Here’s a quote for ‘ya… Try reading it out loud in an impassioned voice:

To be GOVERNED is to be watched, inspected, spied upon, directed, law-driven, numbered, regulated, enrolled, indoctrinated, preached at, controlled, checked, estimated, valued, censured, commanded, by creatures who have neither the right nor the wisdom nor the virtue to do so. To be GOVERNED is to be at every operation, at every transaction noted, registered, counted, taxed, stamped, measured, numbered, assessed, licensed, authorized, admonished, prevented, forbidden, reformed, corrected, punished. It is, under pretext of public utility, and in the name of the general interest, to be placed under contribution, drilled, fleeced, exploited, monopolized, extorted from, squeezed, hoaxed, robbed; then, at the slightest resistance, the first word of complaint, to be repressed, fined, vilified, harassed, hunted down, abused, clubbed, disarmed, bound, choked, imprisoned, judged, condemned, shot, deported, sacrificed, sold, betrayed; and to crown all, mocked, ridiculed, derided, outraged, dishonored. That is government; that is it’s justice; that is it’s morality.

That’s from the 1851 book General Idea of the Revolution in the Nineteenth Century by French dude Pierre-Joseph Proudhon. Even now, after more than a century-and-a-half, it remains an inspiring rant, especially when appreciated from a modern libertarian perspective.

I got this from this Open Yale course on European History by John Merriman. Here’s a short clip with the Professor telling heart-warming story about a regular workaday anarchist from the same time period:

direct link to video (mobile-friendly)

I dedicate this book to the happy memory of my parents who, in their very different ways, taught me the love of story.

When I was first learning to read, but not always behaving appropriately, my father introduced me to the fables of Aesop in the hope that these ancient cautionary tales might improve my deportment. Each evening, after working my way through the likes of “The Fox and the Grapes,” he would nod and ask, “And what does this story mean to you, Robert?” As I stared at these texts and their handsome color illustrations, struggling to find my interpretations, I slowly came to realize that stories mean much more than words and pretty pictures.

Later, before entering the university, I deduced that the best possible life includes as many rounds of golf as possible, and therefore, I would become a dentist. “Dentist?!” my mother laughed. “You can’t be serious. What happens when they cure all teeth problems? Where will dentists be then? No, Bobby, people will always need entertainment. I’m looking out for your future. You’re going into show business.”

– Robert McKee, Story

Sometimes you feel like you have a winner– a winner of a book or a movie or even a porn production– right from the very beginning. This is one of those times.

This past week Vermont legalized same-sex marriage. Vermont is the first state to do so through the legislature instead of through the courts.

This comes on top of the legalization of gay marriage in Iowa a few days earlier. In Iowa it was achieved by a unanimous ruling of the state supreme court.

Las Cucarachas No Like The Gays

And so what has happened since?

Well, the religious people have come out of the woodwork like fucking cockroaches. They’ve all got their panties in a bunch because of something that affects them in no way whatsoever!

The Pink Mafia

First, there’s this article by some crackpot named Michael Savage.

He says that last year’s political effort to legalize gay marriage in California was driven by the “gay mafia”. Mafia? Where? All I see are guys going to Wet Underwear Night at Flicks, and fat bald chicks walking around holding hands with other fat bald chicks. Not a Soprano-style guido-guy in sight.

Then again, calling a group a people a “mafia” without reason is bigotry. And maybe expressing that bigotry is the whole point.

Savage goes on to say that these legal developments “come as a result of the election of Barack Hussein Obama”. He was sure to put the “Hussein” in there so you can associate Obama with a middle-eastern terrorist– apparently these religious people never miss the opportunity to take a cheap and bigoted shot.

And then this about Obama: “He’s being very cleverly used as a tool of the gay puppet masters. He is personally masculine, has a beautiful family and was used by the gay mafia to convince real American families that they should support him.”

You know what? Calling people “puppet masters” is just as bigoted as calling them a “mafia”. And insinuating that Obama’s masculinity and beautiful family were taken advantage of by these said puppet masters is doubling down on the bigotry.

“The Link Between Gay Marriage and Mass Murders”

It seems that the religious people are not content with simple “mafia” and “puppet master” bigotry.

Morality in Media’s Robert Peters wrote this article “connecting the dots… between gay marriage and mass murders”.

You know what even associating gay marriage and mass murder is? Yes, you guessed it. More bigotry.

Oh, wait… at the end of his piece he claims that he’s not making the claim that he, ummm, just made:

“It most certainly is not my intention to blame the epidemic of mass murders on the gay rights movement! It is my intention to point out that the success of the sexual revolution is inversely proportional to the decline in morality; and it is the decline of morality (and the faith that so often under girds it) that is the underlying cause of our modern day epidemic of mass murders.”

Mr. Peters: You really are stretching it, aren’t you? You just put gay marriage and mass murder together and then you add these weasel words because you can’t stand fully behind your original proposition! It seems that even you yourself realize that you are a bigot!

This Next One Is Right Out of the Nazi Playbook

OMG! Look! The religious people did a reinterpretation of Triumph of the Will:

The dark clouds… the lightning… “the storm is coming”… This is so full of bigotry through every line and every image and even the whole set up.

These Religious People Are Immoral

These people don’t have a monopoly on morality just because they consider themselves “religious”.

Their bigotry and unwillingness to let others live in peace is WRONG. In fact, it’s reflective of moral failure.

That’s right– these assholes are being called out for their immoral bigotry by a fucking porn blog!

Let’s Take The Opportunity

My fellow wankers, let’s see this an opportunity… it’s an opportunity to claim “morality” back from those who abuse the term.

These religious bigots think they get to define what’s moral and what’s not.

But we are more evolved. You and me, we are existentialist, postmodern, thoughtful people… We know more than they do. We have experienced more than they will. We have invested in living this life rather than some fantasy after-world that will never come to me.

“Morality” is more open to definition by us rather than them.

I think we need to remember that.

Clean things up. Decide what is worth keeping and put it in its place. And, most importantly, throw shit away. Or give it away. Or sell it on Craigslist.

Throwing stuff away sometimes comes back to haunt me months later when I realize it would be convenient to have the shit I threw away… but still I am happier to have erred on the side of minimal living. No George-Carlin-style ridiculousness for me.

Reinstalling

I do this when it comes to computers too. Every 6-12 months I must reinstall the fucking operating system, even though I use a relatively crap-free Mac.

Like with the house, the computers must be cleaned up. A fresh start must be made. The old programs that are no longer used must be dispensed with, not to be installed again.

This isn’t for disk space. Nor is the larger scheme of house-and-life cleaning for the freeing up of physical space. Rather, all of this is for mental space.

And As For The Marijuana…

Lately I’ve really come to appreciate this even more. That is because I’ve been smokin’ pot!

Not a lot of pot. I’ve tried it about 10 times. The last 5 or so times I actually got high. The first few times didn’t do it for me.

When I was high I was able to detach from the concepts I had built up in my mind. I could see the conceptual framework of my whole existence like an impartial third-party observer.

I realized that it is unhelpful to be attached (in the Buddhist sense of “attachment”) to this whole conceptual understanding I had built up. The concepts might not accord with reality. Or they might have outlived their usefulness. Either way, they gotta go.

Incidentally, I recommend smoking marijuana to anybody. Get high at least a few times. For me it’s been one of the best things I’ve ever pursued in my life.

Fuck Your Mind With A Chainsaw

That’s what I’m doing right now. “Fuck it with a chainsaw” is my mantra. A spring-cleaning of the concepts in my mind. Search and destroy the preconceptions and outdated notions. Reinstall my mental operating system.

Start anew with things fresh and clean. Just the OS and it runs fucking fast. No fucking mental DivX trialware that you can’t fucking uninstall. And I will add programs– those mental concepts– only as they are needed, and only in their most optimized form, compiled especially for my fucking mental hardware like fucking Gentoo.

A New Porsche Won’t Save You!

The shit will accumulate in your house and on your disk and in your mind no matter what. Much better to consciously and mindfully clean it up than to let it sneak up on you.

I think most people don’t do this and then their whole conceptual understanding of the world eventually becomes too much to bear… and then it crashes down in the form of a “midlife crisis” or mental breakdown.

So why not have a mental breakdown every six months or so– but on your own terms and in a way that you drive with direct, conscious effort??

You Can Try This At Home…

Tell your wife right now that you’re scheduling a mental breakdown for next weekend and you’re gonna get some 420 in the meantime… and that your YOU FUCKING ARE gonna also need about a gallon of PineSol and a fucking mop and a bucket and some rags and a set of OS installation disks.

I recommend you send the kids to a babysitter.

For last few days I listen to Super Taranta!. Is from Gogol Bordello– that is hottest Gypsy punk band of… ummm…. 2007.

I am little late. Usual case. Trend train already left station. Arrived at fucking destination long ago while I fucking spend time fucking Tijuana whores.

Guys in band are genius. Totally existential. Confronting serious psychological and philosophical issue with smart analytical rational thinking.

And there even song of Grand Unification Theory. Will titillate your inner physics geek!

Is music that help navigate you the absurdities of stupid modern American life… with vodka and marinated herring!. In face of so much existential absurdity, what can possibly ask of art except that it be helpful?

They become with Silversun Pickups one of my favorite band. Check out performance with Postmodern Queen herself from 2007 (just first part of video). And also session on show of clueless David Letterman.

(I think Madonna performance is one best things I’ve seen in year… I remember Andrew Sullivan blog it many many times ago. I never knew who Gypsy dudes were until now, tho’.)

An excellent recent epsiode was the one on Alternative Hedonism. Kate Soper argues that we should look past consumerism and try to pursue other enjoyable aspects of life instead. In the past, people have sought deep satisfaction through religion; but most sensible people today realize that religion provides nothing more than a hokey band-aid over a person’s need for fulfillment.

So why not just pursue hedonism? That is, pursue the things that make you happy, that bring satisfaction, at whatever level: from the carnally sexual to the transcendentally philosophical. And do it for the sake of the satisfaction that you get from them. Actively put your desire for money and the unsatisfying perks of modern capitalistic life aside. Live smaller, but live with greater and deeper satisfaction.

Sounds good to me.

This is the sort of idea that sticks in your mind, partly due to how much it contrasts with the mindlessly reactionary consumerism rampant among the public today. But I think it also sticks because it’s a useful idea. You can refer to it in many situations in life. It will remind you that the opportunities for mindful active pleasure are often much greater than they first appear, and that the pursuit of these opportunities is a worthwhile endeavor even if you have to pay a price for it.

I hope you’ll find their philosophical juxtaposition as fascinating as I have.

There is no porn in this post. But you should read it anyway.

The first article is here. It’s a recent opinion piece by David Brooks from the New York Times.

Brooks ponders the question of “what life asks of us”, and his basic point is that we find meaning through institutions:

…we are not defined by what we ask of life. We are defined by what life asks of us. As we go through life, we travel through institutions — first family and school, then the institutions of a profession or a craft.

Each of these institutions comes with certain rules and obligations that tell us how to do what we’re supposed to do. Journalism imposes habits that help reporters keep a mental distance from those they cover. Scientists have obligations to the community of researchers. In the process of absorbing the rules of the institutions we inhabit, we become who we are.

That made me shake in my slippers. How about you? Are you scared yet?

He goes on, even getting personal:

I thought it worth devoting a column to institutional thinking because I try to keep a list of the people in public life I admire most. Invariably, the people who make that list have subjugated themselves to their profession, social function or institution.

Subjugate themselves? Good grief!

You know what came to my mind when I read this? That Terry Gilliam movie Brazil, and in particular this woman:

She really subjugated herself to her profession! And she seemed perfectly happy about it, don’t you think?

I’ve been thinking about Brooks’ article occasionally since I read it two weeks ago. I found it viscerally upsetting, but I couldn’t put together the words to explain what I found so terrible about it.

Then I came across this screed from some hacker dude named Ace Evader. (Actually it’s just the first screed of seven, but the other six are technical while this one is philosophical.) And this– this!– is exactly how I feel about god damn fucking institutions:

The Matrix is the social structure that subordinates Humanity to its will. It is the machinery of society that exists solely to perpetuate itself, its influence, and its power independent of any human need. It insulates us from each other and ourselves through deception, and essentially transforms us into servile engines of economic and political output (power). The machines that live off this power are institutions: large corporations, governments, schools, religious institutions, and even non-profit orgs. Every institution will reach a point in its existence where its primary function becomes self-preservation and perpetuation, instead of serving human need. At this point it becomes a machine of the Matrix. For example, when they become machines, governments cease to serve people and instead seek to extend their power over them; corporations prioritize increasing shareholder value over producing quality products or otherwise serving the public good; schools view students as a means and not an end; religions equate membership with salvation (and actively oppose other teachings and even independent practice); and non-profits and charities spend more budget on fund raising activity than on their original focus. Inevitably all large institutions eventually become machines. They become too big for Humanity.

OK, it’s a little dramatic. But I think Ace Evader makes his case much better than that semi-conservative washout at the New York Times.

Read the full hacker piece. It’s two or three years old but not the least bit out of date.

You know what I like about this video? Paola doesn’t hesitate. Sure, there’s a little warm-up clit-play… but when it’s time for the gusto she gives it the gusti! She takes the glassy dildo and shoves it in her ass, then after she cums she licks it like it were the very last piece from a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken.

She doesn’t ask herself if shoving that glass dildo in her ass is consistent with her Catholic upbringing. She doesn’t ponder what the Pope would think. She doesn’t ask whether porn is inherently exploitative of women. She doesn’t feel ashamed, or if she does then she doesn’t show it.

Life is about action. The stuff that goes on in our head is the burden each of us bear. But in the end all that psychological stuff really makes no difference because we are the only ones who experience it, and in the end we individually are nothing but worm food. Our actions, however, live on in ripples of effect throughout the world around us.

There is certainly something to be said for thought and introspection. Rationality is useful and important. But when we chose to do, let us do, and let us not punish ourselves for doing. Psychological hang-ups are sooooo 2008.

Do I digress? Oh, I guess I do. Let me try this: Shove that dildo in your sweet ass you pony-tailed Euro bitch!!! That’s better.

Now go here for more.

Now… What was I blogging about??? Oh, yeah…

I don’t get it. I don’t get the idea of “gay” and “straight”. It doesn’t make any sense.

If you are a man wanting to kiss, or even wanting to have sex with, another man, does that mean that you have to speak with an effeminate voice and buy leather pants and move to Hillcrest? What if you just want a little taste?

‘Cuz you know what I think… I think everyone wants at least a little taste. Every man wants a little man love! Every single guy! For some, it might be something like the platonic intimacy shared over a late-night drink with an admired co-worker. For others, it might be a weekend invitation to the Loft with a demand for the guest to bring copious amounts of anal lube.

But don’t try to tell me that at least some little part of you isn’t watching the Homoerotic Channel with eyes wide open.

So why the fuck is there the categorization… the “gay” vs. the “straight”? You can be gay and straight at the same time! Kiss the boyfriend, then turn around and fuck the girlfriend, and then the boyfriend joins in for a little double-penetration… And it can be spur-of-the-moment. You can do what, or whom, your mind and loins desire at any one instance, without any lifestyle commitment or self-reflection or therapist appointments to try to find yourself and determine which fucking stupid category you should put yourself in.

And the “bisexual” idea doesn’t work either. “Bisexual” implies some sort of pygmy thing… It suggests some sort of freak who doesn’t fit into the mainstream “straight” category and doesn’t even fit into the alternative “gay” category. “Bisexual” is the dark house at the end of the dead end road where everybody is afraid to go. But… you fucker… that’s where you fucking live, whether you like it or not!

In other words, “bisexual” means nothing. NOTHING!

FUCK THE WHOLE FUCKING CATEGORIZATION! FUCK THE WHOLE FUCKING NARRATIVE THAT SUPPORTS IT!

You wanna know why I write this? It’s because of eFuckingHarmony. They just opened up a gay site. Not by choice, but to settle a court case. And they have completely segregated the “same sex” seekers into a separate site with its own separate database. In other words, they’ve created a ghetto for the “gays”.

That’s what you would expect anyway, considering eFuckingHarmony’s genesis from the garden of American Evangelical Christianity. It is fueled by the myth among people of an “us” straights vs. “them” gays, and that myth is just as fantastic as the idea that God created the world in six days and took day seven off and wanked that whole day to this here esteemed porn blog.

Then again, those Christians idiots base their whole nonsensical dogma on the idea that they are the “chosen” living among the “damned” heathens. “Us chosen” versus “them damned”, that is.

I’ve always found the “us” vs. “them” idea to be repulsive. It is an idea that always seems to always rear its ugly head in every aspect of society. We all need to evolve beyond it… The man of old uses that sort of language. It is jettisoned early on in the journey to the Übermensch.

I’m not saying we all ought to fucking love one another and put fucking meaningless “Co-Exist” bumper stickers on our fucking cars and sing Kum-ba-fucking-ya and all of that fucking bullshit. I just think that we should be grown up enough to not use language that makes us appear to be tribal cave-people… with the worry that the “us” of our tribe is going to be hacked to death by the invading “them” tribe that is waiting in expectant blood-lust outside the cave where we sleep.

I’m back here because I have an existential quandary… a life question to answer… a fork in the road, if you will, and the only way to pass it is accept that there is no fork and indeed there is no road, and that any idea of any path at all is just an illusion.

An Existential Question

I came back to consult with The Porn Guru. He works from the Kearny Mesa section of San Diego. He is Existentialist, Ph.D., guide to rich men and Dostoevskian Idiots like me. He introduced me to the whole Existential philosophy, and indirectly to postmodernism too. I trust him more than anyone.

Of course, The Porn Guru will not give me an answer to my question. He does not give answers. He will only help me realize things that I have not thought of. And he is very good at that.

Today– my first full day back– has been a beautiful day. Bright and sunny, the slightly salty smell of the warm sea air providing the life breath to lungs and to mind… and also to loins, of course.

I sat at the front patio of Starbucks at B Street and 28th, in Golden Hill, for a couple of hours. Reading Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. It is a spectacular book. Sure, it stretches plausibility sometimes, and Rand is a much better dramatist than a novelist. The best way to regard it is as a thought-provoking mini-series in book form. And its most potent effect is what it inspires you to think about, not the plot or the story it feeds to you directly.

I should have read it when I was 17. Well… I’m 34 now, and that’s double 17, and anyway there is never a reason not to seek out inspiration. Perhaps when you stop seeking inspiration, you die, one way or another.

Problem is that the book is so fucking long. My copy has 1,069 pages of text. The plot is revealed on page 677. Page 677!!! Luckily there is plenty of juice to keep you interested- and thinking- along the way. Rand writes about sex… lots and lots about sex… and about power and sex… and about submission and sex… and about achievement and sex… and all that sex-writing is quite thought-provoking in itself.

I realized, sitting there, that I needed to get up and take a walk. Walk and think. I had been reading and thinking and reflecting there on the Starbucks patio far too long. So I decided to walk downtown.

As I’m walking down B Street, the Symphony Towers overhead, I stride past a 30-something black dude walking with a toothless, worn, wrinkled woman who is only slightly older.

He looks at me. “How you livin’, man?”

Huh? What’s that? It takes me a minute to escape from my thoughts about Dagny Taggart and how the three leading men of the book want to fuck her… neigh, to own her, sexually and in every other way… because of her ability. “Wha..?” I mumble to the dude.

“You look like you livin’ large”, he states, assuredly.

How could he know? Is that why is he commenting? Does he see it in my gait? In my face?

A moment passes. And then I respond, “No, man… I’m living… free.”

“Living free, huh? Dude here is living free.”

I have the novel in my right hand. I had walked rapidly passed him and the woman during the exchange. I turn, point my hand with the fat book in it at him. “That’s right. And living free is better than living large. Living free is better than anything.”

Without missing a beat, the black man replies, “You got that right, man.”

I turn back around and walk on.

And I think that, in the annals of history, it might go down as one blog post that could change the world! Despite its potentially boundless impact, it will be appearing here on this esteemed porn blog between a photo(shopping) of the fucking Republican presidential ticket and a bunch of BDSM sluts presented with a cheesy ice cream joke.

Such is the way of the world: If you want fucking wisdom, you gotta take the fucking too.

Anyway, I should not toot my own blogging horn until I have blogged something to toot about. So let me begin back in Europe. I left there on Tuesday. Early morning flight. And right before I left my Copenhagen apartment for the airport, I was posting galleries. In particular, I got this Red Hot! gallery up–

–on my esteemed porn portal at the last possible moment, then I packed up my laptop and grabbed my already-packed-up luggage and within two minutes of posting that Sizzling! gallery I was out the door on on my way back to America.

Sizzing Red Hot girl was all I could think of as I passed through the lovely Porn Capital of Europe and through the isle of Amager to the modern little airport, then on the plane and back to America! I couldn’t wait to have a yummy fucking Starbucks triple grande wet cappuccino. And maybe I would fuck a Tijuana street whore when I got back too. Ahhh… the comforts of home!

So I get to Chicago. Had to wait a couple of hours for the next plane- the one to San Diego. I get my coveted cappuccino– unfortunately there are no barely-legal Mexican street whores at O’Hare so I couldn’t fulfill the other part of my desires– and I sit down in one of the laptop stations and plug in and log on to the fucking pay-to-play airport internet.

Hmmm… the little light on the side of my Mac is not on- the one that shows the power is flowing… Let’s see… it’s plugged in… WAIT! What’s that?

I see smoke rising.

I follow the trail of smoke with my eyes down to… the power supply! My Mac’s power supply is… RED-HOT! Sizzling! ON FUCKING FIRE!

Yikes! That Red Hot, Sizzling! gallery really fucking was!

So I unplug the power supply and pack my juice-less laptop away, then wander around in some semi-stupid boredom for two hours, looking at idiotic books in idiotic airport bookstores as I kill time… DIE TIME! DIE! DIE! DIE!… and finally get on the flight to San Diego.

When I get to San Diego in the late afternoon, I realize that I’ve got to go to the fucking Apple fucking Store to fucking buy a fucking new fucking power supply for my fucking laptop. As I’m thinking about this, exiting the airport, I pass the limo driving dudes with my energy sapped by a very long day so far that begun nine time zones ago… And then I notice that one of the limo dudes is holding a sign that says…

“PORN.”

What? I squint. Look again. He’s holding a sign and the name on the sign is…

“PORN.”

Huh? I was going to ask him about it… I was going to say “hey that’s me but I didn’t order a fucking limo”… But would that be rude? Would it be obnoxious to inquire? Maybe there is… somewhere… a real guy who’s real last name is Porn. I had a neighbor at 666 Up Ass Street whose last name was “Deatherage”. Actually it was a couple– Mr. and Mrs. Deatherage. They were fighting every time I saw them. I understand they are in divorce proceedings now.

I decide to leave Mr. Porn’s driver alone and just go drop my fucking bags off and then go get that fucking power fucking supply.

So I get to Fashion Valley. That’s a fucking mall in the fucking Mission Valley shopping area of fucking San Diego.

I hate Fashion Valley. It’s so fucking fashionable. As I walk through the mall to the Apple Store, a bunch of 90210-looking girls are woman-ing a table and they are soliciting shoppers to come over and suck on their luscious sales pitch… “We’re helping missing kids,” the tall blonde girl says. Sure you are, honey. Sure you are.

Actually, you bitch, you are selling something… I don’t know what… and I don’t want to find out… but you’re selling something and you are using “missing kids” to do it. Nice. How fucking Fashion-Valley-ish of you.

Some 90210-looking dude is over there at their pitch table talking to them. Yeah, like you care about missing kids, bozo… you just want to fuck the airhead blondes, don’t you, California Boy???

Oh no matter. I get to the Apple Store and the place is like a lush geek oasis in the middle of Vapidland. Gawd, I love the Apple Store. Busy as hell too. Lots of Russians. There are tons of Russians in San Diego, but that’s another story for another time…

I get the replacement power supply and as I’m leaving Fashion Valley I pass by the same “missing kids” table and airhead 90210 blonde gives me the same “Do you want to help missing kids?” spiel that she did the first time, unaware that she already subjected me to her attempted trickery. UGH! I’m frustrated now and compounding the frustration is the fact that since I’ve come to Fashion Valley I’ve seen lots and lots of really hot blonde California girls and I’m really getting sexually charged and having been going for so long is compounding the horniness I’m feeling. And then there’s the warm California weather which of course brings all that testosterone to the head…

There is only one solution: I MUST go and fuck a barely-legal Tijuana street whore.

18 years old. 19 would be OK too. Not too thin and not too short because I want to fuck her up fucking deep and I don’t want one of these girls who is not capable of being penetrated intensely.

Is this TMI? I hope not. I mean… there really is a difference between fucking and FUCKING, between a nice little gentle rhythmic “intercourse” and a fucking all-out voraciously intense and somewhat rough mega-penetration. I wanted the latter. Since I don’t like MILFs, who are generally pretty good at that sort of thing, I decided to turn to a young female professional and a small transaction of international trade. Plus my passport was already in my back pocket.

I decide that I will take the trolley to the Tijuana border. I drop off the power supply at the apartment and hop on the trolley toward the Mexican border… and I soon find myself surrounded by bunches of Mexicans.

As the trolley rolls through National City and Chula Vista on the way to the City of Debauchery, I start thinking. I think about how I had previously resolved to not fuck any more Tijuana street whores.

But that was a long time ago, I reason. That was in an “up” real estate market. Now we are in financial turmoil. Everything changes in a down market!!! Ergo, I can go ahead and fuck a street whore.

Or another line of reasoning: I’m a fucking post-modernist. Post-modernists don’t believe in rules. So I should be breaking my own rules first of all. Only thing is that a rule about breaking rules would itself still be a rule. And certainly we can’t have a rule about that.

So I start thinking about rules. What is this rule that I came up with so many months ago… this idea that I should not be fucking barely-legal Tijuana street whores??? Where did it come from? Who is enforcing this rule? Who is going to put me to judgment based on this rule?

The answer comes to mind right away. And the answer is God.

That’s fucking right! God gave this rule to me. God is going to enforce it through some divine dishing out of bad luck or something like that if I break it.

God. God. God.

What a giant boatload of smelly shit that is.

Of course this rule… this idea… did not come from God. It came from me and my own feelings. I might not be able to elucidate those feelings so well, and I might not even understand their complexity. But it’s all there- I could delve into it, say with the help of a therapist, if I wanted to.

And the reason I think God is going to enforce this rule of my own making is that I don’t have anyone else who I can say is going to enforce it. A rule needs to be enforced, right? So I invent a personification to do what I need somebody to do, just to keep together the logical consistency of the thoughts in my head… and I call that personification “God”.

Oh my God! Finally it dawns on me: God is just a fucking kludge! And I don’t need no kludge!

That’s all God… all that religion… is: Just a first-order approximation! A fudge factor! God is what we use to fill in the blanks when we have something that we don’t understand, or when we need a personification to allocate something to in order to keep together the logic of the thoughts we have in our head! God is the first term in a power series expansion! God is the C when we + C to the equation. God is the first guess that we offer towards the world in our childlike and unevolved way of viewing it.

And isn’t this what we have always done, throughout history: We don’t know how the Earth beneath our feet came into being, so we say that it was the work of God. We don’t know why the sun appears to travel around the Earth, so we say God makes it so. We don’t know how to resolve the unavoidable sense of our continued existence with our knowledge of inevitable death, so we say God gives us an afterlife. We don’t know what meaning to ascribe to suffering, so we say that God will give us that meaning in time.

But it’s all fudge! It’s all just a placeholder for a better explanation that we could have with greater knowledge or greater awareness or both!

This reminds me of the time in Freshman Physics Lab in college when my lab partner Jim Delaney and I were supposed to measure the speed of light. There was some experiment with a mirror rotating at high RPM… and we really fucked up the experiment. So when it came time to do the calculation, we were screwed. We ended up with a speed of light that was half of what it should be, but with a margin of error double that! So the speed of light could have been negative but of equal magnitude.

We followed the procedure. We propagated the error of measurement through to the final calculation. We got a ludicrous result. We were too lazy to go back into the lab and redo the experiment. We got C’s on that report. We should have gotten F’s.

But we were lazy and it was a first approximation and we didn’t really care to get a better result.

And so it is with God!

Come hither the Übermensch! He has no need for such silliness! The Übermensch doesn’t need to resort to the God superstition as a first guess… he skips it altogether because he knows it’s never the right answer!

So it was with this great realization that I disembarked the train at the Tijuana border and made my way to the Zona Norte, where I proceeded to quickly find and fuck an entirely unsuitable 20-year-old. Thought she would be close enough to 18… but no. Wasn’t any good at all. And I thought about physics and religion the whole time and couldn’t even cum. Terrible. Terrible.

I went to Hong Kong Bar and had a drink and a girl with a very ugly face but some of the best tits I have ever seen danced on the stage in front of me. Hong Kong Bar was renovated while I was in Europe. It goes all the way though the block now. It’s huge. A huge beautiful den of debauchery.

I had a Kaluha. And I realized that I… like you, my friends… don’t need no fudge-factor first-order-approximation God no more. He is no use to us. Let us take one step towards the Übermensch and not invoke such silliness in our thoughts any more.

Or, more precisely, a “boulevardier, whore-monger, and drooler over pornography”.

That’s how this review summarizes James Hawes’ description of Kafka in his new book, Excavating Kafka. Hawes was able to get into Kafka’s porn stash and includes copies of this wank material to illustrate Kafka’s humanness, in contrast to the saintly picture that Hawes claims is painted by Kafka scholars.

And according to this write-up in Times Online, it’s not just soft vanilla erotica:

“These are not naughty postcards from the beach. They are undoubtedly porn, pure and simple. Some of it is quite dark, with animals committing fellatio and girl-on-girl action… It’s quite unpleasant.”

So basically it’s the pre-Nazi equivalent of furry porn, plus some sapphic delights. That doesn’t sound unpleasant at all.