My Self

This blog has often found itself becoming a meditation on exhibitionism.

Other people's and my own. It's an interesting wonder. It's allowed me to share the most intimate and embarrassing moments of my life with hundreds of strangers, things I haven't even told my wife. Things I wouldn't want to, and I'm not sure she wants to know.

Thing I barely am able to consider myself in the light of day.

Yet I turn inward and write of the people I fucked, the drunken messes and dripping embarassments I wouldn't want passed along.

The arrogant triumphs. The weird fantasies and hot flashes of horny thoughts.

The fleeting and passing spasms.

And in addition, I turn the camera to myself. And I am erect, I take my picture to show you my potent lust, my uninhibited relaxation. My horniness unfulfilled.

My attempt as expression and honesty. An anonymous fever dream doomed forever to not be reciprocated.

An empty collection of images and memories that you may take seriously or not.

I have some need to be regarded, to be lusted after, perhaps like all of us. To at least be considered in a sexual and physical and human if anonymous way. A carnal and bodily function. It is the beauty and the curse of the internet, being everywhere but nowhere within reach.

We are without personality... although all these words, this voice... it is the personality, the emotion, the connection. The me.

Unemcumbered and naked. Exposed and yet protected. Framed specifically and yet without borders.