The Rocky Horror Picture Show - Touch a Touch a (I Want To Be Dirty)

We just returned from the Rocky Horror Picture Show performed at the Chico Cabaret. We went with a friend who got us free tickets as her husband is playing in the band. It's always a fun, crazy time. This is my favorite song, Jerry's is Don't Dream It, Be It which is posted below. All the outrageous costumes remind me of the Folsom Street Faire (and Burningman), especially the young man in his whitey tighties. We finally won the 50/50 raffle where they split the door with the winner. Jerry had to get down on his knees in the middle of the stage and take it from the guys crotch to secure his winnings. Oh, the things we do for art. Then he gave his share back to the house.

Don't Dream It, Be It--Rocky Horror

A True Dimwit

From The Almond page 81:

It had been a few months since a dike had cracked inside my head, and my
anger was rising like a tidal wave. I held it against Imchouk that it had
connected my genitals with evil, had forbidden me to run, to climb trees, or to
sit with my legs spread. I held it against those mothers who watch the
girls, check their gait, palpate their lower abdomen, and eavesdrop on the
sound they make when they take a piss to be sure their hymen is intact. I
held it against my mother that she had all but armored my genitals and had
married me off to Hmed. I held it against ravens, toads, and dogs that they
were carrion eaters. I held it against myself that I had left school for a
husband and had said nothing when Neggafa put her finger in my cunt, just to
check that I was a true dimwit who accepted dying too soon.

A Second Heart Had Been Born Between My Legs

From The Almond, page 75:

I had just met the man who was to rend my heaven in two and give me my own body like the quarter of an orange. He who had "visited" me as a child, Driss, had come back to me.

I met him when I was very small, near the bridge that goes over the Harrath Wadi, one silent
night without stars. I had barely begun to go across when a hand grasped
my shoulder, It was very dark, and the wadi was exhaling its vapors, a flow
of hot water in
a stony, ice-cold
landscape. Even the rocks seemed to have stopped breathing. I said
to myself, "Here we go. You'll finally see that malevolent spirit,
the great Efrit with
his cloven hooves. He'll drink our soul and throw you in the wadi.
Your mother won't call your name again and will never see your body
anymore." But the hand let go of my shoulder, caressed my throat, and then
tenderly pressed down on my breast. My "fava beans," as they call budding breasts in Imchouk, must not have been
enough for that hand, for it fiddled with my behind for a moment before
snapping the elastic of my little girl's panties. Then it clung to my
sex organ, hairless and closed.

Feverish fingers wandered inside the furrow in the center, and their touch
was rather friendly. I closed my eyes, trusting and consenting. One
finger freed itself and ventured to an unfamiliar spot. I felt a slight
burning, but instead of closing my thighs, I opened them more. I thought I
heard the wadi sign and then burst out laughing.

Then the hand withdrew, and I sunk to the glazed grass. The sky began
to shimmer again, and the frogs started their concert anew. A second heart
had been born between my legs, and it was beating after a hundred years of
stupor.

I Am The One

Last night, as I waited for a date I meandered into the bookstore and found a book called The Almond, by Nedjma. It's about the sexual awakening of a Muslim woman. The book starts thus, with a quote from Cheikh O.M. Nefazoui from The Perfumed Garden:

Praise be to God who created the penis straight as a lance so it may wage war
inside the vagina....Praise be to Him who bestowed upon us the gift of nibbling
and sucking lips, of placing thigh against thigh, and of laying our scrotum down
at the threshold of the door of Compassion.

The author responds:

...I don't give a damn that Black women have delectablre cunts and offer
total obedience; that Babylonian women are the most desireable and women from
Damascus the most tender to men; that Arab and Persian women are the most
fertile and faithful; that Nubian women have the roundest buttocks, the softest
skin, and passion that burns like a tongue of fire; that Turkish women have the
coldest wombs, the most cantankerous temperament, the most rancorous heart, and
the most radiant acumen; and that Egyptian women are soft-spoken, offer
kind-hearted friendship, and are fickle in their constancy...

For I, Badra, proclaim to be certain of one thing only:

I am the one with the most beautiful cunt on earth, the best
designed, the best developed, the deepest, warmest, wettest, noisiest, most
fragrant and singing, the one most fond of cocks when they rise up like
harpoons.

The Sweetness of Waiting

Her car was parked out front confirming you were together.

The two of you locked in sweet embrace,

I smiled as the warmth spread in my chest.

I had forgotten something inside

but chose not to disturb you.

It could wait.

I could wait for you

as I waited for him.

I laughed at the sweetness

of our love.

Bakelite Incest

Last night I watched Savage Grace with Julianne Moore, directed by Tom Kalin. It's a dramatization of the Barbara Baekeland murder in 1972. Barbara was married to Brooks Baekeland, heir to the Bakelite plastics fortune. The couple had one child, a son, Antony, who was rumored to have schizophrenia but the father refused to allow him to be treated. They were an odd couple, Brooks was cold and distant towards his middle class wife who never quite fit in with his high society friends and she was prone to public emotional outbursts and sexual indiscretions. She sometimes forced the young Antony to read the Marquis de Sade to their dinner guests.

Over time Brooks not only left Barbara but also abandoned his son who was also showing signs of being gay. Barbara attempted suicide and Antony became not only her caretaker, but also, it is believed, her lover. The story goes that she at first paid girls to have sex with him to cure him of his homosexuality and when that didn't work she seduced him herself. In the end he murdered her with a kitchen knife.

Julianne Moore gave a hauntingly superior performance. She was fabluous throughout but when she straddled her son and slipped his cock inside of her saying "how does that feel?", Lord have mercy on those faint of heart. Mother-son incest seems exceptionally stunning and sordid to me. Not that father-daughter incest isn't just as sordid but... These were all very dysfunctional and complex characters to portray. The story is fascinating and mesmerizing. We musn't forget that human potential extends to each end of the spectrum.

I've read that Julianne Moore likes to takes risks with the controversial roles she accepts (obviously) without giving undue consideration to whether this will cause her husband and children embarrassment or make them uncomfortable in some way. Kudos to her choice. We are all the fortunate recipients of her incredible artistic talent.