The Locus of Chaos

Vomiting and oral sex are the most immersive forms of meditation in the digital age. One might argue (incorrectly, in my opinion) that a variety of sex acts – particularly procreation – is the ultimate meditation. It certainly can be, in the best context. Nearly everyone has the propensity for reaching the most intense, blissfully altered state of consciousness through penetrative sex. However, the most careless among us will insist on checking their phones and scrolling mid-act! In the same way one would scroll on the toilet, in line at the store, during a meal, at the bar, etc. The most sacred form of intimacy is perpetually being threatened by the baleful intrigue of our digital devices in increasingly perverse ways. That’s no secret. Granted, the mid-sex scroll example may seem egregious, but it happens more than one might realize… at least, that’s what I’ve heard anecdotally and online. It’s not that hard to believe, really. Beyond that, many (most?) of us are still preoccupied wi...

Meghan and I met at a menial service job after I had just turned 21. I can’t remember the exact moment I saw her for the first time, or even what our first exchange was like. I do remember thinking that she seemed nice enough — quiet, dutiful, polite, but mostly unremarkable. I remember pitying her for having very deep, pitted acne scars all over her face. They looked even worse in specific lighting and when her face got red. Perhaps it was due to rosacea, or maybe skin sensitivity from all of the peels that she and her fellow esthetics students were using on each other in beauty school. We struck up several friendly, predictable conversations together during our shared shifts. I was eager to connect with everyone and anyone at the time, as I had just emerged from a particularly dark, isolated period of my life. I got the sense fairly quickly after speaking with Meghan more than once that she felt just as lonely as I was, perhaps even more so. She harboured a strangeness that I had yet...

There’s this one prominent vein that bulges along the side of his pulsating cock that I love to run my tongue along. His cock, so hardened yet so vulnerable and fragile; it’s the vulnerability contrasted with the solidity that makes me beside myself! That’s the beauty of the penis, the beauty of manhood. Bundles of nerves instantly bristle just recalling the feeling, texture, and image of it raising up, growing larger in my mouth. My chest surges with excitement, and any awareness of my surroundings and sense of self is lost in undulations of pleasure. I place one hand between my thighs, one finger making circles around the already slippery opening which aches so fiercely, aching to swallow him whole. I start rubbing more vigorously, circling my hips wider, gently tightening my other hand on the shaft and jerking it faster. I feel the warm tip hitting the roof of my mouth, so I exhale slowly and push it further. I feel the warm tip hitting the back of my throat, hitting a point of resi...

For as long as I can remember, I have always adored and gravitated towards women. In true Freudian fashion, my earliest memories involve women’s breasts and the soft curvature of their hips and ass. Standing just below most adults’ waistlines — likely at around age four — I observed the way women’s hips swayed as they walked and how perfectly or imperfectly their fat was distributed in the usual places. I watched curiously, forming judgments, adding data to my little inner dialogue. A year later, I announced with conviction to my parents that I would “only marry a girl” when I grew up. The feelings of romance and desire for the opposite sex was naturally foreign to me at that time, and the possibility that I would ever choose to pair up with a male seemed ludicrous to me. Why would I? Boys in my kindergarten class were far meaner, louder, and more annoying than most of the girls; they made fun of me when I did cartwheels that revealed my brightly-colored underwear, or pointed when I h...

       A dear friend of mine who irrevocably changed the trajectory of my life died tragically nearly three months ago, and I’ve been privately spiraling ever since. He was — on an individual level — more valuable and brilliant than 99.99% of humanity to be completely honest, and I should probably be shy about saying that, but it’s just the truth. He was one of the only men I’ve ever truly loved and will ever love again. His life was so strange, so horrifying, yet speckled with many moments of beauty and clarity that cannot be overshadowed, despite the immensity of his illness. I’m now notably more disgusted by the world and humanity than I was before, but he fought so hard to be here, to be in the world, so I feel uniquely responsible to embrace my place in it regardless.       They couldn’t contend with your brutal reality when you were here, but one day soon they will have the research and language and mass social awareness to do so effectively...

You awaken to the sounds of a gentle stream and chirping birds. You lie on a soft bed of dew-speckled moss. Warm, dappled sunlight shines between the palms above. The air is filled with citrus and petrichor.  From time to time, angelic apparitions pass by, stopping to gently offer a warm welcome and a kiss.  And for the first time in far too long, you are completely, wholly at ease. All is well.  For W.S. I love you forever, Eva