Svetlana the Lap Dancer

"Alex, you're going to be Svetlana, a transvestite Polish lap dancer, are you ok with that?"

Previously, in order to show off my manliness, I was going to be some kind of Tarzan carrying my sultry Spanish Jane off-stage in my arms, but the director and assistant had a brain-wave late the night before and the whole group were re-cast into a single act. It was actually a brilliant idea, as it meant we could still each have our own 2-minute moment under the spot-light, whilst remaining as a cohesive group. Due to work we had done the day before, I was anyway feeling so relaxed that I'd probably have said yes to just about any part, but anyway I could hardly say no to the chance to dress up as a woman. This was a weekend workshop about opening yourself up and improving your confidence and performance both on and off-stage. So throwing caution and decision-making to the wind, I was ready to take this part head-on.

It was like a school pantomine, but for adults. It was top cheese, plenty of sleaze, and a lot of fun. The scene is set at Madame Snitzel's Golden G-spot Lap Dancing Club, where Sid Sleazer introduces the acts, a combination of dance, singing, and live music, interspersed by suitably riské comic sketches. Everyone had a chance to show their hidden talents. One shady character was tripping on acid, and had spiked everyone elses drinks, so by the end of the show we all played up that we were spaced out and joined in a kind of love-hug and bow to the appreciative audience, who had been borrowed from another weekend workshop that was running in parallel.

In preparation we had maybe 3 hours to put the show together, work out the scenes and sequencing, select costumes, pick songs, make up some sort of approximate script. There was no full rehearsal, just fast-forwarding to ensure we all understood when to come on, but basically we could make it up as it went along. I didn't even know what song I was going to dance to, but that was half the fun of it. I also had some lines where Svetlana would approach the shady spaced out character in the bar and offer him a lap-dance.. ".. so what's it gonna be...a dirty thirty or naughty forty?"  Svetlana even managed a body roll, as expertly taught to her by someone with real experience. The shady character, who must remain anonymous due to his professional standing, happened to have talents in playing a certain musical instrument which he had brought along, so my lines included some double-entendres that alluded to him playing with his "instrument". I didn't know that transvestites are usually heterosexual, so my first instinct was to play the part in a camp voice, but the feedback when trying it out was to stick with my normal voice, and anyway the contrast of the tranny look with mainly masculine behaviour worked better. I don't know what I enjoyed more - dirty dancing with the girls back-stage, or prancing around like a giant nancy on-stage.

8 out of 10 cats were happy to be photographed

The weekend wasn't really about this show though. It was wrapped up and ended with this light-hearted fun, but the real work was in the preparation the day before. We were a pretty random group of 10 people from all walks of life, and like anyone we all have our own fears and weaknesses. What was amazing is how these were turned around into formidably powerful acts. The workshop was led by Svabhavo, clearly a magician with a huge heart, and his assistant Louisa. They are amazing people, and I would encourage anyone who wants to improve self-confidence either on or off-stage to do a workshop with them. The next one is in London, you can get more information here.

One of the really powerful parts of the workshop is where each of us in turn gets up on stage and just stands there. The rest just watch and support. Svabhavo then works his magic, staying calm and focused he reads our every breath and move, then questions, challenges, directs, and supports. I won't give too much away but let's just say whatever it is that bothers you, it will surface and you have the chance to face it in an encouraging and supportive atmosphere. Being there and being a witness to people there is a show in itself. It's the ultimate in reality-theatre: you really don't know what is going to happen so it's captivating to watch, as well as exhilarating to be a part of. It's emotional, hilarious, nerve-wracking, heart-warming, sexy, and just plain fun.

HU-man

I'm blowing my nose. It's 7.30am and this might not seem like an unusual thing to do first thing on a Sunday morning, except nothing is coming out except air, and I'm doing it to a primal percussion soundtrack for ten minutes continuously without stopping.

This is the first stage of a 50 minute "active mediation". You blow your nose, quickly and repeatedly, and without any continuous rhythm. Imagine your hands are tied, you have a fly in your nose, you blow it out, and it keeps coming back straight away. Well I didn't imagine that at the time, but it's a fair analogy. I don't know the ins and outs of it, all I know is that the last time I went along with this I felt great, even before breakfast, so I had an incentive to be this silly again.

The second part got more interesting. You know when a performer shouts on stage "Make some noise!" and everyone cheers or shouts, well here you just make whatever noise you want and let it all out, scream shout get angry wail huff laugh you name it. Make noise like nobody is listening or looking.. well shut your eyes and it's easier. I was now feeling pretty chilled due to events the previous day, so the only sound I could find was a sort of lion roaring as if to say "fuck off all of you this is my territory and don't come back" It felt like a battle I had won had ended and I was just re-asserting possession of my territory.

Perhaps I felt this assertion had worked, or I was just getting bored of it, observing myself and wondering what the fuck I'm doing but doing it anyway. Maybe tiredness drew me down, but either which way after several minutes I found myself kneeling and a huge sense of grief came over me, as if I had lost someone extremely close to me. Though I have never experienced this, it felt like my wife had died. It was a disembodied grief - I did not cry I just felt it come over me. Then I lay down on my back, and felt my arms stretch out, palms facing up, my left ankle cross over the right - I felt pinned down, then huge pain well up and wanting to burst from inside my chest. I cried out in despair. This really fucking happened - I felt like I was being crucified - except the pain was purely emotional. Then after a couple of gasps at this, a bloody chime-bell went and, crucifus interruptus, it was time for the third stage...

I got up slowly, a withering wreck of a man, and stood in the position required for the third stage - a sort of tribal war dance - the stance was forearms straight up in front as in a peck-deck push, solid fists, back straight and knees slightly bent. Then rhythmically chanting the mantra "HU!" whilst pumping the invisible peck-deck and pelvic thrusting. It's actually quite relaxing and certainly empowering. The tears dried up and slowly the man returned to strength.

Ding. Stage 4. Stop. Where you are. Just breathe. I'm a statue of this HU-man, fists still clenched. I blink my eyes open to see what everyone else is doing without anyone noticing. People have their hands open, some in the air. I'm thinking, should I have my hands open too? No, fuck that, I have fists and will stay as the HU-man. Now this next bit might sound a bit new-agey, so have a bucket ready or fast forward if you need to. Suddenly I feel this sort of circular magnetic field around my chest, running outside of my arms, maybe a meter in diameter. I feel safe, very safe. A glowing sense starts to emerge from my heart and I can feel a power growing from my chest. It is literally heart-warming. My fists remain, but very slowly my fingers begin to uncurl but only a tiny amount and end up pointing back at my chest as if to say, hey look after this guy.

Last stage, music plays. Soft indian music. Move as you want. My legs are rooted to the ground, my arms drop lifelessly to my side. I feel no great urge to move, but slowly begin to sway subtly like a tree in the wind. My arms are so lifeless they swing completely naturally as I move, and now and then to the music I feel a gyrating rhythm take over my torso and I'm like a rag-doll being spun about. Normally I'm like a stick man bopping inanely to music, but now my torso has come alive and twists and meanders like a snake, my lifeless arms flopping all over the place and bouncing back as they wrap around my body. It's a lot of fun, and I keep my eyes shut to avoid becoming conscious of how mad I must look.

The music stops and it's over. I'm feeling pretty emotional from this unexpected morning trance, and quietly float over to breakfast. The day is only just beginning ...

Bubbling with Reality

She looks and thinks and knows but does not ask. "I'm petified of what you think." And I believe her. She is so far from my world. We are together like two stones rushed to the bottom of the drain after a storm. Sitting there, nowhere else to go. But on the water glistening over her a universe appears which she enters and becomes. I look.

Enough

Sometimes things just go wrong because there's no wind in the sail, and blowing on the sail doesn't work for long.

Picking her up and screwing her brains out, because that's what she wants, it works for a bit but the effort is never repaid if there's no wind in the sail.

Then she's like an anchor, and even if the wind were to pick up you'd be tied down. Confortable because there's not going to be any storm damage, but frustrated.

Bad vibes are as contagious as good, everyone knows that. I've got bad vibes today, but hopefully not contagious by words.

I'm tired, I let her come over and stay the night. But really I needed a rest. Lack of sleep is attrocious.

Radio 4 yesterday some knob on a story talking about sleep as a waste of time. There is nothing more precious than sleep when time is racing along during consciousness, sleep comes and relieves me from it's tyranny. Waste of time is perceiving time at all. Life isn't along a timeline, it just is.

Pregnant with silence

Slience is pregnant with possibility, but silence seems to be so rare. I spend a lot of time waiting for silence, like settling dust it does come along given a calm space, and then the magic happens. Trouble is, everyone likes a bit of silence and if you got some, hey someone seems to come along to trample up some dust.

Or is it that, the pregnancy of this silence is scary, what might be born from it? Better to trample through the silence and leave things as they are. I seem to attract many people who aren't interested in conversation, rather in monologues of things they're interested in. I offer silence, and perhaps my own fear of the pregnancy this offers spreads and quickly the silence is filled - with complete shit. I'm left splattered, feeling drained, and in need of a long quiet cleansing session to restore myself.

Or I'm not at all scared of the silence, but others are and this is contagious. And I'm here to do some work on this for others. Who knows. Emotion seems like water, it just flows, cascades, sometimes gets stuck in a stagnant pool, but most of all it's not part of any place in particular, it just is and moves about like a spirit fighting or dancing or just sleeping. Maybe depression is that stagnant pool, and people come along to splash it about and move it along, but even the pool evaporates eventually on it's own, the water moves along.

There will never be enough space. Or will there? Who said that? I go through phases of dispair when I'm basically thinking the thoughts of others, filling that silence with a tape-recording of some shit I've heard. And other times when I'm at peace when I know there is nothing to worry about because it's all in order. A hope that patience will bear fruit. Or a sense that everything is ok, that nothing needs fixing. Because nothing needs fixing. It's all good, as they say in Australia.

Welcome to NYC

I opened the front door and there she was, with a smile so bright it frightened me. After all the practical commotion of getting here, and my disappointment around that, her smile said I've forgotton that all and I'm here.  My mind, ever fearful of losing its grip on the past, was struck deeply in shock at having nothing to latch onto. The light of her smile blinded the demon within. Either that, or in that smile I saw deeply the pain from where it grew.

A good soul on facebook wrote:

The prettiest smiles hide the deepest secrets. The prettiest eyes have cried the most tears and the kindest hearts have felt the most pain...


and it struck a chord with what happened then. Later I came across evidence of that pain, so maybe I was not imagining it. But I also found further evidence of extreme kindness and patience, and a positive energy which once gone left me back in a hole.

No-one can replace the lightbulb shining within you - if it blows you must have it replaced - turning on a lamp nearby don't work well for long. But how do you replace a blown lightbulb? The answer is surely some kind of joke.

Paranormal spontaneity in Christian flower arranging

A report into the recent explosion of mashed butternut squash revealed that peas are in fact the basis for tiled occurrences of glowing effervescent peanut butter. Notwithstanding the political correctness that stone-faced idiots are likely to accrue to the dullness that many teacups present the bored writer, the amnesiac hum of droning emptiness is, well, empty. The shining example of scientific perfection that results from the combination of white truth and grey fusion culminates in a state of fibroid aneythesis, alternately brought on by gumptious broiling.

The dividing line between the third and fourth positions in any frigid encounter with browning matt flexibility can only be seen when coupled with an extraordinary capacity to entern a bobbled lantern with an aging bleep. Never before has the crumpling of timeless grain lain open the complete foible of stained laminate. THe chips of desperate animals open the circle of goneadian frealate pertions. That which scrommiges the perfect aperture of  a bumpy eagle whilst flicking the candle of chrome mantlepieces cannot be seen unless wielded by crispy antelopes. All the time the glass shield of living truth crushes the crooked handle of dispair, locked into a window of steamed frishion.

The wise seek the rubber moments between the endless dark creeks radioed by the tense and poised flamingos. Rice not the holders of bearing riddles which open the crinkles of suffering and crackling of that which is made ready. Composition of ferns layed over the rugged sides of over 200 peaks rise amongst hatred of those who triangulate without ointment.

With hardly a moment to go before the joyful completion of fractal inversion, there is only one choice which yields the overtime breached from holding the forgetful orange. Slowly the wangle of karmetric entangled charlatans frees the peace from the etched markings of broken acrylic.

Wham, the chilled brummel of confusion has stuck hard to the sumple of extra-dreanacular simpering. Remaining forever anticipating the alternate erasure of necessary and opposed measle-like symptoms, the all-empathic groaning hovers above the beleaguered feverish midget.

Love love, time, and no sex

People love love. This post is about love, but is not love. There is no feeling in it. Perhaps, after some time, it will get some. Who knows. I had in mind something I want to say, but the moment has gone and now it seems like history. For those who know love, there is no history. In fact, their "future" is history to the rest of us. Sounds weird, well it is. They experience time backwards, but they will never tell you this because their word for "history" refers to the same time as is it does for us clock-dwellers, only they are coming from the future and entering into history, just like a video played backwards. They "remember" their future and call it "history".

Sometimes people change direction, zigzagging in and out of the present like some strange jumper being knitted and pulled apart constantly changing style and colour and reinventing itself. Endless possibilities playing themselves out.

Out of possibilities. The clock is zooming forward and i'm getting tired. Bring on a new day yesterday.

Shirley not !

1 aug 2011, Hyde Park

should I or shouldn’t I. Her beautiful tanned body lies a few metres away on the grass. As usual there are excuses not to, her face does not seem to be my type. But the hot sun over the curve of her tanned bum are talking a more familiar language to my loins.

so after some hesitation and a moment to build up the courage, over I go. her friendly face lights as I approach with a simple hello so the rest comes easily. she is inviting in her response and finding that she is brazilian puts me right at home. The chemistry is there and I know within seconds that if we don’t sleep with each other it’s because I’m scared of upsetting her. The routine, if I dare call it that will be:
1. first date where we snog
2. second date where we f*ck, if there’s somewhere to do it (no motels in London sadly)

Why do I risk sabotaging this by writing about it? I know the pattern and I want to see if this will play out, or can I, as I’d like to, actually date someone a while. She took off her sunglasses a moment and her eyes shone out balming my troubled soul. I don’t just want to f*ck her. I crave connection as anyone does, and the simplest touch is what I desire now. A f*ck in a sense is the end. Over. Finito. But can I go slowly?  She would get hot and it’ll escalate, no?  Well let’s see.


4 Aug 2011, Fulham

ok so I change my plans for this girl, arrange a date with her on wednesday, come back to london as I’m anyway flying out the next day from gatwick. so I’m not so smitten that I’d make a special trip, but keen enough to alter my plans.

9pm rodizio rico, sipping capirinha. she’s all mine, holding nothing back. her cards are out and they look good. charming girl, good heart, wants “simple life” (ie low maintenance). it’s an alluring prospect but it’s all too easy. I hesitate somewhat nervously maybe she thinks I’m shy but I’m just terrified of bulldozing her. she holds my gaze.

it’s clear she’s just waiting for me to make a move. she’s tactile as if we’re already going out, touching my leg affectionately. it feels nice. I part her hair, nuzzle her then it’s in with the kiss she wants it badly. but the chemistry is not quite there, or else I’m enjoying slowness for a change. nuzzling her scented neck gives me pleasure enough. when I kiss her it feels a bit routine, then mid-kiss I decide to up the ante and switch to a passionate dominating kiss and she seems to rouse to this. woman needs dominating. but it bores me, it’s fake.


13 Aug 2011, South Ken
weekend with Shirley. second date goes as predicted. though we went through a ritual of my promising not to do anything she doesn’t want if she stays over (pretty easy promise)

anyway she’s an angel. but a damned sexy one, and in the morning she gives herself to me wholeheartedly. or perhaps, I give myself to her wholeheartedly. I was just in it for a cuddle, you don’t have to believe me. but scared little boys like me are looking for mama, and no need f&cky for that.
however I know what turns a women on and that is being a man, which I can feign for long enough.

Women are such givers. It’s a wonder. Man takes. Woman gives. Is it that simple? In the dog eat dog world I live in that it how it is. And will continue until man destroys himself.

Is she the next victim? Who is in charge here? Of the relationship I am, but who am I and all that. I mean is God in charge, or what. If I have faith then he is, and then I know nothing and so she may not be a victim after all. Maybe she is the angel who has come to save me. Or maybe she is just a hot-blooded Brazilian who has come to shag my brains out. Either way I can’t complain.

I feel fine right now. I’ve not made up my mind on the future. In suspense I watch myself as events unfold. She ticks all the boxes, except the one where I decided that in the ideal world I will fall head over heals in love and never look back. I still hold to my idealist belief, and with it remember supporting quotes I heard from ex’s like “only go out with someone if your heart skips a beat when you look at them”. Yes that’s true. So why do I suspend belief in the outcome. Don’t I know it’s doomed. I do but the masochistic part of me wants to see. And the optimist wants to challenge. And the writer wants to see, well if this all goes to pants as usual then maybe letting it go to pants in public will change things.

Angel checklist
*************
Hot-blooded sexy young thang. Tick
Warm and loving. Tick.
Kinky and willing. Tick
Beautiful skin. Tick
Great arse. Tick
Ok that’s enough of the body though I could go on. But it’s not appropriate to talk of an angel’s body.

Does not talk ceaselessly. HUGE TICK
Great dancer. Tick
Big beautiful eyes. Tick
Good at massage. Tick
Thoughtful and cares for others. Tick
Low maintenance. Big tick.
Drinks beer, eats anything and does not put on weight. Lucky ticks
Can cook (to be confirmed)
Likes camping. Tick
Can paint, plaster, and build. Odd ticks
No, “she” is not a bloke, else that is one hell of a an amazing operation.


* * *
So she invited me to an Australian church.  Ah, that great big Sunday piss-up in Kings Cross I thought. No, a real church service. Held in a theatre. With a live band. And a couple of Aussie comedians. It was pretty cool actually. Good vibe, well I had a sexy young angel thang next to me so that helped. But honestly some bits were touching.  Not our hands, yes they are clasped when not clapping. But emotions. Reaching out and feeling divine love is pretty damn scary. So it’s hard to do. But worth it, and when you do someone notices and comes to give you a free bible at the end of the service, takes your details, and maybe I’ll get some follow-up prompting from God’s little messengers. Maybe I’ll become one of them. Who knows. Meanwhile I’ll hang onto my little sexy angel. Without faith, you rely on those who have it. And if you think they don’t have faith…look again, it won’t be many steps away before you find someone who does. And if you don’t and have enough time, you end up tracing right back to the great Big Bang, a singularity, all space and all time in one.. who was that god again?

Meanwhile back to the future.. to be continued..

21 August 2011, Chippenham
Were this not an ongoing joke already between me and Shirley (ongoing for all of two days) I'd have been quite embarrassed especially by the forth repetition of someone asking us "So when are you getting married?" Now can I ever go back this church on a Sunday morning, alone, without someone asking me what I've done with my fiance?

The church, full of the elderly on this Sunday morning, was divine of course. Lovely people and a great sermon. And my girlfriend of one week now by my side, looking elegant and angelic in her flowy white dress. The angel who brought the possessed one along to church. My demons were being pressurised and the loving sentiments of the people here and the words of the hymns and the prayers were touching my small broken flickering heart. Ahhh. The odd tear appears, and this no doubt coupled with the end of service announcements of imminent weddings, and the rarity of anyone under 60 attending this service, confirms to all present that clearly we are about to get married. Well wishers gather and suddenly we have a new family of over 60s. Well I learnt a new joke from them. "Marriage is an institution, and we all know what sort of people you find in an institution."

1 hour later...

Still with her high heals on, but not much else, I'm... *cut*

A generous moment later... butterflies and birds flutter in the sunlight over the rolling English countryside as we laze over a picnic in the hills.

Later that evening. I'm going through the motions, it's pathetic. I wish i could record the scene though and play it back on a needy day.

***

a 5-year old girl looks at her nanny and says "I wish you were my mummy"

26 aug 2011, Chippenham again
She is trying to have my babies. i ask if it's safe but it seems we have different definitions of "safe". afterwards i do the figures and realise it's borderline.

29 aug 2011, oh my God still in Chippenham
i feel miserable after a great weekend. i wonder if my mum is jealous of my girlfriend. the Oedipal soap continues.

4 sep 2011, Chippenham, this is beyond a joke
she's back and on a mission. i withdraw and she breaks down saying it felt like a dagger through her heart. this is heavy stuff. but i actually understand her.

earlier in the weekend we're talking about the baby thing and something i say makes her face go from mock sadness to genuine and extreme joy. i'm about to laugh when suddenly an underlying tragedy re-surfaces and i break down in tears. i'm unsure what just happened but she asks me and is patient in listening. i say that it felt as if i was watching a video of a daughter i've lost. i saw in her face an extreme joy and it reminded me of something, and yet i knew it was lost.

church. an alternative service. the mic is offered round asking for examples of extension of love. something compels me to put my hand up, and i speak and say that Shirley is such an example. uniquely there is applause. i find out afterwards that everyone else who spoke (only women mind) were regulars.

what am i getting myself into here.

9 sep 2011, Chippenham, pass me a rope
in half an hour she will be here again. i've had a shit couple of days and still feel terrible. nothing to do with her, but even the thought of her coming is not cheering me up. but she's an angel so no doubt i will feel better.

fuck, what am i saying.

Day 2

was much better than day 1.

Full on. Can't really give it justice here.

Tired and wanna sleep.

Name your shame

Imagine you're walking past the playgrounds of a primary school on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Inside a group of fully-grown men are standing in a circle, bare-feet and facing a fire in the middle. A man strikes a gong and each of the men in turn walk towards the fire holding a piece of paper. On it lists their shames and upon announcing them they burn the paper.

It's just not working for me. Well it sort of worked, the list I made of my shames was quite enlightening, but then I lost the piece of paper to some fire incident. All i remember of the list is "Masturbating to porn" but that hardly counts.

Acceptance, not change. Sure, but then wtf am i doing there, i could be sleeping for example. Or wanking.

Instead, the tape replays itself. Take no risks. Don't relate to anyone that might leave you.

How to be a bloke

aka "living love in men" or something like that

This is about a one-day workshop i went on yesterday, it was very cool.

Intro - hello, i'm Dirk your ideal daddy for today. He didn't really say that.

Sharing circle - talk about the object you brought in that represents you as a man.

  Interesting hearing everyone's bla bla bla. Anyway there were lots of sensible objects, stoney stuff, tools etc, and a johnny. I brought in a safe-non-sexual compass and waffled a little about how it was a safe choice like me, small and closed up (it has a lid) like the inner me (just the inner me i should add), but inside is a magic needle showing you a natural direction - exactly my idea of a what a man aspires to. So metaphorically my problem is that the lid is closed and the compass lies hidden in a junk box.

Body movement. ok here i think what we did was a quick re-run of evolution over the last several billion years compacted into a hour. It wasn't presented like that of course, but the jist was shake things up a bit (primordial earth comes to mind), then rooting your feet to the ground dance like a tree, then unroot yourself and move about as a wild animal, then slowly start interacting with other people. Is was actually very cool, and expertly directed by the course leader. I say directed, we were pretty free beasts at least within the parameters of the primary school gym we were in. Mostly we were wild primates prancing about and growling. Thinking about it now, the primary school gym venue makes complete sense. I should add that we started with eyes closed so this helped get into the spirit of things so inhibitions wouldn't kick in too much once sight became a requirement resulting from our newly evolved ability to move. That sentence was badly written and too long. Fuck it.

Lunch. all traipse down to the nearest hippy cafe or share your organic picnic

Talking stick.. sharing circle junkies will know this one, but for the spiritually dead let me explain. You grab the stick you talk. You don't have the stick, you shut the fuck up. So the theme was to talk about what you seek in a woman, or anything else that comes to mind. So I said that would come naturally from what i want as a man, but i could say at least that i value a women who gives me space to talk. Then i changed the subject to some traumatic events of the previous two days that culminated in me vomiting all night and weeping like a helpless baby chimp abandoned in the jungle. It seemed to strike a more real tone for me, since otherwise i'd bore even myself by for example reporting my textbook obsession with shagging random women. That said i was slightly disappointed i didn't get to read out the "something you have made or written yourself". I had brought along an extract of my blog "Sex in the city of Cartagena", which might have shaken me up a bit.

Caveman returns. Back to the school of primal learning, we line up and do a series of exercises in pairs that emulates what i imagine simple caveman encounters might feel like. It was all exceptional stuff, i thoroughly recommend it unless you are already in the fighting business, eg a northerner on a friday night, in which case there is no need to devolve in order to experience this.

Exposure. I almost forgot about this last part, potentially very potent. In 3's we took turn to be talker, listener, and witness. In rounds the talker would complete various sentences, the final round being "What i don't want other men to know about me is..." thinking about it now i could probably dig deeper, but anyway i came up with slightly lame stuff like "maybe i don't really have any friends" "i have no idea who i am" "i'm a complete wanker, literally and metaphorically" "i want to fuck everyone literally or metaphorically".

Ok that was about it, some more chit chat, hanging about for hugs and off we go.

Seriously though i found this course very interesting and rewarding. My jestful notes on it mask the deep spiritual impact it may have on me. Really. Anyway I'll be back for more.

Immediate aftermath

A more immediate and surprising impact was that within half an hour of coming out of this "man-only" course i found myself surrounded by many beautiful, sensual women some of whom jumped straight into my car. I say surprising, but of course it is obvious in hindsight. A lovely young chap on the course kindly invited me to join him at his house with some friends. And he only has very gorgeous girl friends. A small tweak to one of his chakra's would make him an instant Hugh Hefner. I'm sure we have something to learn from each other. 

Anyway everyone is delightful and friendly and arty, but down-to-earth. And they all hold your gaze, really hold it. It's unnerving for a spiritual vacuum like me, as in my book staring for more than 2 seconds  means "i want to fuck you" literally or otherwise. But does this also apply to this arty tantra crowd? It can't be they all want to fuck me. Or can it? But that's just it.. if woman is the giver, those into tantra maybe give even more openly. It doesn't make them sluts. Not any more than any other women anyway. But of course if I take this tantra stuff seriously then i wouldn't just want to fuck them. But i do, well not really, with gazes like i saw them give it would be making love from heaven. Maybe i would fall in love, at least for a while. That would be great. e.g. with Lilia, she was delightful, and a vocal chameleon, perfectly adopting any worldly accent. Maybe she is a temptress. I fought a nervous act between showing interest and inappropriate disinterest e.g. during an innocent conversation, somehow accidentally associating her with prostitution. Maybe my subconscious, feeling that i am emotionally unworthy of this woman, tries to sabotage any chances i may have.

Fantasy

Still things don't go too badly, i'm comfortable chilling out on the sofa, Lilia lounging at one end, another girl stretched out across the sofa physically bridging the two of us "going down on both of us" as she puts it. The innuendoes are pressing on my primal chakras and by the end of the evening these two girls are in bed together talking about having pillow-fights in their undies. This is too much for my little compass. I have completely manifest a situation where "i want to fuck everyone literally or metaphorically". I can live with fucking people i don't know, but with the connection i made on the course with my kind-hearted host, suddenly i know them all. I make my excuses and leave.

* * *

Dreams. Last night I had a few dreams and here are some snippets i remember, not necessarily in the right order. Warning, contains mild sexual content.

Snippet 1. I'm in someone's house and there's a bloke and lots of women (theme connection with last night, but the people are different) The bloke reminded me of someone but i can't place him, perhaps someone from school about Tom Cruises height, I think I thought in the dream. Anyway the bloke is very drunk and wandering about the house he tries to kiss me (connection to pair activity where facilitator says "anything can happen" at least twice). While I'm pushing him off he starts to vomit (possible theme connection with 2 nights ago when i vomited all night) and it's disgusting as some of it lands on me but it's basically just white star-shaped noodles which isn't so bad. Still gross i hear you thinking. Well it was all over the floor and around the bathroom and i'm washing my hands there and conscious of one of the girls nearby seeing this mess and thinking it's me.

Snippet 2. I'm sitting with two girls on a single bed there is a sense of other people in the room. I'm tactile with one of the girls but afraid to make a move sexually. At least one of them is wearing a free-flowing skirt. I make tentative and slow moves (btw this reminds me of how much i find slowness and silence a turn-on, the fact that i move in and penetrate a woman is a sense of being drawn in rather than "wanting" to go in) Anyway, the moves are slow but the effects are quick as i soon feel her crotch pressing onto my hand, and this submission quickly transforms events and i find myself in a fabulous oral threesome (yes it's a fantasy). I remember thinking this maybe corrupting me somehow, and this diminishes the pleasure, or maybe it was the sense that someone was watching. Or that one of the girls for a moment became one of my ex's.

Snippet 3. I am leaving a house gathering (connection with last night). I'm planning to drive back and i'm with a friend who wants to stay. He is a largish English guy i don't recognise, he needs to get home by car too but he says he is going to stay and have a crack at Lilia (connection, i fancied Lilia last night). As i am planning to leave i see him lying on her in the bed and her hands are on his shoulder blades in a tentative embrace. I feel jealous, and scared that if he succeeds it would put my chances to nil.

I'm very tempted to add interpretations here but i will leave it open.

Afterword

I wanted to add something profound at the end here, and culminate with my favourite“so there, you need faith, it's the only antidote to the 2nd law of thermodynamics”. But all the clever thoughts that passed though my mind this morning, in the shower, while eating breakfast, you name it, they have passed away, they are gone. So I sit here trying to write whatever I think, it may not be useful, but it’s fun.

Oh sod it i remember some of the stuff i was thinking about now. So you take a spiritual path of exploration and maybe even achieve a tantric state with a loving partner. This experience will be very real. But the moment you step out and look at the situation with your conscious mind you will see that what you have done is entered a sub-world, created at the expense of the larger world, in which the conditions are right for you to achieve the experience of spiritual bliss. There can be no distinction. Your conscious mind will come back to remind you of this fact, through the cries of the larger world. So have heart, or fart.

* * *

Some names may have been changed to protect privacy.

Weekend

I feel a recap is in order, more for my benefit, as chaos and confusion is once again the order of the day.

Almost went on a yoga date this afternoon with Linda the swede, how would that have worked? in one breath i desire to join her in union in the next to let go of my sexual drive? Help! My one outlet for weekly peace is infiltrated by a totally hot swede!

Your Claudia was a lot of fun yesterday, i put on my sleaze wig and we took some fun photos... please remind her to send them round! btw was very useful being the only nutter with a yellow & green wig ... she noticing a stranger amongst 100,000 people.. "Are you Alex..?"

Meanwhile i'm juggling texts from a plethora of girls including precious snippets like "God, I need sex madly. What have u done to me?"

Looking forward to your news tomorrow. I'll be practicing zen approaches again..

Bus-stop

i met this crazy girl on Saturday night at the bus stop end of night (wasn't even my bus-stop, i walk home). We had a very intense night of soul-searching and sex. She is my girlfriend now until one of us breaks it off (probably me on Wednesday). Although at lunchtime i hit on a couple of hot aussies in russell sq - is that grounds? The following text from her paints a picture.. [censored]

She was a smart quite attractive looking asian (pls consider it was 3am). The line-up was more attractive..

jizz on tits (she wanted to sleep)

sleep

sh@g 1

soul-searching

jizz on face

decide to date

sh@g 2