The Art of the Award Winning Poet Igor Goldkind

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HONEST QUESTIONS DESERVE HONEST ANSWERS

QUESTION:

“Igor, Why are you smoking and drinking your self to death?
Smoking, if you don’t inhale cigars, can still give you bladder cancer. Tell tale signs are blood in your urine, often after about forty years of smoking.”

Writes Michael Brett 

michael, thanks for expressing your concern and I will answer your question as thoroughly and honestly as I can.


Well, for one thing, I don’t have blood in my urine.  Every body is different and reacts differently to different things.  For example, my body does not respond well to cannabis although people are constantly praising its health virtues and persuading me to replace it for my consumption of alcohol and tobacco.

Maybe it works for them but not for me.  I used to smoke cannabis, a lot of it. But if I smoke even a hit now, I lose focus for days. I become lethargic. I feel demotivated and lack self certainty.

I smoke strong chemical free cigarettes and high end Cuban cigars for. one main reason: The nicotine increases my focus. It also relieves the stress of coping with the seemingly endless stream of idiocies and obstacles that people and their bureaucracies hurl at me.  If human beings weren’t so maliciously stupid, needlessly cruel, deliberately ignorant and undermining, I probably wouldn’t smoke at all!

Likewise alcohol, I now drink nearly every day, but only after I’ve finished working, so around 5 or 6 pm.  I start work at 5-6 am each and every morning. 7 days a week. God took Sunday off which explains why the world is broken. Repairing the world is a 7/7 day a week vocation.

I drink only the best wine, tequila I can afford and only when I’m in Britain or Germany do I drink beer.  British real ale and German Pilsners are living nutrients; unpasteurized and nourishing to the body as much as the soul.

I drink exceedingly but seldom get drunk and even more rarely suffer hangovers.  The latter is down to the premium quality of the alcohol I consume.  All natural, no additives.  And yes, more expensive.

I drink for two equally valid reasons:

1.  I’m in pretty constant pain in my extremities, mainly my legs and mainly my right leg.  I was diagnosed with lymphedema last October. The American medical system has failed miserably in getting me even a lymphedema specialist. It also hasn’t provided a proper treatment for my condition. Nor even effective pain relief.

American medicine is only about money and the doctors, nurses and health practitioners care about little else than you insurance coverage.  It is a disgusting, mercenary, greed-fueled system that should be scorch-earth, burnt to the ground and built from scratch based on a nationalized health model.

But money breeds greed which necessarily breeds incompetence.  Beware getting ill or needing any kind of mental or physical health help in America.

You won’t get it unless you’re rich and even then, there’s no guarantees when it comes to American health care,  None at all!

So I drink as much as I do as a means of self medication.  When I find decent medical treatment for my condition in Europe, I will probably reduce, but not eliminate my alcohol intake.

In spite of my excessive drinking and smoking, my last physical in November, 2024 was according to my nurse practitioner, a  4 star ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️  result!

Blood, urine, stool test all came up trumps (and I don’t  mean Dumb-Hitler).  Blood pressure a little elevated but within normal parameters, cholesterol down, liver super fit, lung capacity excellent, could lose about 15 pounds of excess wait but I apparently have the body of a 35 year old.

That’s what having the right genes from a mixed racial parentage and  background gets you!

2.  The second equally valid reason I have for drinking in excess is that I’m lonely.  My last girlfriend, a Mexican beauty and mother of 2 from Jalisco dumped me because I wasn’t rich and had no intention of getting rich. We were still trying to be friends but I think she more recently decided that the time she spent with me was time she was losing finding a millionaire. She’s not greedy as she’s looking for a millionaire not a billionaire. But as with everything in America, money lies coiled at the roots of all value, even Love.

I am desperate for feminine companionship.  Not overtly, but inwardly desperate. I prefer the company of women to men.  I think that women in general, are better human beings than men are. I was raised by a strong, intelligent and independent mother and I am passionately attracted to the same type.  

I loved my baby sister, Natasha, now deceased, am on warm speaking terms with my ex wife and love my 25 year old daughter Olivia, more than my own life.

I treat women with respect, with consideration, with affection and when they are open to it, passion.

However, this has proved  no formula for success.

This is partly due to culture and geography.  Being trapped in Southern California for the past 8 years has been an emotional and sexual nightmare.

California women are by nature, defensive, suspicious to the point of paranoia (much of which is justified, considering mentality of Californian men!), spiteful, callous, cruel and rarely know what they want romantically, socially and most certainly sexually.

It is akin to a pandemic level neurosis.  I’m sure it is caused by the dominance of excessive consumption capitalism.  America is a Nation run amok with Hungry Ghosts wandering aimlessly in constant hunger for commodities that never satisfy. So that the sad ghosts are compelled to consume more and more and more.  As well as waste resources, energy and everything around them; including other people and even themselves.

I detect this neurosis most in women, because I am not physically attracted to men and therefore expose my self to more slings and arrows of overpriced fortune from women. Beautiful women; inwardly and outwardly. I say this because what underlines all the female Hungry Ghosts is money.  An insatiable desire for money and the companionship of men who can provide it.

My experience and impression is that without money, the Californian branch of the human tree would wither and die from lack of procreation.

I’m not calling Californian women prostitutes.  No, they’re far worse than that: they only give of themselves, their love, their affection, their emotional investment to the IMPRESSION of wealth and money.

Actual prostitutes are more transactional.  California women are constantly playing games, with themselves as much as others.  They live in a cacophony of mixed messages, confusion, self-loathing and  passive aggressive spite.  

Many appear to both fear and despise men at the same time. But rather than just leave us alone, they like to play cat and mouse games of allure and refusal as a means of compensating for a sublimated sense of power.

I am not the only man who thinks and feels this; btw, before you start hurling more misogyny cards in my hat.  Men, especially foreign born men, confess the exact same conclusions about Californian women when there aren’t any women around to overhear.

Even feminist women, who I admire and prefer, have great difficulties expressing what they want and Don’t want from a man.  There’s deep insecurity at the heart of the west coast female that more often than not, manifests as passive aggression and occasional overt aggression.

For evidence of this just read the comments from women that will inevitably follow in reaction to this post.

I will find a lover eventually, if not a partner, somewhere in Europe or possibly north Africa, soon enough.  Of that I have no lack of self certainty!  I was happily married to an English woman for some 18 years.  

I have a great deal to offer the “right” woman: intellect, humor, tenderness, insight and genuine affection. I have never been told that I am other than a passionate and satisfying love who gives more than he takes. Whose greatest pleasure is to give pleasure to the point of repeated climax. I am a gourmet chef for whom the greatest act of love (apart from the very act of love) is to cook a favourite meal for a friend for my family, for my lover.

I am very industrious, ambitious and am well on my way to making my career as that of a best selling author and successful poet.

But most of all I am kind.

I do not suffer fools gladly and I state the truth no matter how critical the truth is or how easily offended the recipient.

I feed and house the homeless when I can. I enjoy talking to young people both young men and young women who I speak the truth to regardless of what their elders or authorities think.

I am a critical thinker in the tradition and spirit of Socrates.

I question authority.

ALL authority.

I try my best to alleviate the suffering of others.

I regularly meditate.

I adore the arts and all forms of music (apart from breakfast cereal jingles).

I am the best Poet I have ever been in my life and my life is far from over!

I have very close ‘girlfriends’ and “admirers” in Holland, the UK, France and Algeria.  Some are with partners and therefore our relations are Platonic for the time being.  Others have issues of faith that prevent them from acting on their attractions and some. I just haven’t met…yet.

But I am actively looking, just not in California or the US, ever again.  So for both health and romantic reasons, to quote Robert Hunter “I’m going where the weather suits my clothes”!

Thank you and goodnight!


The Problem With American Women: The Commodification of Sexuality in American Culture

Of course I realize that this title was going to attract your attention.


But if you’re expecting a misogynistic rant about my failures to attract American women for sex, love and money while listing an arbitrary itinerary of American female failings (heads not flat enough on top to rest a beer on; always changing their minds from what I want to what THEY want; too busy working, taking care of children, cleaning the house, running errands and cooking to dress up in lingerie and give me a poll dance [double entendre intended]), then you will be sadly disappointed.


What James Thurber endearingly referred to the war between the sexes is a significantly different battlefield than in his age of single income affluence when women couldn’t own property without the consent of their husband or father or older brother.
Economically, socially, politically, psychologically and most importantly, sexually

My age grants me the memory of what there was before what there is now.
My adolescence coincided with the 70s, the decade in which the formant of social and technological changes of the 50s and 60s came to fruition into permanence in the 70s.


Readily available contraception, nascent computational technologies and the emancipation of the African American all spread ripples that were waves of change, like an asteroid had struck and plunged into the center of the collective, American cultural pool. African Americans and their other than colored allies, strode the lunch counters,school buses and schools that had been violently forbidden them.

The British adoption of the African American sound and its subsequent export back to America via the Beatles, the Stones and other blues based white boy bands infiltarted the American psyche.

Elvis Presley no longer played n*g**r music that stirred the white youth into sexual frenzy, but now was seen as performing classic Americana, to the extent that Richard Nixon invited him to the Whitehouse and made Elvis a federal cop.


Through the 70s I saw women becoming bus drivers, cops, doctors, lawyers, business women. I saw black faces on my colored TV. And the emancipation kept rippling. Homosexuality became Gay.

Mexicans became strikers, fighting for a decent wage.

Asians became Kung Fu fighters, although their star had to be David Carradine not Bruce Lee. Movies became the subversion of the times. Altman, Coppola, Scorsese, Woody Allen, et al chronicled the narrative of change and their audiences applauded in self-recognition.


But in many ways the change in over half the human population (51%) was most significant of all. As women regained their economic power through wider employment and enterprise opportunity coupled with their control over their reproductive rights, the right not to get pregnant from having sex, our society as a whole began to shift it’s world view.

The feminine became mainstream. Women were taken more and more seriously by men, not just as objects of desire and potential child bearing mates, but as agents of agency and volition all their own.

The masculine was being checked.


This however was no bed of emancipation roses.

With women gaining more social power, many men felt that the power of their patriarchy was under threat. Many men embraced the reality of neater, gentler, more considerate and nurturing values infecting the mainstream of alpha male dominance. But many more did not. As women gained prominence as agents of their own agency, many men began to begrudge the loss of their sex toys.


If women were less and less beholden to men for their economic and social status, then why should they continue sleeping with them or bearing their children?


So with the positive social changes came the desire to maintain control over what was being lost. What was being lost was the masculine dominance and control over the feminine. In response, men began to alienate themselves from the very people that they loved and wanted to be close to. The perceived loss of power trumped (pun intended), the loss of intimacy.


This was manifested by the explosion of the porn industry in the mid to late 1970s.
If women no longer submitted their sexuality, their reproductive volitions to men, then men needed to extract what it was that they thought they desired in women: their image, their sexuality, their allure.

Americans are the most effective industrializers of human commodities since Nazi Germany created their factories of death.
Capitalism has always been about two things: the assignation of value to market demand and second, the exploitation of labour for the sake of “surplus value” i.e. money, Capital.

Capitalism means money, the value of which supersedes all other human values as the ultimate measure of humanity.

.
In true American Consumer Capitalist fashion, America created the porn industry on an industrial scale, hiring women in the thousands to perform to male ideals, to submit to masculine desires.

Men, having lost the intimacy of their gender dynamic could now afford to “buy” the fulfillment of their assumed entitlement, their deserved desires. Even before the internet, (which ultimately bankrupted the porn industry by making imagery, the sound and motion of performative sex free), porn pervaded every corner of male culture.

If you are a woman or don’t know this already, you need to understand that every man you have every met or will meet, including your partner, your father, your uncle and your sons have masturbated to pornography until climax.


This is a fact, not merely my opinion.


There are no men who don’t use porn as a tool of literal self relief.


The problem of course congeals because porn is not sex; or rather it is feigned sex, performative sex. The actors who are hired to expose themselves, to engage in the myriad of soft to hard core scenarios that are delivered as commodities, don’t necessarily enjoy what they are doing. They’re doing it for the money, not the pleasure.


Of course, as in any acting, some performers are more fully immersed in their roles than others but the fact remains that without money, there would be no porn.

Pornography is the ultimate commodification of human beings.


I write this not as a Puritan (who have their own sexual problems). I write this as a partaker (seldom and less and less), but nonetheless a user of pornography.


I have watched pornography with women who claim, at least to me, that they enjoy it. But mainly they say that they enjoy my enjoyment of it. The more turned on I am the more turned on she is: and that’s the crux of the dilema.

Pornography is NOT sexuality, it’s not sex; it’s fake sex.

When fake sex begins to replace real sex we begin to lose our discernment of humanity on an emotional, visceral level.


There is no way I can make love, have sex with a woman without completely surrendering to my empathy for who she is as a human being. I want to use her for my own gratification, yes; but I equally want her to use me for her gratification. I desire her to desire me. The more she desires me,, the more desire I feel for her.


In pornography, fake sex, all the desire is one way.


There’s the object, commodified, paid for and thus acquired and then there’s the recipient of the product’s desire, who has paid for its delivery.
There’s no collaboration, there’s no carnal dialogue, no exchange and no empathy.
There’s no sex, really.

It’s Important at this Juncture to Address the Metaphysics of Sex and Sexuality.

The sexual act, when engaged in, is one of the most powerful psychological/emotional and physical behaviors that human being experience. Speaking phenomenologically, as a participant (rather than an observer), the human body undergoes dramatic physiological and chemical variance when sexually aroused and when engaging (again, NOT observing; ENGAGING) in sex.

Biochemically, the body’s hormones trigger a radical change to the body chemistry and psychological experience and behavior of the participants. When we are aroused it feels as if another force is acting through us. We lose our inhibitions and surrender to our senses. We are consumed by our desires for another’s body.

We become more in and connected to the moment of our gratification.

We become simultaneously emotionally charged and emotionally vulnerable. When we are with someone we trust, someone we have affection for, our emotions are hightened and stimulated into a state of adoration.

It is no coincidence that we culturally refer (across all cultures, by the way), to the sexual act as ‘Making Love’. Because it is precisely Love that we are experiencing during this hightened state of transcendental arousal.

Moreover, our senses become dilated, our focus dissipates into a primarily sensory experience. Our sense of time alters, even space appears to contract to the realm within reach of our senses.

As we reach orgasm we lose our normal sense of self and can experience the melding of one into two and then into one. Most of all, we experience pleasure and ultimately ecstasy.

On an experiential level, good sex is psychedelic, reminding the body and mind of our natural lack of separation from the place and time we are in and who we are with. The spiritual value of good sex is better explored by the Hindus and the concepts of Tantric sex which really amounts to treating sex as a meditative activity, an active Yoga of mind, Spirit and mind.
In vino veritas.
Good sex is curative.
It relieves us of our daily suffering we have grown numb to. It relieves anxiety and fear, it grounds us in our own bodies and minds. But most of all, it connects us to another (or others) through a transcendence of our senses into a higher state of awareness.

Sex is the LSD anyone can take any time and still go to work the next day (or same afternoon).

Sex is so good for us, for everyone that of course, like LSD they had to make it illegal!


Or if not strictly illegal, controlled by the church, by the state and by the inhibitions of guilt and shame that were taught to us. Taught? Brainwashed, more exactly!


All of us have been abused into associating sex with shame.

Because nature wants us to fuck, urgently, imperatively; and nature must by every and any means, be controlled.

Good Sex is the key to the survival of our species. The primeval drive to procreate is so powerful that it even supersedes the mind’s normal self awareness of causality and consequence. We don’t give a fuck, we just want to fuck and that is where the social context steps in.

Such a strong, spiritual nay metaphysical, force that affects every aspect of the human’s being really can’t be controlled. One’s sex drive can be regulated, restrained even, but ultimately the force prevails or the subject becomes ill.

Sexuality has always threatened organized society precisely because everyone knows it can’t really be controlled.

The Bonono chimpanzees of Africa, our closest biological relatives on the planet spend most of their day fucking, when they’re not eating. Bononos fuck everyone, males fuck males, females fucks females, fathers fuck their daughter, sons fuck their mothers. A tribe of Bononos are a virtual ongoing orgy. Even when they’re not fucking, Bononos will engage is mass masturbation behavior especially when feeling anxious or fearful of predators.

This is what nature provides and what nature wants.

Now humans, on the other hand, have developed complex social labyrinths determining status and pedigree based mainly on language and power.

So the less Bonono and more human people became, the greater the need to control sexual behavior. Taboos evolved. Some pragmatic, such as the incest taboo; but others less so, like the pervading Victorian era myth that good women didn’t want to have sex.

With the advent of the so-called Sexual Revolution facilitated by the mass availability of the pill, as well as the misunderstanding of the anthropologist Margaret Mead’s study of the sexual habits of Polynesian people, sex once again began to assume its default position within human behavior. So ofcourse, the powers-that-be needed to exercise firmer control over what cannot ultimately be controlled.

The tragedy of the Human Comedy is that we always try to control what cannot be and should not be controlled.

Capitalism in its neurotic quest to commodify everything, conquered sex by commodifying it. By deconstructing the blessed act into it’s sensory components that could be sold piecemeal. Like a corporate takeover that strip mines a successful company for its assets. American Capitalism pornographies sexuality, made it an observer’s obsession rather than a participants spiritual celebration.

By disarming the subjective participant into an observer, our modern society is able to regulate our sexuality, determin fresh taboos and grant licence to what was previously prohibited as long as it can be sold for profit.

Thus homosexuality was allowed to be Gay.

Because Capitalism is an international conspiracy to dehumanize our species, the commodification of our sexuality is not contrained to American shores. It’s just much worse and more intense here.


American women especially, have been subjected to the most abusive dimension of this dehumanization. I speak from the personal experience of having lived in half a dozen mainly European cultures, having married an English woman and courted many a non American woman. (Well not MANY, but enough to draw an accurate comparison).

The American woman, having more recently reached a level of economic, ediucative and social emancipation (but still not paid the same amount for the same job as her male counterpart), determined to seize the reins of her own sexuality. And compared to the early 20th century, have seemingly succeeded in doing so.

Reproductive rights and women’s sexual health are currently political issues for the presidential election.
The great Sigmund Freud made his reputation and foundation of Psychoanalysis based on treating bourgeois (upper middle class) women for the affliction of “Hysteria”.

Hysteria was a common diagnosis in the early part of the 20th century and medical doctors all through Europe received the wives of welathy industrialists to cure them of this mass affliction. Brutal practices such as ECT and even lobotomies were applied to “cure” these poor, afflicted women.

The symptoms of Hysteria were depression, listlessness and non submissive behaviors. If a woman argued, then she might be suffering from Hysteria and rushed to an institution to be cured.

But one of the foremost symptoms of Hysteria as reported by the husbands of these unfortunate women of the time was seeking sexual attentions from their partners.


Yes!

Wanting to have sex with her husband, to surrender to that primal state of natural human being, was considered at one time a sure tell sign of hysteria and thus remedied by electric shock, ice water plunges and even lobotomy!

As I write this I shudder at the mere thought of the extremes of human cruelty and callous indifference.

Fortunately, Freud’s approach was to actually listen to his women patients and when he wasn’t prescribing them cocaine, he wrote down their words, their confessions into his famous case histories that eventually were the foundation of his “talking cure” and theories of child sexuality.

His daughter Anna Freud furthered her father’s paradigm-shifting approach and founded the field of Child Psychology, studying and reporting the effects of sexuality on our natures and happiness as adult individuals.

Freud famously posed the question “What do women want?” and ultimately through years of interviews and research, answered his own question.

What we all want, Good Sex!

So what’s the problem with American women?

They have been co-opted into the business of sex to the extent that they have begun to commodify their own sexuality and sell it to men. Not as prostitutes, although there are plenty of both male and female versions of this. No, they have begun to deconstruct their own sexualities as components to be observed, not loved, not actually fucked, but seen to be sexual..

They have harnessed the sexualities of alienated lonely, pathetic men into a market force that they can supply. Only Fans is just the latest example of this. American women have countered the tyranny of the patriarchal gaze by consciously manipulating it for their material gain. Emancipation has become self-slavery.

Sex is now a power struggle as to who dominates who, commercially, transactionally.


Instead of connectivity, of intimacy and shared sensualities, sex for the American woman has become transactional. ‘What do I get out of it?’, is as strong a calling as nature’s pull. Stronger in the form of manifesting neurotic behaviors such as manipulation, salesmanship, intentional confusion and chaotic communications.

Since sex is now a transaction, the only question becomes who gains the most?. Pleasure and fulfillment are secondary considerations. Intimacy, even Love, a fairy tale you grow out of to join the “real world”

Surely this is true of European women as well, I hear someone saying.


Yes, but not so much so in my experience.
English, French, Italian and Spanish women are no more promiscous than their American counterparts. However, in general European women know what they want, know who they want and don’t want it from and are much more comfortable in their sexuality as well as expressing it than American women are.

American women seem at times to be almost afraid of their own sexuality, afraid of losing control, of surrendering to lust. This is by no means healthy!

Whereas Europeans just don’t make that big a deal out of it. They enjoy sex because they know it’s good for them and if it doesn’t work out, c’est la vie; there’s always other experiences with better partners down the line.

In Europe sex is treated more like a fine meal.


Necessary for healthy living and worthy of enjoyment. Bad sex, like a bad meal is to be avoided and hopefully not repeated. But you don’t know until you try it, right? Just taste a little, you might like it.


Good sex, like a good meal is literally a divine experience, a jubilant celebration of the senses (btw, anything accompanied by the right wine is a ticket to paradise).


I have enjoyed meals in Paris bistros, Greek tavernas, Italian Tratorias thate can only be described in transcendetnal terms.

Likewise I have loved, made love to, had love with women of Europe that will adhere to my memory like a childhood. Respectful, tender loving moments that will never escape me.


Unfortunately, outside of the adolescent fumblings of highschool and early college, I have yet to experience the same level of encounter here in my native land. I attribute my failure to connect as an aspect of Capitalist culture. I cannot bridge the transactional nature of American sexuality; to me it all seems like a verision of pornography or even prostitution to me; an impression which has been reinforced most recently when a woman friend of mine suggested I hire a professional sex worker to share intimacy with.

I was genuinely shocked as if it had been a male friend, I could have understood his clumsy solution. This friend knew me and yet her choice of assistance was to suggest I buy the services of a sex. I am MUCH TOO CHEAP, to ever consider this as a practical option. Besides why wouldn’t the woman PAY ME, for my « services »?

My friend was a well intended American woman, a peer who seriously suggested that my path to sexual fulfillment could be purchased and transacted rather than pursued or danced for.

I can only conclude that the sexuality of the American woman has been seriously compromised by a cultural and societal appartus constructed by men but now reinforced by women. This apparatus generates sexual neurosis and ultimately dehumanizes and devalues the most powerful and wonderful experience people can give each other.

So What’s Your Solution, Sherlock?

Well, not cocaine.


Far be it for me to prescribe remedies for societal ills; even my arrogance has limits!


I would fall back on conversation. People need to start talking about sex a lot more, especially to the people we want to have sex with.

A lot more.

The social rituals are still too complex. When I first met my future wife, we had sex the same night we met because we were both attracted to each other and trusted each other enough to act on our desires. My beautiful daughter Olivia is a product of unbridled, unihibited sexuality as she was and continues to be the best thing in my life.

Men, being stupider than women, need to be less coy and less aggressive at the same time. We need to learn to ask for what we want without acting like petulant children when refused. We need to cultivate a taste for the sensual, not just the sex; everything surrounding and leading up to and following the act, not just the act itself. We need to learn how to be better lovers, not technically but emotionally.

Remember you men reading these words, the number one cause of female mortality in the US, more than disease, more than accidents is men. So just keep in mind that women have just cause to be wary of us.

And women: you lovely, lovely, horrific creatures must learn how to celebrate your sexuality, not as a tit for tat transaction, but as something for yourself. Something you enjoy in itself for it’s own sake, not for status and/or material gain. Women must learn to be joyful participants, equal partners in the sensual dance of lust and desire.


Learn how to clearly signal what you want from a man. Remember, men are stupider than you are, so make sure your signals are clear and obvious. SPELL IT OUT that you want to fuck when you want to. Protect yourself, of course, but when you trust a man and trust your own desires, surrender to the power of your libido.

You have nothing to lose but your inhibition and your neurosis.

Learn how to fuck with gusto, with tenderness, with celebration. Embrace the moment you can step out of your daily concerns and like wild Bonono chipanzees be animals for a night (or a day, or an afternoon or the entire weekend).

Celebrate the Body Electric!
And have no expectations. Sex happens in the moment not in the anxiety of the future nor the nostalgia of the past. Keep your emotional baggage to the size where it can fit comfortably in the overhead locker of you flight. Then buckle up and fly baby, fly!

I guarantee that you will be happier, healthier and free from the constraints and manipulations of commodification. You will become your better self by embracing what is most precious about being human.

Have a divine meal of an other, feast on the sensuous pleasures you can unfurl from within your own sacred being and discover within an other.

Don’t feel guilt or shame or poker-player gaming, feel joy, scream out loud, laugh, cry and be free.

For what it’s worth that’s my advice.
I leave you not with my words but that of Patti Smith’s:


“Love is an Angel Disguised as Lust”

thanks for reading and have A Great Flying Fuck!



Splashing Out Cold Water


Unveiling the Real Neil Gaiman: Beyond Allegations and Celebrity

I know Neil Gaiman.
Neil Gaiman is a friend of mine.

And believe you me, you’re no Neil Gaiman.

Up til now I’ve been keeping my mouth shut about the allegations being made against Neil Gaiman, mainly to avoid adding fuel to fire. These rumours have taken on a life of their own. In this age of short-attention span memes and conspiracies, even the most unfounded accusations can gain traction. This happens because people associate truth with what they last recall hearing or reading.

I have nothing to say about the actual accusations.  I don’t know the women making the allegations and I see Neil so infrequently, that it would be irresponsible for me to speculate one way or another as to their credibility as I really have no idea.

I do have a very clear idea of who Neil Gaiman is and how he is or is not capable of behaving. I’ve known Neil since he was a struggling journalist in the 1980s. He tried to carve a living out of writing SF book reviews for porn mags in London. Most nights, he scraped the train fare together to get back to Maidenhead.

I used to buy Neil drinks (scotch and American, as I recall) because as a publicist I had an expense account, and Neil was terminally broke.  

In return, Neil introduced me to Douglas Adams (for whom he was preparing The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy Companion), Terry Pratchett, John Brosnan, Lisa Tuttle, CliveBarker and later Alan Moore.

Neil was a sharp social butterfly at the time and although he was always on the hustle for paying writing work, he was a kind, funny guy who always had time to make useful introductions while keeping the conversations going with his wit and easy charisma.  His eternal black leather jacket and devotion to Lou Reed became his recognizable brand.

I don’t think he ever took that black leather jacket off and it’s most probably now hanging in some comics museum somewhere.  Neil introduced me to his first comics collaborator Dave McKean, a visual genius in his own right who actualized Neil’s first graphic novel, Violent Cases and later all the comics covers to his  Sandman opus.

These were heady times. Great talents like Alan Moore, Frank Miller, Bill Sienkiewicz, the Hernandez Brothers, Dave McKean, and Neil himself were radically redefining the nature of the comics medium.  These guys were artists who were intent on pushing boundaries and they did they succeeded,as demonstrated by the last 25 years of graphic storytelling.

At the time, I worked for Titan Books and once Neil had conned (ahem), convinced Publisher Nick Landau to publish Violent Cases as an album (pre trade paperback, Graphic Novel times), I was paid to publicize the “book”.  Quotes around “book”. because Violent Cases was more of a long short story than a novel in the classical sense.

But Neil’s narrative emphasis on the role of childhood memory and mistaken memory was captivating, bringing a literary approach to ‘just another comic’ that was groundbreaking for the medium.  I had never read such a theme and it’s exploration in a comic before and of course Dave McKean’s artwork, in its early representational realism style (combing mixed media of photos, sketches and painting): was sunning.  No one had ever painted a comic like that before.

So I got to work alongside my buddy Neil, and my soon to be friend Dave for a few months while I wrote press releases, arranged interviews, organized signing events.

And I got paid for it.

To be honest, my best efforts only produced mixed commercial results for the album.  It was too wide for most bookshops to shelve and the lessons learnt in it marketing Violent Cases is what led to Nick and DC comics settling on the standard of trade paperback for graphic novels.

But Violent Cases had a much further reaching impact:  it got both Neil and Dave into DC.  First with the tenuous Black Orchid limited 3 issue series (albeit featuring a stunningly handsome villain in a dark suit) and then of course Sandman.

Sandman is the reason I’m finding these accusations of sexual aggression on Neil’s part so suspect.  People forget that Sandman was a break thru comic.  

I actually didn’t like it at first, as I found it prosaic and flowery (inspiring me to create and write a parody of his style for Britain’s 2000AD  entitled The Clown, a self obsessed, flowery speaking clown seeking revenge for the killing of his pony, Toby.

Compared to Sandman, that was a terrible strip, btw)

But in hindsight, it was groundbreaking because there were no superheroes in Neil’s fantasy Dreamscape. The Sandman was more a figure of fragile pathos than hero.  More importantly, Neil’s voice was speaking not just to boys, but to girls as well at a time when, well girls just didn’t read comics.

Alan Moore once described Neil’s writing as “feminine writing” and his prose as somewhat effeminate.  It sounded like an insult at the time as the big burly masculine Yeti from Northampton was busy during stakes in the hearts of boys own superhero’s in Watchmen.

But he wasn’t being condescending, he was profoundly right.  Neil wasn’t just writing for boys, he was writing for boys AND girl.  By the 12th issue of Sandman, boys were buying it to show to their girlfriends demonstrating the cross gender value of graphic story telling.

And remarkably, girls started buying and reading comics and then writing and drawing and publishing comics!  By the late 90s female attendance at Comics Conventions was normal and Cosplay began to be a regular thing.

I’m not suggesting that Neil did this by himself.  Karen Berger helped considerably.  More and more male artists started to write for a gender wide audience and more and women became auteurs.

And Neil had a lot to do with this.  I personally witnessed Neil going out of his way to open doors, make introductions and help women artists and writers break through the glass comics frame.

Of this I assure you with all certainty:  as night follows day and day follows night, Neil Gaiman respects women.  He loves women to which his daughters can attest and has supported women his entire life.

Now I’m not saying that this demonstrated respect discredits the standing allegations.  What I am saying is that knowing Neil, having been around Neil, I find it highly suspect that he would commit acts of aggression, sexual or otherwise to women, regardless the circumstance.
Neil just isn’t made that way.

Now sex is a funny thing at the best of times.

So is celebrity.

I think the parameters of sexually appropriate behavior between men and women have changed radically over the past 30 years and for the better.

I myself have been called out by younger men for inappropriate attitudes towards young women when within my generational context, I was paying an innocent compliment.  I’ve had to change my behavior and adapt.

Why? Because times have changed and women have the right to more succinctly determine how and when they will entertain male attention, and on what terms.  Now is the time when sexual attention must be overt and clearly permit-able.  Men cannot assume, we must ask if it’s OK. If our attentions are welcome or, in fact, an annoyance. We also need to know when to back off without rancor or retribution.
In the end, making love means just that, having love, affection, and respect for the object of your desires.

So maybe Neil has to adapt to his own generational context as well, but I doubt it.  Neil was always ahead of the curve when it came to gender sexuality.  He connected with trans people before it became a thing and promoted the sexual diversity of all people, regardless, both professionally and personally.

So these facts about Neil that I know first hand leads me to the latter conclusion.  That the issue here being raised is more about celebrity than sexuality.
Celebrity is after all, merely a surplus of attention.

Most if not all the women accusing Neil of improprieties concede that their relationship were not just consensual but mutually initiated.  That’s a big deal and very different from the Harvey Weinstein or Donald Trump’s sexual assaults.

Nor does there appear to be much basis for coercion or the undue use of a professional power dynamic, which has often been true in such situations. Sex used as power is not love at all.

In reading these women’s accounts of what they hold Neil accountable for,what comes through is a tone of regret and disappointment.

Now with all due respect to their pain, I know of no human being on this planet who does not regret some sexual encounter they’ve had in their life, myself included. the pain is all part of growing up, of maturing personally and sexually.  Of learning what we don’t want and do want out of intimacy.

Inevitably, this requires making mistakes, regretting them, and correcting those mistakes.

I suspect that if Neil wasn’t a celebrity author caught in the media spotlight that these allegations (some over 20 years ago), would have taken a less public form.  Not that they shouldn’t be brought forwards.  On the contrary, I would invite any woman I have known in my life who feels that they have been subjected to my abuse, sexual or otherwise. They are welcome to confront me. They should come forward and receive my apologies for their regret and my behavior.

I’ve made some serious mistakes with the women in my life.

I am separated from my English wife with whom upon reflection and hindsight I did not treat as well as I should have or she deserved to be treated.  I cannot undo the past, but I can recognize my mistakes, apologize for my trespasses and try to live and be a better person.

Hopefully, be a kinder person who does no harm.

When it comes to Neil, all I can really say is that in the time I have known him, he has proven to be an artist, a man of integrity who’s generous spirit has improved the lives of others for the better, especially women.

He’s no saint, but he’s no demon either and his demonization is not only injust and  unfair but does nothing to help the lives of his accusers.

We are all hopefully entering a gentler, kinder and more honest political and personal age.  The personal is political and if I stand to be corrected for anything I’ve written above, I invite you to do so with the kindness and compassion my words invite.

Respectfully, Igor Goldkind

August,2024


Breathless: A Nostalgia for Oxygen

Breathless Spoken Word Poetry

I’m a Poet, a Producer and lately a Publisher of aesthetic, sometimes eclectic content that speaks to the truth of living your life in today’s moment of existence. Beyond the Real World is the Actual World, which I prefer to inhabit. There really is only one world but social delusions, language and mathematics make us concoct a duality between the “Real” and the “Actual”. It’s just a trick of the light on our senses.

Oddly and recently, I’ve received a lot of flak and unarticulated hostility from people who just like the way things are. Either they get some advantage out of our current state of disconnect or they’ve become so habituated to futilely struggling, to being dehumanized that they prefer what they’re familiar with rather than facing the unknown of change.

Having a back ground in ‘technology’ I do know one universal truth about ‘systems’ and that is ‘systems’ can always be improved upon. In fact if ‘systems’ aren’t being perpetually improved, they fall by the way side and become impediments to useful change.

As is with technology, so it is true of the human community and its social structures. My father was an anthropologist and a sociologist at a time when the very word ‘society’ was being challenged as having no meaning.

My work is about returning meaning to the term “society”. to the set of complex interactions we consider collectively as the norm and worth compromising our individuality for. Society is us and what we make of it, every day of every interaction you have with another human, either well known or a stranger to you. How you treat others out of fear or openness is multiplied by millions and the sum total consists the society we are all part of and are all living in.

No man is an island and no woman can be exiled to one.

This is not about politics or ideology, this is about awareness and mindfulness as to how each of us is as part of a whole. There’s only one race, the human race and you are part of it. The only question is with what degree of awareness are you running in the human race?

Looking backwards, in hindsight, I now realize the the steady stream of anonymous antagonism and threats I’ve received over the past year all started when my album BREATHLESS – A nostalgia for Oxygen was released last year on Bandcamp by my spoken word producer Frédéric Iriarte and largely composed by my art brother Jair-Rohm Parker Wells.

I believe it is the most popular track from the album, I CAN’T BREATH, the last words of George Floyds recited as a spoken word, ‘found’ poem by a ‘white’ voice that triggered the attention that all to soon became menacing and I have had to take unprecedented steps to protect myself from.

It is a tremendous album and well worth the free fee by which you can listen to it. I assure you that you’ve never heard anything like it before although I’m sure you’ve heard Ornette Coleman, Laurie Anderson, Willian Burroughs, David Byrne and Anthony Braxton. If not, you should listen to them too as they are the inspirations for our album.

Thank you for your attention, it’s the most precious commodity in the universe: your attention.


Sunflower Seeds Inside Your Pockets

Take these seeds
And thrust them deep inside your pockets
So that when you die and your body becomes the earth
Sunflowers will grow once again from the land you killed to claim.

© Carl F Emerich 2022

Ballerinas and camouflaged beauty queens will greet you in the streets
With pirouettes of spinning bullets behind barricades of sheets.
My grandmother will serve you up Molotov’s cocktails.
The orphans you murdered will dance around you sleepless until dawn
So that sunflowers will grow once again from the land you killed to claim.

Do you fear for war?
Ask of the stillness evermore,
Ask of the field, or ask the breeze, and ask the birch and poplar trees.
Ask of the children who now lie beneath the birch trees and the sky,
and let their mothers tell you once more
Whether or not you should fear for war.

They died so that the children from ev’ry shore
might live without your fear of war.
Ask those who fought, and those erased,
ask those planted in the rubble of Mariupol and Donetsk Oblast
Ask the women you embrace.
ask your mother –ask my wife–,
So that you will wonder never more
Whether you have cause to fear for war.

Who longs for war?
Who longs for war?
No one but those who are no more.
No one living longs for war
But war cares not for your longing or yearning for living.
Or your fears for war
War will always arrive uninvited to your door.

When war comes calling to your front door.
You cannot lock the war outdoors.
You cannot run and hide behind your chair
Or bury your head under the covers of your bed.

When war comes to your front door
There is nowhere to run, nowhere to go
The corpses of your neighbors will hinder your flight
You cannot let fear become your general
To give up the fight
To surrender to might.

Instead, you must stand with the sunflowers in the golden fields
Stand with our heads facing the sun.
Pour your bravery into an empty coke bottle
And pick up a gun.
Stand for freedom, for the children we have lost
Stand up for liberty, against the tide of tyranny.
Stand up for yourself as much as any other.

Summon your courage to stand like man,
Like a like a clown, like a woman, like a child.
The cries of their answer rises loud and clear
for all people, ev’rywhere, to hear.
The message now is as before:
Do not fear,
Do not fear,
Do not fear for war,

For war is already here

© Igor Goldkind March 27, 2022

For the Ukraine and for America

Painting by Katarina Anderssen © March 27, 2022
The Seeds of War
Recitation of ‘Sunflowers in Your Pockets’ with accompanying improvised score by Jair-Holm Parker Wells from the EP “Breathless” produced by Frederic Irriart (available on Bandcamp)



https://tinyurl.com/Sunflowerseedsinyourpockets


Banned From Facebook, Again…

What can I say?

The month of January was silent due to my having accused a local mask-denier of demonstrating “a lethal stupidity”. 30 day suspension for “bullying’. I assume based on her complaint that I was telling her not to spread misinformation.


My latest trespass, again for another 30 days (first 7, until I appealed the decision), was for taking issue with a Trump supporter on one of Alexandra Cortez’s threads.

The woman was claiming that AOC had made up her account. A Portuguese participant commented in AOC’s defense whereupon the virulent QAnon proponent told the Portuguese national that he was a foreigner and to mind his own business, going back to his own country. I immediately responded in his defence by inviting him as my guest, to comment on anything he wanted to in the land of freedom of speech and then chastised the woman to stop being an ignorant American.

She complained that I was nationally slandering her for being an American manifestation of supreme ignorance. I was again suspended from using Facebook for 30 days, 27 more.

My appeals have been well reasoned and completely ignored.

I am awaiting the moral judgement of the algorithmic overlords by which human employees make decisions at Face Book. Repeatedly, I have been censured and censored for challenging misinformed comments that Facebook itself, if it contained one iota of the moral standard it claims to hold, should have caught in the first place!


If challenging and taking issue with those who question the legitimacy of the election, the validity of the pandemic or its remedies and continue to spout dangerous, Trump inspired, racist and and anti vax madness goes against Facebook’s Community Standards then those standards and their deployment are in serious need of actual public review and scrutiny.

In the meantime, I shall wallow in the righteousness of my exile.
Dostoievski won’t be drinking alone tonight in the Facebook Gulag.





Take a look at my new book and get yourself a Free review copy!
https://takeadeepbreath.one


Notes from a Facebook Exile

Once again the ghostly powers of Facebook have judged me and found me wanting.

Or wanting of the veneer of non threatening, amiable posts. Nothing that would offend a Humming Bird of nerve endings. A Calvinist shaking in their boots. I’m not a Facebook post, you don’t have to like me!

My grave offence was to post a photograph of the great American poet Allen Ginsberg standing naked on a Moroccan beach. The original naked poet; metaphor and literal combined into one. His words, not his images were deemed obscene way back in the last century. There was a public trial and unlike Socrates, Ginsberg (and City Lights, the publisher) were both found not guilty of obscenity. Howl was deemed a work of art and protected under the first amendment. Why doesn’t Facebook abide by the first amendment instead of hiding like a coward behind their Emerald City curtain of Community Standards?

And why don’t Americans know their own history?

I had the opportunity to meet and talk with Allen Ginsberg during my Freshman year, when he had come to do a reading and lead a group meditation paying his dreadful table accordion. Was I 17 or 18? I was studying Heidegger and Charles Olsen, the Action Poet; Kandinsky’s New York roommate right round 1959 thereabouts, when the photo of Ginsberg on the Beach was taken. But I knew all of his work, inside and out. I was never gay but Ginsberg made me want to be!

I had stopped Allen in an outdoor corridor lined by lawn between two campus buildings. I was armed with my copy of the first edition City Lights Kaddish epic that I had found by blissful chance in the long gone used intelligentia bookstore at the corner of College and El Cajon Blvd, in San Diego, over a lifetime ago.

Allen looked at my book and gladly signed it. “I haven’t seen a first edition of these in years!” I told Allen about the used book store in San Diego where I had gone through all of his poetry and Kerouac and Cassidy’s First Third and Dylan’s Tarantula, Alan Watts, D.T. Suzuki’s 3 volume Essays on Zen, all bought and consumed at this temple to beatitude at the cross roads of the world. I didn’t tell him how in high school we used to climb to the top of Cowell Mountain and howl the words to Howl at the valley unfolding beneath us. We didn’t know what hungry junkies were quite yet, but it sounded good and it was real. As real as the suburbs of San Diego can ever be.

In the past present, Allen handed me my book, more of a pamphlet, back and looked me up and down and smiled. It was a genuine smile and not the least bit lecherous considering what he said next.
“Would you like to come up to my room, it’s just over graduate housing? I can show you some poem books you haven’t seen. I knew what he meant but I was so stunned dumb by the proposition (Allen Ginsberg!). I stuttered something still trying to make up my mind before I spoke. But alas, fear of the unknown vanquished my curiousity or perhaps it was my vanity to be loved by a star that was defeated.

Nonetheless I must of said something because we went on our merry ways, my thanking him a little too profusely and the back of his bald head bobbing down the corridor.

So when I posted the photo a young Allen standing nude on a Morrocan beach, I kind of felt like I had earned the right to share his image, naked and vulnerable for the sake of a poetry reading which it was more than certain that someone would recite a Ginsberg-eque poem.

The Philistines may have conquered the machines but not me as of yet.

Allen Ginsberg 1959
The Eye Has It

Facebook is Anti-Culture

Facebook is Anti-Culture

I’ve started this post after returning from a 60-day ban from Posting, Liking, Communicating, Joining, or Connecting with anyone else in the Facebook Community.

Censorship, the suppression of words, images, or ideas that are “offensive,” happens whenever some people succeed in imposing their personal political or moral values on others. Censorship can be carried out by the government as well as private pressure groups. ~ The ACLU

What Was My Crime?

My posting one of my own published poems from my book Is She Available? that had been posted in Facebook at least thrice before without repercussion. and is currently available in dozens of libraries and bookstores throughout California and soon to be released in the UK. The visual interpretation of a love poem by the Designer/photographer and internationally renown artist/typographer Rian Hughes entitled:

I Missed Your Scent in Paris

Although his image was a black and white stylized photograph of a woman where if you squinted and looked real close you could make out the shadow of half a nipple showing, (which is exactly what a Facebook employee would have had to have done in order to render judgement that Tian and my work contravened Facebook’s community standards.

Words by Igor Goldkind – Image by Rian Hughes
Censored by Facebook

The Poem and Rian’s photo interpretation of the poem were not obscene, disgusting nor gratuitously offensive in any way. Unless of course, you consider the human body in itself to be obscene, in which case I strongly suggest you seek therapeutic help as you clearly entertain unhealthy, self-hating, anti-social thoughts.

Instead, if not the poem, then certainly the photograph of the semi-nude woman is a work of art. It is obvious to anyone who reads and looks that it had no other intention. Not being able to distinguish between pornography and erotic art is one of the great threats Facebook’s dumbed down lack of discernment poses to the thriving of a culture.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Art is the science of culture. Both are experiment–driven.
Igor Goldkind
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
As community-oriented and community-sounding Facebook professes to be (in its language and self-justifications of its censorship), Facebook is the enemy of culture. As well as the enemy of the community of humanity that shares the values that a free society comes hand in hand with expression free from censorship; as long as the expression poses no harm. Otherwise, it is not a free community.

“To destroy a people, first destroy their culture. 
~ Mario Torero

What is it exactly about the half shadow image of a woman’s left nipples poses a threat to anyone? The last time I checked, a woman’s nipple is the source of nourishment for all of us, male and female at one time or another.

To censor the image of a human nipple is to censor the truth of what it means to be human. How can I prove this? Look for yourself! Apart from a minority of our fellow hairless apes who have lost them in accidents or horrific burns, we ALL OF US HAVE NIPPLES! It is the truth of who we are and as an artist, as a poet, I am only interested in the truth of who we are. Not the twisted Calvinist attempt at reversioning a reality where angels never fart and genies have no belly-buttons.

We Must Protect You From Yourself

I know for a fact that genies do have belly-buttons, I’ve seen them with my own eyes! And as far as angel farts go, they smell better than your own.

Article 10 of the United Nations Human Rights Act protects our right to hold our own opinions and to express them freely without government or private interference.

This includes the right to express our views aloud (for example through public protest and demonstrations) or through:

• published articles, books or leaflets
• television or radio broadcasting
• the internet and social media
• AND WORKS OF ART
• The law also protects our freedom to freely receive 
information from other people.

The US The Supreme Court has interpreted the First Amendment’s protection of artistic expression very broadly. It extends not only to books, theatrical works and paintings but also to posters, television, music videos and comic books and personal social media pages including FACEBOOK — whatever the human creative impulse produces.

The right not to be censored by an arbitrarily superimposed moral hypocrisy of a minority…. is articulated in the Human Rights Act signed by the US as treaty and thus bound by US federal law in 1964. In the late 1960s and 1970s, the United States renewed its commitment to the international human rights system by signing, though not yet ratifying, several major human rights treaties.

Including the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (ICERD), the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), and the INTERNATIONAL COVENANT ON ECONOMIC, SOCIAL AND CULTURAL RIGHTS (ICESCR).

Liberty, Freedom & Justice
But Not From Facebook

These are the laws of the land that FACEBOOK has violated in unceremoniously and without warning censoring my work. Judgement without respite and only the cosmetics of appeal.

Facebook is not a community in any shape or form as long as its private owners impose their narrow, petty, puerile, and juvenile morals on us without listening to everyone, not just the complainers, who make up that community. That includes us good for nothing, when-are-you-going-to-get-a-real-job? artists.

There is no one to talk to at Facebook. No one to appeal to; no one to reason with and no one that takes responsibility for its actions. Human beings wrote the algorithms, built the servers and the browsers to increase the human bandwidth, not to distance us from ourselves!

There is no reason to fear the takeover of robots, algorithmic judgements and machines, for we have already surrendered.

Please repost this in part or in full on your wall and please share with your friends across all social media. Maybe Facebook will recall what it means to be a human with nipples one day and stop emulating the machines (who have no nipples).

Thank you,

Igor Goldkind
Still Human & Nippled

PS You think that I’m overreacting? Just another crazy, good for nothing artist making pointless noise? The Modigliani nude, the Picasso, the Rubens and all fell foul of Facebook and are all pictured as depicted after being defaced by Facebook in the name of their hypothetical Community Standards.


The Tyranny of Social Media Mediocrity

 

After my 3-day exile from FB as sophomoric punishment for posting one among several of the spreads from my book IS SHE AVAILABLE? featuring one of Rian Hughes’s bare breasts (ok, not exactly HIS breast but nonetheless his photograph!), I am revitalised and ready to re-enter the morally ambiguous, inconsistent fray of FB’s so-called Community Standards barred cells.

By these very standards, Facebook prefers a world where women have no nipples, only dead artists are permitted to display the human body, Nazis trump radical socialists in free speech and if anyone whines and complains loudly and long enough to the invisible authorities that hide behind our screens (and Mark’s logo), they can elicit erratic judgements on the part of our social wardens. Not social workers, social wardens!

Well, I’m not putting up with it.
Reality is too precious to be mediocratized to the lowest level of education, much less lowest common synaptic denominator.

I do get it. Children use Facebook and we can’t be exposing our children to naked nipples! They might just recall sucking on one and then where would we be? I’ll tell you: outside the confines of a gated morality where scary, unpredictable things might occur! My god, what if I were to get an erection! Is there a Community Standards Forum where I can ask what am I to do with it?

After all, Facebook lays claim not just to the moral high ground, but the moral low ground and the in-between ground as well. They act on behalf of Community Standards. Not my community, that’s for sure. My community has nipples, menstrual cycles, flatulence and those troublesome erections. Not to mention madness, depression and hallucinatory revelation. Ok, I admit I hang with a strange crowd. But need I mention that they poop and pee sometimes more than once a day? Oh, the moral horror, the humanity, the humanity, the lack of humanity!

You wouldn’t know it from following Community Standards, that’s for sure. Tell me, oh great Facebook, am I allowed to bleed? For you have cut me. Cut me off from Messaging some of my friends about politics and rendezvous, not nipples. Nipples is one of those words that if you say it enough times really fast, it loses all meaning. Try it. Just don’t post it on Facebook.

Please share with your fellow users, poopers and nipple owners. WE are the Community, not Facebook’s false authority. After all, algorithms don’t live in communities, they just exist everywhere else they can shape and conform our computational reality, far away in the bowels of the flashing lights and annoying pings. Far removed from human judgement, common sense and of course human Freedom.

The machines don’t need to take over, we’ve already surrendered and their flesh-eating servants are holding their napkins for them.Edit or delete this

 

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