because certain values are timeless and form the core of a man's sense of self. And also there's value in that because we're speaking of nothing more than evolving identity.
Because of the high potential to knee-jerk reactions with an answer like, 'why no I don't think older traditions should be abandoned. We need to give context a chance.

Alexander Earl:
Susanne, you are the only woman in a family where four of your siblings are male. What insight can you give to women in this Country about your experiences growing up in virtually all male company?

Susanne Davenport:
Well, I'm not sure. I mean, its perhaps that when you grow up with brothers you are witness to the subtle influences that shape their characters. For instance when Pete had his first heartbreak, he was devastated. But when he recovered from it, you could see that a thin wall had been erected inside of him. Over time, I saw the same thing in all of my brothers. A sort of individuation made them into people whose ideas about the world had different degrees of female to male influences. James and I are close in a way that's less indicative with the others. And he's very much a jock type. But perhaps like someone who didn't have a lot of brothers in their family, women only see the final result but not the ongoing journey preceding the result.
Maybe I would suggest to a woman who didn't have my Walton's- like experience to try and understand the final product of a man isn't always fixed with an eternal template for his personality at birth.

Alexander Earl:
Li, a while back you wrote that once you were not always beautiful. How did your view of American men change when you suddenly discovered that the same men who would not accept you at 175 pounds had little difficulty accepting you at 107?

Li Zhao:
Not really, because in my circumstance, the men who noticed me never realized that I was someone who dropped a lot of weight. I knew that when men did pay attention it was for those I were attracted to at that time, because I was slimmer. But keep in mind that my attraction to those guys were based on the same superficial values they expressed too.
When you're a fat woman in America, (in my experience) the most hurtful thing is that you're treated like the elephant in the room everybody pretends isn't there. You're generally just ignored and left to feel that you have no value in the attractive sense of the word, unless its chalked under a fetish.
But at the same time, guys like Adam and later Michiko offset a lot of what could easily have given me a lifelong complex about being fat.
When guys wanted to date me, I was so flattered that for a few years I became an easy lay. But I never could bring myself to believe that I was having all this sex out of low self esteem. Most of those guys were hot, and my position was more like I was the one taking advantage of them rather than the other way around.

Yoriki Matuoko:
And see, I'm an admitted sex pot. I guess since I'm Asian its difficult for me to equate sex with emotional abuse. I'm not suggesting all Asian women feel the way I feel. Personally, I think American men are able to think of sex with a certain emotional detachment that makes it hard to imagine that men can be victimized in the same way my American female friends sometimes appear to be.

Susanne Davenport:
Still, you've got to take into account that the issues surrounding sex as an expression of communion between consenting adults, equally shared is much different than sex as an expression of power, force, and propriety.

Yoriki Matuoko:
It is, and I'm not saying that rape can be overcome by emotional detachment, because sex used as violence perverts the true aims out of which sex can be experienced. For me, its like this: A guy doesn't have to go through the traditional rituals of dinner and presents to bang me. If I'm attracted, I know if he doesn't have an issue with it, we're going to get a good fuck on. The next morning he doesn't have to make breakfast for me, or make a lot of well-rehearsed promises. But, at the same time, if a guy does those things because he just likes making breakfast and cuddling and involving himself in a very romantic manner, I'm not going to discourage him, because he's just being himself.

Michiko Katsuhito:
I remember dating a guy who wanted me to speak in a high pitched Japanese School-girl voice, and I got very offended. I said to him, how would he like it if I told him to dress up as--- and then I realized that for American men there's few insulting archetypes for them to assume than there were for women. I mean what's the equivalent for male prostitute that doesn't come with a heritage of social derision? The male gigolo?

Alexander Earl
Is confidence all a man needs in America to form a relationship with women?

Susanne Davenport:
It helps, but confidence can be undermined by rigging the conditions under which men sometimes have to labor under. To me, confidence depends on a certain amount of inflexible control. Its easy to have confidence when you're in a position where rejection won't affect you. Like I know all you guys have a lot of confidence, but look at how you guys live.
Your fathers instilled a conception of your lives from a position of male privilege. Your biggest fight is to keep what's been handed down to you, a woman has to fight to gain confidence in a world where our identity is created as a goal to either succeed or fail at becoming. Women say they like confident men, I say it sometimes too, but I'm not so sure we're speaking about someone other than very handsome extremely built confident men who happen to be fairly well off.

Michiko Katsuhito:
Oh God! I love confident men, and yes, that's all they need to be to catch my eye. But there's a difference between confident and arrogant. You guys are all people who started off with less than nothing and built your lives using the very timeless values (some) social progressives dismiss today. I like testosterone because it gets the job done. No its not politically correct to say it, but for me I like a man who is willing to be a bedrock.

Yoriki Matuoko:
A confident man knows when to say, okay you're right and I was wrong. So yes, I'm okay with confident men.

Li Zhao:
Ditto.

Alexander Earl:
If there is one complaint about American men what would it be?

Li Zhao:
That there are some that think we ought to live with rolls defined from the Christian bible.

Michiko Katsuhito:
That there are too many male politicians who think that the best way to represent its female citizens is by making unqualified decisions on what a woman can or can't do with their bodies while rationalizing their hypocrisy to justify sacrificing lives in the name of an unnecessary war.

Suwannee Davenport:
Their insistence on defining values on the basis of race, wealth, gender and class divisions.

Yoriki Matuoko:
Those men who think magazines with clearly digitized airbrushed pictures of women is somehow preferable to the real thing, like Maxim, FHM and Playboy to name a few.

Alexander Earl
Thank-you ladies for speaking your minds.
Of course the dimensions of male and female experiences cannot be covered in a couple of posts. We live in a diverse world and country that is in constant flux. No opinion is guaranteed to be iron clad and timeless. American men and women embody much more than what is described above. Yes there are stereotypes that are noted but also the concept of transcending stereotypes by embracing an open mind with a willingness to find virtue in tradition as well as value in progressive thought.
The balance can be achieved in whole or part if men and women are willing to discard the divisions perpetuated in varying degrees by our media. And none of us LSD guys and dolls are above admitting that each of us must actively work to improve our attitudes as well.
This is why we have these entries and why we welcome comments. Our opinions are the type that invite anyone to take part through reasoned dialogue. (Except for Limbuagh and O-Reilly)

(conceived by Li Zhao and Susanne Davenport)
Painting by Adam Narcross "Echoes That Span the Night" from "All the World is Babylon" series.

Meanwhile... As things are moving along, Michiko continues this weekend with another installment of her wild and epic tale of love, adventure and illicit acts of sexual licentiousness in "I'll Take You There."
Archie Summers

SO YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT AMERICAN WOMEN

2006-10-22T10:19:00.000-04:00

For this entry the men of LSD have gathered to put forth their ideas in the context of answers to questions by our lovely Li Zhao on the subject of dating American women. And unlike what is supposed to be an informed view by Jake, who writes "A Man's Opinion," for Glamour magazine. We're going to offer realistic answers to questions that we hope will aid our male population seeking a real honest dialogue on the subject of American Women.

Li Zhao:
Okay guys, remember be nice. There may be a few ladies of standing reading what we say. The first question is, when you think of American women in general, what comes to mind?

Lord Els Gray:
Its hard to say, but I might agree with Adam who once said men in America don't know much about the women in this country because most of what we're shown and experience has little to do with the woman and more to do with idealization. My answer is I don't know.

Richard Everest:
On balance, I guess my thoughts about American women is they're reactionary. That might seem simplistic, but when you consider that the rules keep changing when it comes to how to show fair deference, what is appropriate one year, you discover isn't the next.

Archie Summers:
Like a delicate flower in spring, all soft and colorful. American women are assertive, resourceful, incredibly diverse, and overflowing with the very milk of human kindness, when they're not buying into all that swill fed to them by fashion magazines and the "Lifetime Channel."

Alexander Earl
See, its like this, Li... I don't know. Because like just about every man at this table I've spent so much time in Europe and the Orient, (India, Pakistan, Egypt) that my personal experiences of American women is sort of--- like pretty vague. I don't think much about them, good or bad.

Adam Narcross:
I run hot and cold about what I think about them. It depends on the mood I'm in on any particular day. Overall I think well of them, but there are times dealing with them is like having to endure one of those job interviews for a job you've GOT to get. I find myself around them always worried about if I said this the right way, in the right tone, with the right impression. Fully aware that one slip off the tightrope, I can hang it up.

Li Zhao:
So overall you're all insecure about them.

(general agreement)

Li Zhao:
Adam, you've probably had more dealings with American women than any of the other guys, what advice would you give a man who wants to date an American woman?

Adam:
Expect nothing. By that I mean, don't approach an American woman with any preconceived notions. If you want to date her keep in the forefront of your mind to only ask her out if you feel comfortable around her. If you feel the slightest bit nervous, don't ask her out. You shouldn't have to feel like its an ordeal anymore than it should be one for her.
Become friends first, know a little about your mutual interests, and rather than hit her with a full blown 'hey, lets go on a date,' keep it easy and casual. Going out for coffee or lunch let's her see the man who is interested in a light far less contentious and predatory than lets say a club or a formal dinner out. Later he might ask, but only if he feels she's comfortable.

Li Zhao:
And women who aren't American?

Adam:
Oh, no generally you can relax and just ask them out on the spot, no problems, except maybe Australian women.

Li Zhao
Els, is there a difference in your opinion between American and European women?

Lord Els:
Of course, even American women will tell you that. But if I'm interpreting the subtext of your question, for men, the difference is that European women of my experience tend toward a lot more flexible set of values than American women. In modern America, a man has to bury his basic masculinity. He has to adopt a lot of feminine ideals to get along, and qualify as socially progressive . Paradoxically, American women speak in laudatory terms about exploring their femininity with a level of diversity they simply will not tolerate in men, unless its grounded in rejecting their own masculinity. A woman --- in let's say, --- Florence, wouldn't understand why a man has to adopt a dehumanizing persona contrary to his basic masculine nature.

Li Zhao:
For clarification, when you say 'masculinity' what definition are you using.

Lord Els Gray:
Not the feminist definition, which holds an inaccurate position that masculinity is oppressive, patriarchy controlling and all that other stuff. I mean masculinity in the sense of personal confidence in one's ability to work through a problem, that self awareness as a man seeking to better one's self through his own endeavors. A sense of personal strength and rational moral responsibility whether its expressed mentally or physically. Its also, I might add a willingness to explore progressive ideas with pride in achievment. The social evolution of men in America has reached a point of more inclusiveness on most levels than at any time in the past. Feminists, from my experience credit man with nothing except the worse attributes informing the past, while overlooking the great number who transcended the more formally obvious conciets of gross machismo. Masculinity isn't so much a statement as it is the action of doing, and doing with an eye on an awareness of the doing, if that makes sense.

Li Zhao:
Archie, if you had to describe what you don't like about American women, what would you say?

Archie Summers:
Unless terribly pressed, I'd say nothing. Its considered bad form for men in this age to make any derisive statement about Yankee girls even when there's truth involved. But if you watch any TV or cinema program, right down to the commercials, its mostly women characters in situations that often emasculate American men with contemptuous regularity. But to your point, its like Els mentioned. I'm not keen on this whole business of subverting one's masculine traits just to give an appearance of gender enlightenment.
Another thing I'm not keen about is the feeling, to reference Adam, that if I wanted to have a relationship with an American woman, I have to be made to feel like I'm always interviewing for a job, and when I get the job, that I'm on a perpetual probationary period.
I also don't care for obviously loaded conversations with them where its geared toward my having to feel like any defense of my gender is an admission of chauvinism on my part.
Then there's that whole hypocrisy about modern objectification. If a man admires a woman for his own aesthetic pleasure, (which is actively encouraged in Europe except Paris,) he's to be heaped with charges of disrespect. While if a woman does the same thing, she's merely excercising her right to express her desires, because as the feminists like to keep going on about, female desire even exploitative desire has merits towards assertive feminine identity.

Li Zhao
Okay, that's interesting, because I know none of you guys care much for Feminist philosophy. Now, you all know that there are women who believe that the word feminist has received a rather bad misinterpretation by the media that like other avenues of information dispensing means influence, cultural and social consciousness, has become taken as the final word. Richie you've written a few essays of note about it in the past, can you share the basis why you disagree with feminist philosophy?

Richard Everest:
First let me say, I'm a humanist at heart. And for me contemporary humanism isn't gender specific. Its inclusive to everyone, men, women, gay or straight, black, white and Asian. And I'm very aware of the branch of feminist ideology that claims to seek social equality in every area of American life. As a temporary digression that's relevant, I run a reasonably successful business, and no woman that's honest will say their chances for upward mobility are impeded by their gender. I can't speak for other businesses that do, and if so I'm in disagreement with such policies.
However, the claim and the practice is completely different. In claim, equality is demanded on the foundation that gender differences does not determine the fixed mental capacity of one's basic identity as a human being. However the practice of Feminist ideology extends no further than mostly demanding men either fully accept their doctrine in absolutist terms or be labeled every derisive name in the book. Meanwhile their much vaunted equality turns out to be a one way street.
Take a recent case where a young man who clearly did not want children and was assured by his then-girlfriend that she couldn't become pregnant. When she did in fact become pregnant, and had the child, he was forced by the courts to pay support. On the surface it seems he is a callous man who isn't willing to uphold adult responsibility resulting from sexual activity.
When he brought up contradictions within the subject of birth control, that is to say, while women believe that they should have the right to an abortion as well as carrying the fetus to full term and birth, no legal protections exist for men in America when it comes to decisions about issues like the one I'm speaking about. At best, he is reduced to having to accept fairness on faith from his wife or girlfriend, while the feminist ideology demands something more legally binding from men than just, verbal assurances of consideration. If two people enter into a bargain, which is admitted by the person later breaking the bargain, with respect to the subject of birth control, and must accept the situation without reasonable recourse, then he does not have legal equality.
Not only was his opinion laughed away by the feminists, who claim to want equality, in post, they were not a bit interested in a balanced equality if its demanded from a man against a woman. No feminist advocates that a man accused of rape should be allowed to have his identity kept from the public until the conclusion of a trial bringing forth a guilty verdict. No feminist that I know of is willing to as so much question the harm a false accusation does to a man's social reputation who is acquitted of rape
charges.
Where's the equality? in protecting one gender from humiliating public scrutiny and not the other? Where is the support to publicly call on the public to show deference to the acquitted accused? If a woman CEO hires only women in top positions through promotion even if some men prove equal or better at the desired position, what feminists actively denounce the practice in an applicable manner, like say, protesting the offending company by picketing, boycotts, holding rallies, or going to the media to call attention to cases of gender preference when it involves a woman denying male advancement because of his gender?

Archie Summers:
I remember watching Adam sign semi-annual checks for the Orange and Wake County Rape Crisis Centers, I've seen him and Richard donate very expensive items to battered women's shelters all over the damn place. I myself have sat on committees to further centers dedicated to giving underprivileged young women, food certificates, donated clothing, and child-care services. All of the men at this table have done everything from setting up job interviews for poor unemployed women, to advancing as a practical measure GED programs for women this state.
And what does Adam get for years of service to help truly oppressed women who are the victims of our social and economic system? A white woman who locks herself in a car in broad daylight at a grocery store because feminists have convinced her that despite the low percentages, a black man just can't help but make a daylight rape attempt.
What does he get? He gets a gun pointed at him by a white woman after he replaces her flat tire so that she can drive safely before nightfall. Because some feminist told her that men do not have the capacity for sincere help and will demand sexual payment for services rendered.
What does he get? I'll tell you, he gets every reason why he shouldn't lift a finger to do what he does every year. Look, this country is force-fed a steady diet by feminists that men are all sexual predators, who've got nothing better on the mind than a rapacious appetite for rape and abuse. Watch Oprah on any given day and you will hear all sorts of horror stories about men as a generality. Now, I'm not so out of touch with reality that I can say men are completely innocent, but we're all not completely guilty too. If a woman drowns her five kids, its post partum depression. If a woman cheats on her husband, its because she's lonely and wants attention. If a woman kills her husband to get his money, she can always say he was abusive. Reverse these themes, and men are monsters that can't be trusted, ever. I think I give a fair chance to literature written by feminists and not once have I read or heard feminist practicing the thesis of what's suppose to be about gender intergration, not once.

Lord Els:
Say, why do you keep donating when its got to be like that?

Adam Narcross:
Its easy, because its the right thing to do. I've never expected a reward for doing what I feel is right. Just like you fellas, doing right isn't conditional. I do well enough to help out, so I do. Besides I've had far more positive experiences with women than bad by comparison. As an aside, none of us hate feminists, we just don't agree with their philosophy, that's all. And I think its important to know that there are many ways of evolving social consciousness for men and women than the absolutism laid out by feminists. There are plenty of American women who don't buy mind, body, and soul into feminist ideology while remaining committed to advancing further social, political and domestic causes for women. These American women whom are not feminists are not willing to wear a lable fixed with an ideological print. They want to work with well-meaning men not against us. They want men to advance too without having to become something different for the sake of extreme political correct dogmas.

Li Zhao:
Do any of you think money plays a part in how American women perceive men in terms of their level of attractiveness? Or more to the point what effect has money had on your past relationships with American women?

Archie Summers:
Definitely. If you don't have the looks accepted as the current standard of beauty then you had better have a lot of money if you want their attention.

Richard Everest:
I've heard American women say to me in all seriousness, 'there's no such thing as an unattractive rich man, just rich attractive men that might not be worth a damn.'

Alexander Earl:
I once tested it on am American woman woman I'd been seeing for about six months. You see, I'm pretty well off, and its hard to pretend that you're not when your parents are always flaunting their social position for the world to see. Anyway I told her that, the family had made some risky investments and the creditors wiped all the money and assets out. I said I'd probably have to move into a smaller place in a regular part of town. But essentially there was no more money.
It was amazing, suddenly this down to earth woman had little time to spend with me. And eventually she thought it was a good ideas to take a break. You know, girl code for: I want to break up with you. When I mentioned that a court appeal might reverse the investment fiasco, she told me to give her a call AFTER the ruling, and she'll THINK about it.
Apparently her change of heart didn't come from just her, but with the assistance of other American women forming her circle of trusted good friends.
By the time she realized it was a test, I was all but willing to adopt her notion of taking a break. Guy code for: My eyes have been opened.

Adam Narcross:
Way back in the early to mid 90's I used to take my friends out in Raleigh. There were some women I treated to dinner and on most occasions I either offered to pay or paid for things like coffee, or bills from time to time. I even paid for a young woman's towing bill. I don't recall making any unwelcome advances to any of them. But I got a true lesson when one rare day I had forgotten my wallet and I asked for one of my friends to buy a 70 cent cup of coffee for me. I was refused.
Later, I discovered that one other woman whom, I had assisted financially, mistakenly thought I was hitting on her, and self-righteously informed me that she wasn't going to fuck me. What made it so insulting was that she would fuck some worthless abusive man who stole from her and didn't have a job.
To be fair, not all the women of that era of my life were like that. Most were really nice to me. And I wish them every success. But man, how do you go back to business as usual after something like that?

Lord Els Gray:
They go on enough about money don't they? Let's think about it, on the one hand women say they don't care that much if a guy doesn't have a lot of money. But if you flip through virtually every popular magazine, and in the case of women's magazines, no poor men anywhere. No man representative of working class economics anywhere unless its within the realm of escapist sexual fantasy. In fact nothing describing real economic conditions and its impact on relationships are ever investigated. So the ideal man is a mass of wish fulfillments created and described in regards to a world where consequence and responsibility bears no influence. The irony is, the greatest social influence on American women requires a level of economic and physical exclusivity so outlandish that none of the personality traits they say they want could exist within those superficial contexts. And rather than blame themselves for participating in those endeavors, American women find it convenient to lay all the blame at a man's feet regardless of the fact that the majority of men have no say so --- or hold policy-making positions in transformative social perceptions of money, power and fashion values.

Li Zhao:
Adam, you were mentioned earlier as having said something to the effect that American women can't be truly known, care to elaborate?

Adam Narcross:
In general terms, Its difficult. Maybe in specific cases over a period of time, maybe. I don't mean it as a complete criticism or virtue. What I mean is that the basic identity of the American woman has been co-opted by massive commercial entities, just as young black men allow their identities to be co-opted by the Hip-Hop philosophies.
American women in this sphere grow up being socialized against becoming individuals in their own right but part of what a commercial template of unrealistic idealization makes them feel they ought to be. The price they pay is that they never grow an interior character unique just to themselves. Instead they emmulate the type of roll models that actively judges the value of other people in what Michiko calls the inclusive and the exclusive class. Part of it is based on economics, something you will never find discussed in fashion media where this kind of thinking is perpetuated, the other in placing total emphasis of value and worth on current aesthetic principles, of glamor. The cost is honest diversity. Take for instance, some women of Asian ethnicities born and raised in America do not adopt their own views but internalize the views of Anglo women to such an extent that they accept even the mass of aesthetic prejudices that exclude even those from their own ethnic background.
They won't even consider dating a man from Japan, Korea, or China if they can choose a by the book attractive white man, and why? Because our commercial society brings them up to believe that its the best and only appropriate choice.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not speaking about people from different ethnic persuasions who just happen to fall in love, only the idea that one can feel complete by trying to assimilate one's identity from socializing commercial entities. By the way, it is these commercial doctrines that ususally thrive from endorsing stereotypes as a comparison to judge aesthetic values. The joke in Sweden is if you want to know about American women, just look at the TV commercials and read the magazines and you can't go wrong.

Li Zhao
In Recent years the terminology; Metrosexual has become a feature within American society. What are your thoughts on metrosexuals?

Lord Els Gray.
I think its a cop out for men who aren't willing to embrace their individual identity. Keep in mind, metrosexual doesn't exist in its own right. Its a created contruct that curiously comes with it an astoundingly ready-made product line for purchase.
Look, there's already a name for a man who adopts effeminate mannerisms but isn't necessarily gay. Its called a SISSY. And I count a few men who happen to be sissies like some who happen to be gay as close personal friends.

Richard Everest
What is it with men who think there is something so wrong with fishing and camping and liking sports that they've got to go out and get facials, perms and gesticulate like a woman fetching up all dramatic like the old actress from "Sunset Boulevard."
Its creepy to me, sorry, but, Hell someone has to stand up and say it. I find men rejecting their natural masculinity disgraceful.

Adam Narcross
No one gave Liberace shit that I know of, and everyone knows I'm a Liberace fan. And no one has ever questioned my masculinity for liking Liberace, or Elton John or Queen or an number of personalities that would now be labeled Metrosexual. Why? Because they were not trying to be a label or become associated with a trend created strictly for mental retail by the producers of Sex and the City.
I like fishing, and getting my hands dirty. I paint, I draw, I dig in the Earth. I go camping, I visit contruction sites a lot for my job. I have to handle things that are bulky, dirty, smeared with paint or ink. Now I would look like a Goddamn fool worrying about an manicure appointment, or agonizing over what exfolient is best for my skin. Nobody needing help measuring the adjusted diameter of a drainage pipe gives a damn if there's a little dirt under my fingernails, or whether I used an exfolient cleanser.
And God knows I've been to enough formal balls, concerts, plays, receptions, parties, dinners to be an authority on proper form. And like Liberace, if I show up with my tie a little crooked no one gave a shit, . Metrosexual, no thank-you.

Alexander Earl:
My mother is of the opinion that men ought not attempt too much refinement. And my father is a good example of a man who knew when to stop refining himself. She and I did in fact discuss the metrosexual thing. And she told me, its all well and fine for a man to know how to order a good wine and not mangle the French language whilst ordering from a menu. And it is commendable that men should know art and good music, and all manner of fine comportment in public, but be thine not so far gone into it that you find yourself unable to pick up a snake or a rat caught in the trap to take it out to the disposal. Do not be gone so far in felicitousness that one can't take a fish from a hook, or suffer a cut without fainting from the sight of blood. A man such as that is of little use to even the most highly regarded woman.
My father told me that if I was a betting man when it comes to advice on what a man ought to be, bet on mother everytime. And I've no reason today to complain about what she's rendered to me thus far. Metrosexual? Not on your life.

Li Zhao:
Thank-you gentlemen, its been very educational. That said as usual we do not claim to be the sole source of knowledge with these subjects. People change and the future may find shifts in opinions and attitudes. Anyone reading this should keep in mind that only one' own personal investigation can guarantee the highest level of informed decision and choice. You make your lives just as the future is not set, but something you create along the way. Bye now.

(Interviews conducted at The Pro Shop conceived by Li Zhao and Susannah Davenport)

(Illustration by Li Zhao and Adam Narcross from "Some Ideas')

Meanwhile...
Yes its been a while, sorry about that. But in our defense we've been renovating the studio and bringing in a lot of new equiptment. And the scanner finally arrived so all this new art lying around will be arriving sooner than later.
Also we're still in the process of debugging and uploading from the old computer to the new.

Next: its the girl's turn to be interviewed in; SO YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT AMERICAN MEN

Susannah Davenport
Lone Sloan Delirius

2006-10-01T16:12:00.000-04:00

Several years ago, before Ronald Reagan succumbed to the karma-like affliction of Alzheimer's disease, the then sitting president lamented the times and openly longed for America to return to the values of the 1950's. He went on to cite that, back then, there was a sense of morality that in the present didn't exist anymore. Hinting also that most of America's problems, (if not all,) were the products of liberal philosophy, which seeks to endorse and impose an "agenda" onto the rest of the country, where traditional values would be usurped by an atheist socialist welfare state. (paraphrase.)
Today, you can hear this sort of wholesale charge against liberal thinkers by vitriolic right wing conservatives, who honestly believe there is such a thing as an agenda.' mostly popularized as the 'gay agenda, the socialist agenda, or the take religion/Christianity out of the public forum agenda'. And like Ronald Reagan, they too long for the morality of the '50's.
Recently the person epitomizing the more extreme element in right wing doctrine, Bill O Reilly has published another book, where he claims to spell out in easy to understand terminology the left's (secular progressives) ideals, ideas, and philosophy, while defining the philosophy of what he calls 'social traditionalists.'

And like Ann Coulter, and Rush Limbaugh, to name a few, his thoughts on the left are full of unsupported, mostly unsubstantiated myths that characterize the left's position well out of proportion to the facts or reasonable objective analysis.

The morality, which is the basis of Reagan's and by extension the far right's picture of social evolution is simply not grounded in anything like the morality of which they attempt to attach the word. Perhaps they long for the 50's congruent to that epoch's television shows, which often exhibited a world where wholesome American values were best epitomized by shows like "Father Knows Best." and "Leave it to Beaver."

The rosy imaginings of prosperous middle-class Americans content with their lives with unquestioned trust in their policy-making politicians is easy to desire if you're a politician who detests public oversight of their activities. (It smacks of the implication that the politician can't be trusted to do his business without transparency.) But this isn't TV, and those cheerful black and white images from the new medium of television only temporary obscured fissures countervailant to whatever fixed moral certainties of that age.

We can look to the age of McCarthy and his witch-hunt for Communists that was little better than an attempt to force an ideological creed onto American citizens based solely on his definition of what makes an American an American. When challenged by those who would not allow the campaign of fear and smear tactics intimidate them, Joe McCarthy was seen as he truly was. Not a patriotic American with an unusually high degree for wanting to preserve the nation from communist infiltrators. But a power hungry person who believed for a while that he and he alone held the kings to the kingdom, just as Bill O Reilly believes today.

The 50's were also a time of art exploding cultural designations. The forerunners of Pop art were questioning the origin of America's cultural heritage, just as the beat poets questioned the legitimacy of America's ideological pretenses.

As it was becoming clear that human lives were ever increasingly becoming under threat of nuclear annihilation, the fear of the Russian attack gave way to thoughts about the sanity of America's own policy-makers, and more to the point whether or not the threat of nuclear annihilation was just one of the playing cards used by ambitious power hungry politicians to keep its own citizens ideologically hostage.

Just as the Christian churches held the souls of their members hostage with sin and guilt, so too did the government with its citizen's bodies. We can look back on many of the popular Sci-Fi and horror cinema of the 50's and clearly observe blatant government propaganda at work. Post war America's ambitious desires for overseas resources during an era of Jim Crow, endorsed and promoted by the government had little issue dehumanizing those in non-white countries, whose resources were felt going to waste by its uncivilized savages.
Where logic won't carry a reasonable argument for neo-colonialism in the modern age, Christianity was always a useful tool to overcome obvious ethical concerns when stealing what the other fella has got. Reason requires proof and evidence, Christianianity can rely on faith. And when applied in settling the debate on the worth of a heathen Indian's life, Manifest Destiny will do just fine.

By the middle of the 50's those pesky negoes were once again demanded to be heard. They simply, according to much Southern complaint, couldn't leave well enough alone. Prevailing thoughts from southern leaders in political circles simply were not ready to believe that the reason black people in America wanted a dignified existence in a country that hated them. Because after a four centuries of supplying its primary economic and sexual workforce, as human property, many felt they deserved better than a bullet in the back or the swinging end of noose. Especially those who proved their valor in the previous World War, where upon arriving home they discovered their position to be no better off than Jews in Mid-30's Germany.

The 50's saw the brief arrival and departure of the Dixiecrats. Southern democrats that could not abide the treasonous political position that black Americans ought to have their humanity recognized. The Dixiecrats joined a political group they felt had finally seen the light and merged with what we now know as the new Republican party. The old republican party used to be advocates for racial equality (I suppose.) Now they are not.

Reagan's dream of the 50's was just that. A dream. Like Germany under National Socialism which is the code word for Nazis. Just as criminal, predator, and welfare state was an obvious code for degenerate blacks throughout the 80's and 90's for republicans.
The 50's saw the end of the red scare used against American citizens too intelligent to swallow government lies in the face of its own willingness to promote and endorse racial and gender intolerance at home. (At least the overt kind.) By the beginning of the 60's America's ideological landscape would undergo a profound shift that would take the Republicans nearly three decades to undermine. If one wants to know what kind of America they are striving to recreate, then all one has to do is think back onto a period of time just before the reforming changes to find out.

One may say that the writers on the left probably aren't as culpable of myth-making themselves but at least you know you can have the discussion with the left in a way that's impossible with the absolutist, declaritist mentality of the right. It helps at this point to make a few observations about right wing conservative thought. We'll start with the concept of Neo-Cons.

This new version of the same model can be said to be the rights' intellectual base. They certainly appear to have the guise of scholarship, and their demeanor suggests something different That the loud screaming, ranting bible shaking versions of the former model. The left, from their point of view, always seemed foolishly convinced that their view of the world is one, which evil can be psychoanalyzed out of existence

Neo-Cons picture themselves as realists. There are evil people in the world and there are people with whom reason cannot be applied because their version of the world is too horrifying to consider ever compromising with. They must, these regions of evil dictators and terrorist regimes, be utterly destroyed to prevent them from obtaining the means to launch an attack on us.
As they surely will, because, you know, they're evil.

Just like blacks who won't except their place within the ideological universe created for them by superior whites.

Neo- cons also can sidestep the issue involving contemporary Conservative's racial bigotry by distancing themselves on the basis that this new version does not endorse the old version's past racism. Which is strange considering how I've yet to hear or see a Neo-Con defend any black person's civil rights position let alone actively seek to promote healthy dialogue with different social groups of blacks other than those internalizing the philosophy of the hard right.

But like the traditional conservatives, they really think the country was founded on Christian values. (Sometimes they add Judeo, when they're feeling a little less Germanic). If you ask a few Republicans what they believe were the principle values America was founded upon, more often than not, you will get freedom, justice liberty and democracy. If you pose how such were ever true considering that America either endorsed slavery (there were some free states) and racial prejudice for virtually its complete history until (presumably) the last twenty or thirty years? What you may get is some abstract reply about the times, and the country's effort to overcome the stain of its past.
If you ask which political party in the last 50 years was the greatest impediment to all the efforts to overcome that past, you probably won't receive an answer. If you ask which political party was the greatest impediment to recognizing the contributions other ethnic or gender groups played in making America better. You will not receive an answer. If you ask which political party is the greatest impediment to scientific research and scientific funding, or the development of artistic expression or cultural pride by other ethnic groups, you will not receive an answer.

What you will get is a lot of baseless accusations about the moral fabric of this and the moral fabric of that becoming endangered by liberal ideology. When a Neo-Con approached me and asked why I hated America so much. I replied thusly: You might first want to define what you mean by America. If you're saying I hate the government. Then yes. I hate the government. But that's not the same as hating America. The government isn't America, its people is. The government is suppose to equally represent the best rational interests of the people the politicians represent. We all know that they serve their own interests at our expense. If you define America, in terms of its history, only an insane person of my color could love a country that decided the limits of black humanity at three-fifths.

Neo-Cons and Republican conservatives alike can't abide their place in recent American history starting around 1950. That's why they don't talk about it realistically. Instead they pretend it didn't happen or that they were misunderstood. When they say, with something like astonishment that they don't understand why its so hard to get black people to vote for them in higher percentages, its almost like asking a rape victim why she won't give her rapist another date.
The funny thing is, Republicans are the first ones to believe lifelong condemnation for sexual offenders is appropriate to the point of creating the most hostile environment possible for those that served time for their crime. That no sex offender can be rehabilitated. If this is true how can they accept Thomas Jefferson who repeatedly had sexual dominion over Sally Hemmings who was reportedly only 14 when Jefferson raped her. (Because that's what we call any sex with a minor today.) Or more recent, how can they continue to think well of Strom Thormond, who got a 15 year old black girl pregnant?
What Republicans have accomplished in terms of painting the most negative stereotypes onto blacks in America have allowed a great portion of American society to mistreat its own citizens to such an extent that its impossible to believe a Republican sincerely can change. Because like that sex offender they can't believe can change, blacks can't believe it of Republican politicians. And just as Republican politicians tend toward a belief that rehabilitation and reform is just an unrealistic leftist fantasy that can't work. So too do blacks believe a rehabilitated Republican politician is just one in an arsenal of deceptions that is best not to seriously consider.

(Written by Lord Els Gray)

(Illustration "Relapsed Madeline" by Adam Narcross)

I'LL TAKE YOU THERE (Part Four -A)

2006-09-26T19:37:00.000-04:00

I was mortified.

"I was not chasing, A all over Africa, I lied.
Lady Beaumont wasn't having any of it. But she nodded doubtfully. Then said, "There's nothing wrong with it dear, men have been known to go to the ends if the earth for the woman they love, that a woman may do as much shouldn't be regarded as--- desperate."

Honest talk from a woman whose honesty was only so good as the benefits directly gained when deceit proves trying. But Lady Beaumont was not completely dishonest. She was not, as can be thought, a gossip. These bits and pieces of life observed in the round was just so many anecdotal observations of whimsy belonging in a strange book of hours she kept inside of her head. Lady Beaumont is a woman whose innate curiosity was satisfied without much in the way of modesty. A few months ago, there was some rather heavy talk about women as lovers. When a question was put to lady Beaumont, whose opinion generated a better sounding once given, She laughed in her high lilting manner. "My, Charlotte, how should I know what such things are like? At any rate, I've spread my legs far too often for men before I met my present husband to go about having to get used to some radically different flavor at this point in my life."
We were having one of our conversational dinners while the men were out on the terrace with their fashionable cigars, no doubt speaking in that way men do when they rather us girls were not around. "Lady Beaumont, I must say I'm rather taken aback," Lady Charlotte admitted, honestly surprised. "You've always been an attractive person, and you did attend Catholic private school. Certainly there had to have been plenty of opportunities for you to try it on with the other hot numbers with you."
"No, I'm afraid, darling Charlotte that I cruised through primaries with my honor intact. Its not something I'm particularly proud of considering that I quite found myself drawn to those many candidates of which you've spoken of."
"And now you can offer no statement for lack of even remedial experience," Charlotte said a little too triumphantly.
I, myself had paid little attention to this discourse, as I was engaged in another pocket of converse with an older woman speaking about her son's impending marriage to a lower class piece of trash, a prospect she was very much unappeased by. "So many properly bred women, and he has to go and select one from the lower orders. Its not that I, God forbid, want to get in the way of his freedom of choice, but you must see how this reflects badly upon me. It gives an appearance that he wasn't raised correctly. I understand this person I will have to tolerate as a daughter-in-law graduated from a---," the old woman gulped as though the very words were beneath her to say. "---technical community college."

It was at that moment, Lady Beaumont, whom, I must now confess was sitting beside me tapped my shoulder. As I turned, I felt her lips press against mine. Her lips moved lovingly with a degree of tenderness that confused my mind. When she broke it off seconds later, I sat stunned and embarrassed. "Lady Beaumont," I cried out, dabbing my mouth with a napkin.
" Well, Lady Charlotte," she went on as though nothing significant had occurred, "I can now say I've tasted the fruits of my own gender, and I can say with experience that the whole woman on woman thing is probably an acquired taste."
"Do you think you will acquire a taste?" Lady Charlotte inquired with one raised eyebrow.
Lady Beaumont sat in thinking silence for over three minutes, and then she announced after careful and thoughtful consideration, "no, I don't think, I will. But then again, --- I do like sushi."

Dirty little children in Tangier run about with their hands out, begging, mostly for money, almost never for food. On my way to the Petit Socco of the Medina, a gaggle of these little creatures buzzed about Trevor and myself like chattering mosquitos. Trevor was flashing his arms about, "go away!" he shouted. It was no use, like strong desire, denial is not a good enough reason to abandon the attempt.

But amidst this scene were in fact an idea of living through this colorful moment, whatever the bother. I shopped like a little girl, always marveling at the knowledge that I was at a place where the culture ran so deep and ancient like nothing I've experienced back home.
I watched the services along the entry courts leading to the well-ornamented Mosques, where everyone knelt in harmonius union to Allah. Then the most beautiful swelling of voice, carried as a devotional poem of song rang out. It was the Muslim call to prayer.
Ahead almost twenty meters I saw, A observing the ritual with a level of respect, I thought was too uncharacteristic for a freebooting social pirate. Trevor caught sight of him too and commented, "he really ought not to suck up to the natives that way, they might get the wrong impression that they're equal to us."
"I wasn't aware that they ever thought of themselves that way," I mentioned.
"Honey, of course they know it, Their children know it too. You can tell by how many you don't see running up to their own kind with their skinny little hands reaching for legal tender."
"But you can find begging in any part of the world," I claimed.
"Yes, but not as a wholesale way of life," Trevor snorted feeling satisfied and superior. "Back home, begging isn't about --- this.--- Its about a lack of pride, a reduced sense of principles. Its that lack of integrity, which is our strongest indicator proving that those born into the lower levels are by nature lacking in qualities natural in a well bred man of distinction."
"But A is black and everywhere he is thought of nothing else but a man who epitomizes character and distinction, is this not contrary to the view you've made on the basis of privilege birth in contrast with the common herd?"
"Ah, Michiko, you are still young yet," he sighed with patient confidence, "sometimes, distinction reaches deep down into the gutter and makes a proper man out of the soup of rabble. Remember, even quantum physics allows that in enough time a monkey may write Shakespeare"
"And does quantum physics also say that in enough time a dunderhead Anglo might grow a big enough dick so that it cuts down on the high probability that little greedy Anglo girls don't have to keep running off behind you backs to get in a proper fu--"
"MICHIKO! What's gotten in you?"
"I'm sorry Trevor, I don't know what came over me, please forgive me. Its just all this talk about the common this and the inferior that, which bothers me."
"Then we shall speak of it no more," Trevor assured me, kissing me lightly on the forehead.
"Its a wonder I actually let you stick your dick into me," I said meekly.
Before the next morning, that man, A was going to stick his fingers in, followed by an intrusion of his own member.
And soon after that my life would take one of those unexpected turns that would reveal to me the depths of my own soul.

I marched up to him two years later at the dinner party after the hunt, after the little debs had been sent off to bed, and Lady Beaumont swirled away into the arms of her husband.
"A," I demanded, "was there another woman in Africa?"
He had been listening to Alex playing the piano with one drink in his hand and a cigar in the other. A small crowd had gathered and, A glanced at each of them as if to discern whether anyone else wanted to know.
"Africa," he said staring off, "that was a while ago.
"It was two years ago"
"There were lots of women, I recall, why do you ask?"
"You know why."
"Oh, yes, I remember, it was that Tangier thing, back then you were afraid of the world, and I did you a favor so that you could finally grow up and become a real woman."
"And what the Hell does a man know about what makes a real woman?
"Enough to know when she couldn't stand up for herself if it meant risking social status and public approval and recognizing the difference when she does."
"And you think you're responsible for that?"

A year ago I was collapsed in the middle of the Sahara.
When I arrived in Egypt some weeks later. Lord Douglass made his personal diary available to me. He said he thought it was fair, and that he disagreed with A's decision at the time, but despite his doubts, A's decision to leave me out there proved to be correct.
"But I was dying," I told him stunned and angry.
"Yes, you most certainly were dying," he chuckled.

(From the entry of Lord Douglass.)

Our caravan came across the body of a young woman during the night. Our Guide informed us that she looked oriental-Asian, and that she had run out of water during an inexplicable attempt across the desert. That was when, A leapt from his camel and revealed that she probably tried crossing it in the heat of the day.
When he turned her over, he immediately recognized the girl and after confirming that she was still alive, he ordered some water brought to her. I was initially proud that he treated this poor wretch with tenderness until when one of our guides began to make arrangements to bring her along. A said, no leave her where she lay. I protested of course, saying sir, a gentleman does not abandon a lady in the middle of Hell. A replied that Hell is what she tried to cross and Hell is what she'll have to finish crossing.
One of the servants decided to leave the poor thing with a canteen full of water. But A insisted on taking the canteen and pouring half of it out. Shocked I demanded to know why. A said, that if she awoke to a full canteen she'd be dead in three days. With it only half-full volume she'll be forced to conserve and conservation will save her life.
We left her there. And later A confronted me, explaining: If there was nothing a person could do for themselves in dire circumstances, then by all means all aid should be given over to rescue that person. But if there is a chance a person may save themselves, whatever the discomfiture, then by all means if you truly care for them, let them save themselves first.
In my heart the desert has always been the fire and ice that forges a man's soul. The richest man may go forth until that hot anvil ever scortching above and below only to meet a freezing companion in the endless refrigerator of night. The proudest are humbled and the arrogant brought to lose with hubris. The desert filters out the unworthy and allows those whose strength of conviction drive them to the brink and beyond. A katana of the soul is either a result or not. If not--- the desert claims both souls and body without regard to status or position.
The crude spectacle of a person goes in the furnace and freezer, what comes out is a human being. A real human being. A real man or a real woman.

(entry ends)

In the present moment I watched A's attention become distracted. The small crowd parted and up came Lady Valance. I recognized her as A's date in Tangier. She looked me over with an approving smile. "Michiko, dearest, you looked absolutely to pieces during the hunt this morning, absolutely smashing.
"Lady Valance," I blushed, confused. "I do not recall seeing you at the clubhouse."
"Oh, I arrived late in the day for that one. And riding really isn't my thing. Too much of a spectator I suppose. But I saw you and the rest making a fine call of things. I'm very impressed." She wound one arm around A's and announced, "its getting rather late boys, so you'll have to excuse me for stealing your prize stallion. After all --- a girl shouldn't miss a good ride twice in one evening." Lady Valance flashed a proprietory smile at me as she pulled, A away and up the stairs heading for the guest room.
One of the fellas nudged me, saying, I never thought the old boy would settle down."
"Settle down?" I inquired.
"Didn't you know? They're getting married day after next. Well, I suppose after all she's been through to land him its just as well."
I watched them ascend up the spiral stairs and vanish down the upper hall. "Oh, really?" was all I could say.
"Yeah, its like I said, after all the pain and suffering she went through to get him, ---- I don't think anyone has suffered as she has for so much."
I was staring at the empty space they left behind. I frowned, angry and said, "and she still has Hell to look forward too."

(To be continued...)

(Written by Michiko Katsuhito)
(Translated by Archie Summers)

(Meanwhile... Okay our illustration is an old one by Adam Narcross. Sorry for the repeat but some interesting things have cropped up on the technical side. The computer we're using at Blackburn is brand new. And because nobody in the group is tech savvy, we've only recently just learning that Windows XP isn't compatible with out Windows '97 scanner. Which means no new scanned illustrations until we update the scanner.
Of course this means a minor delay in new illustrated content. The new scanner will arrive much sooner than later, until then we're running repeats. So please be patient with us. Trust me its well worth the wait.

Richard Everest
Lone Sloan Delirius

The Plural Singularity

2006-09-22T20:48:00.000-04:00

How many times do we say "I love you," over those span of years from early childhood to cynical adulthood? How often do we mean it, and in meaning it picture our futures with that object of ultimate affection?

Even as I look my lover in the eyes and say it with halting voice and hopeful conviction, I must wonder, I have to wonder, if I really do, or only, as with those lovers of past times, only think I do.

What's more, as he says it to me, does he, in fact, only think so, too?

It feels perfect, I fit with this man, I am certain I'm complete in every way, with him. So I don't resist when he reaches out for me. I willingly submit, even as I push my doubts down so that they won't get in the way of what he's going to do to me.

Look, look, this is a part of my life. The explicit part, waiting to cross over the lines of polite accounting and into the bliss of illicit testimony.

How then should I break it to you, of the kisses, tender as the woman from my first carnal encounter. Can a man such as he really have lips this soft? He does, he proves it, and I open my mouth to milk the sensation of pressure and elaborate texture combined for arousing pleasure.

Oh, how just this closeness, this intimacy of something so simple as a dance of lips, mouths and tongues heightens a need in me, inside of me, through me, for more of him. My breath catches, my heart races, tripping unevenly, pounding anxiously within my chest where my breasts heave and fall.

I'm saying something to him, I'm urging him on and he tells me, his own voice cracking with anticipation how much he loves me. But life is no fairy tale, I say to him while he's pushing me back ever closer to the bed. His response is written out with moist kisses trailing from my neck, down until he presses his lips just above the swell of my breasts still covered with my blouse.

I throw my head back, my arms curl around his neck and my hands and fingers comb through black wavy hair. The texture of skin and hair, their wonderful contrast, along with salt taste of skin, wet lapping tongues and discretion melting as I do, on the bed, under him within a midst of clothes struggled out of most impatiently.

Take those off, I say, ---lying on my back but propped up enough to see him straddled over my long dangling legs. I say, practically demand, show it to me, I want to see it. Take it out. I go on as his fingers unlock the safe of his jeans to tell him, I want to---- touch it,--- feel it in my hands,--- hot --- hard and protesting at my very contact.

I am obliged, and my earnestness is rewarded only to discover in sensation for taking it with an intent of claim, his erection triggers within me, a deeper want of sensual craving. Its not enough to hold it IN my hands, its not enough to feel its heat as I stroke it and hear from him his increasing desire. No--- I've got to --- must--- consume the vital part of that anatomy with my own. I lunge forward, almost leaping to get my legs under me so that my mouth can close around the object transfixing my attention.

His breath hitches too. A sound, raw and animal issues from his mouth even as my own sucks and licks every impressive inch of his flesh, down there. I feel his hands move through my black short cropped hair. He can't help it, ---- I know that, ---- he pulls me closer forcing more of his hard length into my mouth. For his transgressions I move my hands along the underside of his taunt ass until my fingers slide along the crevice to mischievously push down and inward, My selfish desire to penetrate this man who says he loves me, sends his hips into a spasm of tormented movements. His throbbing cock pulls from my mouth just a little, my saliva mixed with a thread of his pre-cum glistens between he and my parched lips. His face tells a story of excrutiating exuberence accented by the sight of my pierced tongue, reaching out to close the short distance. I lathe the head of his cock, lapping, at it, sliding it over and under his shaft, moving down to gather his balls into my mouths, while my finger continues to pulsate in his anus. This is an activity I have yet to understand why I should like it so much. When i was younger and finally was afforded an opportunity to see a penis up close, I couldn'r stop laughing, all the while thinking, so this instrument is what the fuss is all about? Even in my dismissiveness, I quickly realized that a day seldom goes by where a man's cock is not on my mind.

I think I hear him beg me to stop, but its obscured by his cries of release as my face and open mouth are viscously assaulted with hot ropes of spurting cum. Eagerly my mouth closes over his dispensing fount. And I can taste him, hot, exotic, forbidden slide over my tongue and down my throat.

I milk as much as I can from him with my sucking mouth, I try to drain him until he dies. I like hearing him pant like an animal running down his prey and losing it. A man's orgasm is still a mystery to me. It must be different for him than for myself. I suspect his cumming is far more complete. There's virtually no doubt with men that an orgasm can be taken for granted. But it says something about me too, doesn't it. It used to tell me that I had a power over him, but now it reveals for me that it was never about power as it is about what he sees deeper inside of me, as a person, as an object with a heart and mind that he respects. At least that's my fantasy of it. Maybe its true, maybe during that epoch of closeness nothing matters, and what ever matters is never as good as that brief release where nothing can. Looking, I see his thighs tremble before he pushes me away and I fall back wickedly laughing onto the bed.

He tells me he's not finished yet. I start to move but he grabs me---pulls me close enough to strip off my bra. My nipples are dark and hard. They always jut outward announcing themselves no matter what I wear. I've never minded. I like the way I'm looked at by those bold enough to stare. My own set of erections are attacked by his mouth now. I press against him, again, running my hands over his skin my mind marvels at how similar we are and yet so different. His is like an alien presence while my own familiar body is a topography whose plains and valleys can only be matched by those of my past lovers, back when I easily succumbed to pleasurable gratifications from lust hungry girlfriends.

He tells me I'm beautiful. That I'm incredible. He's bearing his soul, yes, yes, yes, he's telling me words laced in arsenic and honey. I'd like to die like this, I think. Even if what he's saying is truth only for the occasion and no further, I don't care. I can't care. My legs are open, my thighs are spread, I'm a lewd Bitch who must be fucked now. I command it, petulantly. I'm pulling him up on top of me, I need to feel his weight, I want to be trapped under him, pinned to the bed so that I can't escape. So when he pushes his rock hard cock into my beckoning pussy, I'm forced to accept the situation, a circumstance where only the act matters and yesterdays are burned into ashes of void and the future collapses into an eternal present.

He's deep inside of me, pumping his cock with wanton depraved animal lust. I grind my pubis against him, while both our mouths kiss and groan in mutual satisfaction and building tension. My hands clasp his ass and he plunges in and out, until I cry, in the kind of sharp agony I beg to be repeated. Spurred on by my quaking climax, he fucks me with more urgency. The bed withstands this punishment. I can't think anymore, words are becoming difficult to reconcile with sensation. How many times can you say cock, pussy, and cum before the repetitive elements distort a unique experience into just routine sex?

There is a way this is happening. A way that I feel his balls slapping against my ass or the way my legs encircle his pistioning hips. The way, this description of this 'way' isn't generic, and to call it special is to join an infinite category of specials dominating everyone's ideal of great fucking. What does it matter? I don't even care if he loves me or not. At the specific moments where his cock pounds into me, escalating into a man's version of staggering release, love is just an excuse we both used to turn mutual desire into an ethical choice. Between us both, --- as we screw with abandon, --- while I can still taste the blasts of come in my mouth, --- love is just that thing meant as a trigger.

Again, oh again unexpectedly he sends me over the edge. My thighs quiver, my head thrashes about. I'm begging him to stop, please! I shout, I cant take this anymore. Get off of me!
No --- he will not get off of me --- until he gets off on me.

God his cock is so big! Maybe I'm merely imagining it that way. What does it matter? I'm cumming too violently. I worry I'm going to die again. I've felt this way before with past lovers who are good at fucking. So as with them I feel the warmth of spewing liquid beneath my ass. It drenches his charging cock and battering balls. It does something to him. He shudders, plunges deeply into me. I try to push him off but he's too heavy, I'm pinned beneath him. I don't want him to cum inside of me, but its too late.

I feel his cock swell and burst sending hot cum pulsing up inside. Its too much for me, and I cum again too. He continues spurting until there's more than my pussy can contain. Our combined juices flow out from me and around his still hard penis.

After a while as we lay there in each others arm I stare up at the ceiling. I wonder if he's gotten me pregnant. I can still feel the oozing flow between my thighs. I find it strangely alluring and I'm turned on a bit thinking about it. He's half-asleep but what of it? Absently my hands, as though they have a mind of their own reach down to find his shaft. I position myself to face him. Moving closer, I stroke his abused rod once more into firm steel. His hips gyrate to my touch He nestles his face into the hollow of my neck and I feel his hands slide up between my thighs. I try to keep my legs from opening, I don't want him to touch me, not there, not where I'm raw and sore. But he forces his hands up into me anyway.

I pump him faster as his fingers gently massages my clit. I sigh and moan with him as I shudder in climax even as I feel hot spurts against my stomach and hands.

He tells me he loves me. I tell him I love him too. I suppose we both mean it. It seems as though its sincere. Its hard to tell when I keep getting lost in his loving gaze. He doesn't see that I'm rubbing his cum into my stomach where perhaps the cum inside might or might not be making his baby.

(Written by Li Zhao)

(Translated from Chinese by Archie Summers)

(MEANWHILE... LSD would like to thank everyone who has sent us e-mails this past week for their support. Because most of the e-mails Adam has received (because he's where all the e-mails for the group goes) are pretty excessive in length, it was felt a burden to place them in comments. But perhaps we'll do a letters version in one of the upcoming entries.

Again thanks everyone for the support. Its nice to know we have a few readers who see something significant with what we're doing. So to show our appreciation I'm going to answer a few questions from some of the e-mails we're received.

(IS IT TRUE THAT LSD IS A PRO MALE SITE, AND DO YOU ANTICIPATE PROBLEMS FROM FEMINISTS?

Hmm, well, okay, yes, LSD is a pro-male site. By that we mean that we're conscious of a part of society, where a reasonable male point of view isn't invited in the discussions about men by women. As a result, a lot of misconceptions based on gender stereotypes have entered the public consciousness and therefore hampered equitable discussions between the two genders. Its sort of like how white people seem only willing to speak about black race issues exclusively with other white people. Doesn't really make sense, does it, especially if you claim to want to find common ground.
As for problems from feminists? I doubt any would actually give us a chance anyway. And for those that should, they will discover an environment completely unhostile to women because at LSD we behave from the vantage point that our actions should be based as though gender difference isn't the same as human or mind difference.

THE OTHER DAY KATHY SHOWED ME SOME OF ADAM AND LI ZHAO'S' PAGES FOR THE ILLUSTRATED LAZY GEISHA TO GET A SOUNDING. ARE YOU GUYS REALLY GOING TO RUN THAT OPENING SEQUENCE?

By now a few people from the Pro Shop have seen Adam and Li's opening sequence and no one was probably as shocked as their teammates. When I saw it, I was both excited and a little scared. No one saw this coming. As far as I know it runs about 12 pages and every page was like fire in my hands. Lord Els saw it when he got back from holiday and actually asked if Archie and Alex were serious about running it. The consensus so far was yes, wepre running it. We didn't decide on LSD to be a place where we wanted to play it safe.

WILL WE STILL GET TO SEE ADAM NARCROSS' DRAWINGS AT THE BEGINNING OF EVERY POSTS? I DIDN'T"T REALIZE HOW MUCH I LIKED HIS WORK UNTIL YOU WENT ON BREAK. PLEASE TELL ME HE"S GOING TO HAVE MORE.

You know what they say: you never miss the water until the well runs dry.

Adam plans to produce as much artwork as he can. Before break he was preparing for an exhibition of his paintings, and when Michy injured her leg he spent a lot of time by her side instead of the drawing board. Actually none of us truly went on a break. We spent the last few weeks actually preparing content for this FALL. In about a week to ten days you will see the fruit of our collective efforts.

ON A PREVIOUS POST IT WAS WRITTEN THAT LSD WASN'T AN EROTICA BLOG. IF SO, WHY IS THERE SO MUCH EROTICA WRITTEN IN PREVIOUS POSTS?

We've gotten into a lot of trouble for saying that. But the main reason was gone into with detail in the post mentioning that. To clarify, the problem with saying this is an erotica blog is that it presumes the members of LSD spend a lot of time and effort on just sex. Not that it means such is the case for blogs that are proclaimed erotica blogs, but for us to attempt to be we feel would be misleading to people.
While it is true erotica does get written a lot, look at who's writing them... All LSD girls. Why? Because, according to them, they were undergoing a profound shift in their attitudes towards their own sexuality inspired by Salacious Desires and Lazy Geisha to name a few. They have also added as a cultural political issue that few women of Asian ethnicity, in part or whole, express their sexuality independent of preconceived cultural definitions. It is their opinion that sexuality is universal and often they play with themes of sexual propriety as a class and social illusion meant to justify moral claims made by those who need those stereotypes to further more commercial ends than true social observations.

WHAT IN THE HELL IS THREE CRAZY ASIA?

Michiko Katsuhito came up with the term, I think. The story goes that Michy, Li and Yoriki were at the Pro shop bouncing around all sorts of ideas for the graphic novel, then in its early stages. They were very drunk and Li was tossing off a lot of sketches and some sorority girls who were also drunk asked what was all the commotion about and Michy said aloud in pigden English, "Three Crazy Asia."
Ever since that's what they get called when they go out together. What's ironic is that they've only made reference to it about four or five times in the last six months.

I'VE READ SOME OF MICHIKO'S ESSAYS AND ITS SOME OF THE MOST POWERFUL STATEMENTS ABOUT GENDER POLITICS. WILL LSD POST A FEW OF HER FULL ESSAYS INSTEAD OF SUMMARIES?

If you think our standard posts are long now, then you know what her writing is like when she's on her own. The answer is, I don't know. But for those outside of the area who haven't read Michy's essays, basically they gained a lot of popularity because of its revolutionary rethinking on gender social politics. Essentially the main thesis is that the reason for and why gender conflict continues to exist is (1) because of class conflict, which details an economic imperative that creates the environmental conditions unfavorable to universal solutions. (2) Men are rarely allowed to take part in discussions by women about gender politics, often deciding the state of mind for men while decrying the same wholesale presumptions about themselves by men. (3) The ongoing hypocrisy from women activists that preaches reformist attitudes but refrain from practicing them when the reforms they encourage sometimes actively might benefit men. An example of this can be seen with how few feminist are willing to demand that a woman suffer as much as a man for having sex with a minor.
Michy has come under fire from feminist groups for her papers but in every open debate defending her position she's never lost. At base her position is that the problem deep at the heart of Feminist ideology is that it imposes a social position onto women as though their identity is fixed by a cultural template with the past as confirmation for present actions. Only by claiming one's identity external to fixed notions of rolls, constructs and self defined through relational values like feminist, anarchist, democrat, republican etc. Can people perceive a common humanity unrestricted by self-imposed or culturally imposed identities.

Well that's all for now. Until next time, please join us.

(Richard Everest)

BACK FOR DUTY

2006-09-20T19:42:00.000-04:00

The name is Lone Sloan Delirius

For those just passing through, and those who have visited us, we're BACK! Yes, all of us and we're rarin' to go. What's that you say? Oh no, not those crazy sods! Oh, yes, and crazier than ever.

To give a primer, LSD is a collective effort of those who are part of a weird social club made up of artists writers (fiction and non-fiction) historians, philosophers and--- well, mostly artists. We have no primary aim or agenda other than to enjoy ourselves posting things we usually share between ourselves. The subjects of interest are varied from politics, physics, art, cinema, literature and graphic novels. The variations can be as diverse as erotica to adventure.

Primarily we hope to offer something that is an alternative to original works shaped by commercialism and commerce as a motivating factor for our efforts. Which means there are certainly entries that are not always going to satisfy a politically correct sensibility. Occasionally we'll run across a site that we feel merits consideration and will provide an in-depth review. As a policy we don't slam other sites or offer negative criticism or personal attacks. If we like a site we say so and why. If we don't we just won't write about it.

You may have noticed that the present LSD has a considerably different look than the former incarnation. Sure its cluttered and chaotic, but hey, so what? We're a bunch of freebooters anyway and chaos keeps the mind from stagnation. Anyway, the look of the site will often be in flux as time passes to signify that like life, things change.

Now that everybody is back from hiatus, and the Fall season is officially here, you can look forward to some very provocative entries. Next week the opening sequence for "The Illustrated Lazy Geisha" will appear and trust me, no one saw this opening coming. And like "The Third Estate" and "The Inferno" these graphic novels will be serialized in eight to ten page segments weekly or bi-weekly.

between graphic novel entries will be art and essays, reviews and fiction. And as always we welcome any comments or suggestions about what we put here. All E-Mails and comments are read and responded to if desired.

Now at this time I'd like to hawk one of my favorite beautiful and talented sites. As far as I know, "Salacious Desires" has returned. YAY! And Nina at "Lazy Geisha" has taken her site and evolved it to another level commendable and well worth checking out. Plus, D. Brian Nelson's "Hotel Room Nudes" as well as his other sites continue to forge new paths in the field of a single man's detailed journey through the processes of art photography, philosophy, personal introspection and his relationship with distilling sexuality as an experience captured in his stunning black and white images.
We can't forget WoodNotWood. Please give her a look too. You won't be disappointed because her honest and candid explorations of her life's journey exemplifies what great blogging can be when the medium is used as a portal to open one's heart and mind to progressive ideas. And finally "The Speed of Dark" Fletcher is a great guy with a gift for expressing the transitions of his life without sugar-coating it.

There you have it. The danger is back the crazies are back and the fall season is going to be a blast.

(Richard Everest)

MORNING IN THE AERODROME

2006-09-19T01:04:00.000-04:00

Its the way the rain is coming down outside that makes sleep elude me. Its this terminal sensation, wrapped unforgiving in rapacious joy, unrelenting in its intensity that makes me say such things as these...
...Pretty words flowing from a pretty mouth, while a pretty person is on top of me, pounding away with the rhythm of all this rain, because we both can't sleep, and with nothing more intriguing to do, we do this.
I want to describe it as I've read it before by better people, who do such a marvelous job articulating the act of lust given wholly in too, but I'm not sure that I'm able.
I'd very much like to put into perspective how the weight of this man, I've only just met, at the aerodrome, expertly handles me, on this night without pretense ---that what it can mean for both of us is just beyond an alternative to sleep.
I should like to go on about his hands. I was surprised that he was able to manage it. Those hands seemed too delicate to draw out pleasure coated with my moisture.
I can't help thinking that in my surprise at his skills that he must have obtained his ability with much use, certainly with a lot of practice on other girls, where he cut his teeth perfecting the way he uses his hands on my body.
It can't bode well for me to come as quickly as I've done. I've clasp to him like a woman who has fooled herself into thinking, yes, this must be love... Surely with well practiced talent like this man, whose name escapes me, pounding into me, what else can it be?
But I'm not in love, its just the rain dashing against the window, creating an even hiss punctuated by deep rumbling far off somewhere above in the night sky.
I can tell you he surprised me more than once, this stranger. Our hotel room was mistakenly booked together, so through the usual comedy of errors we were forced to share the room, and since he thought title 9 meant that I should sleep on the couch instead of the bed, ("now that we're all equal,") he was happy to accommodate what is meant to be my status as an equal gender partner in conbined misery.
No, sir, I will not lower myself to sleep on a couch, I'll take my chances sharing the bed with you, I tell him with my hands on my hips, striking my best practiced defiant pose.
Then the rain starts and won't stop. We both pretend to be asleep and I'm not sure why it was that I chose to sleep nearly nude. Or why I kept inching against him, or even why when he settled the matter by shoving hard and deep into me I encouraged him.
Of course he made up for being a brute with those hands that touched everywhere, kneading flesh, making me cry out and thirst for more.
I try to remember lovers of my past who might have been better, but like sleep the inopportune nature of my mental requests escapes me too. In the throes of, what is poetically described as passion, I'm unable to find names dates and faces to the men of my past whose talent for better fucking can be measured against what I am experiencing with this man, whose name still escapes me.
You must understand that within the seizures of multiple orgasms, I would fail miserably to illuminate for any potential persons inquiring how big his cock is. I just can't seem to care, when its obviously being used to peak efficiency. I could not relate to you whether it mattered that he had a bit of a belly or washboard abs. He might be slowly balding, I can only suspect he's middle-aged, maybe older, I just don't care.
That he's putting it to me, but good, consumes my entire consciousness so that my awareness is drastically reduced solely to the carnal essentials. Only later will I wonder if he has kids, maybe a wife back in one of those factory towns. It may be amusing to imagine that he's going through the out door of a mid-life crisis. Yes, I'm the final fading specter of those diminishing opportunities he'll have with a young hot thang, before the effort appears too creepy, before our vain culture of youth appends him with synonyms relating to pedophilia, before any look too long our way imposes a reputation straight out of a Nobokov novel of ill-repute.
We are terrible in how we throw away the value of an older generation. Knowing full well if we live long enough, the freak show we ascibe to our aesthetics of aging will eventually claim us too.
Maybe that's why he's fucking me like he's struggling for anything other than a bronze medal. Or maybe he just wants to teach me what an experienced man whose been around the block a few times knows what to do.
Perhaps its all in my head
And its just two people having a good time.
While half a world away hardly anybody else is.

(Written by Susannah Davenport)

(Meanwhile.... Lone Sloan Delirius is speedily getting back together after our vacations and such. Thanks for being patient with us, and for the trouble our Susannah has been gracious enough to overcome her literary doubts and submit the above piece. Its our way of reminding our two or three fans that we're still in play. Archie Summers)

Busy, Busy, Busy, and To My Friend Fletcher

2006-08-19T23:24:00.000-04:00

Where has the time gone? Its been a while since our last post, and as anyone making their way to this side of town will notice there is no art today. At first I thought I should wait, but Adam and Michy are out of the state, and gave news that except for an upcoming exhibition, they will both do some traveling out west. As for the rest of the gang, pretty much the same. However, our very short list of two fans need not despair, Most of the Fall content is just about completed. Which leads me to another topic. Actually everything that has been appearing in the last few months wasn't actually supposed to be posted. Well, we did anyway as a gesture to our friends. Our original intention was always to sort of start with the Fall season and continue from there. Why? Because Fall is the time most of us have little to do and can create unfettered by any pressures stemming from previous commitments. That said I would like to take a little time to address a some issues. It had to happen someday and its finally arrived. We've received E-mails, that take exception to some of the topics that appear here, and while most are supportive, well, some just aren't. Hey, that's life, and no one here expects to produce something everyone is going to fully get behind. Collectively the letters are angry rants about the lack of erotica, or "what's all this political crap" type stuff. Let me be clear. LSD is NOT an erotic literary blog. What it is, is whatever it happens to be at the time anybody in the club wants to post. Another area of contention is Michy's ongoing story. Apparently a few militant feminists have expressed contempt for how she describes events from a class perspective. Also a few of these same ladies actually believe the story is a memoir of past fact. IT IS NOT. What it IS, is SATIRE. Her views on class and race are well documented in serious writings, which are too long to comfortably post here. Now, moving on. For those out there looking for angry man rants or proto-feminist ideology, go someplace else. Men and women contribute to this space with humor and fun in mind. This is not our jobs, and its not going to turn into one. That roughly translates into, LSD isn't vying to win a popularity contest. We made this place primarily for ourselves, and if Richie, or Alex drops in for a laugh, or I or Li, for instance, then we've accomplished what we've set out to do. So, I've said enough on that front. Now I'd like to address my good friend Fletcher, should he drop by. Life after a certain age can become nearly unbearable, especially when the mental image of our desires from the past seem unfulfilled. I don't suggest that specifically that's the case, I'm guessing. Be that as it may. Life lived in this world involves pain, sacrifice, and monumental periods of disappointment. Friends, parents, relatives die. Wives and husbands cheat, or sometimes relationships don't work out for other reasons than marital infidelity. Days drift into weeks, months, years with a steady progression of feeling beaten at every turn. At some point the ability to articulate despair consumes the creative impulse until it seems that's all there is to life. Eventually attempts to experience moments of genuine joy almost impart an undermining aspect to the long train of recognizing only what is wrong with the self or the worlds format, which conspires eternally to keep one's self cynical. Look, I risk being out of place to offer this advice. But here goes. Rediscover the courage within yourself. Stop believing that happiness can be delivered from external sources. Rediscover that ability that is already inside of you that can self-generate contentment, courage and personal esteem. There's nothing wrong with any of us until we trick ourselves into defining our true worth based on relational values. Too much of that sort of thing has commanded more than its fair share of lives for too long. Day after day we seek a solution to our problems from those who never allow you to participate in decisions of policy for the conditions that determine the degree of favor that may be extended to you. Time and time again the shifting standards force many to jump from foot to foot, hoop to hoop, always pursuing an elusive goal where at last we can be accepted, or we accept others. If some person doesn't like the way I look, or speak, or finds my clothes unfashionable, so what? I can guarantee that no matter how well I dress, speak, write, or look, there's going to be someone who disapproves. Sure we all know the fashionable dismissal of materialism, but few prefer to actually live without a degree of it. I'm no different. But I also know that despite everything I own, I've always had the most valuable asset worth defending and developing. And its my mind. You have one too. And it is from this mind, and that mind alone you, I or anyone else derive courage. Our shared sense of ethics will make tolerance to ideas a reservoir of inner strength. From that inner strength comes our capacity to stand up for ourselves and survive mental pain and anguish. But to do so, it is imperative that we place our faith in our own sense of self. Why believe everything some commercial said about how to improve your life that is made by someone who has never met you, and yet doubt your own interior courage? People can only be equal or by their own lack of motivation, inferior. Never believe that anyone is superior to you. Not me, not anybody. If you can't avoid some disappointments, know that no one can no matter how different or well off, or attractive they are. NO ONE AVOIDS SUFFERING. What you can do about it though is you can minimize it by remembering that the best remedy for diminishing pain is to confront it head on, challenge it, and look to learn from experience. I'm no psychologist. I don't know any fancy methods, nor am I actualizing a specific method for regaining inner courage. I've only my own experiences and since there is enough within those experiences that appear to reflect a common observation, I feel I am able to articulate others' feelings given enough information. Find the courage in yourself, and define your self on your terms, no one else's. Make the conditions for your aesthetic values, and you will jump through less hoops of fixed comparissons. When writing, write of powerful sweeping ambitions, and never mind the fucking bullock. Get used to reminding people who think they are arrogant and that you might not measure up, that "excuse me, this planet is mine and when I say GOD it the same as when, I say I! " Sure it will sound silly at first but the point isn't to prove anything, its to let superficial people know that you are the one in charge of the BIG DECISIONS of that thing in your head called a brain, NOT THEM. You are not an accident, and YES you should've made it, and what's more, everyday is always a new day to get it right. Dude its your party, and you have the whole party behind you, backing you up. In the new religion of you be the greatest example of personal faith and the biggest heretic in the congregation. Rock on. (Alexander Earl) (For those who haven't figured it out yet, LSD is on hiatus until the Fall. When we return there will be gobs of fresh new content and the wit and wisdom of the gang's summer projects will astound and amaze. Until then, keep watching the sky. The Gang)