Wide, huge, splayed, murky, dispersed, nowhere, everywhere, confused, enmeshed, despotic, kind, contradicted, conflicting, intimate, private, gregarious, zany, veiled, unharnessed, expropriated, zestful, hidden, personal, celebrated, mocked, repressed, lauded, exposed, sold, prohibited, controlled, coerced, encouraged, pushed, trafficked, protected, idealised, spoofed, xenophilous, xenophobic, yucky, crushing, important, yummy, negligible, zenithal, duplicitous, keen, restricted, puritanical, kinky, zealous, diverse, damaging, transcendental, transforming, joyful, delicious, denigrating, maligned, illusive, vast, contained, limited, denied, prescribed, denounced, condemned, promoted, revered, varied, opposed, promulgated, worshipped, owned, ranging, proud, central, pivotal, ignored, painful, inhibited, forceful, liberating, sick, ill, marred, scarred, wholesome, deliberate, random, cast, moulded, evolving, natural, contrived, vague, vacant, imbued, physical, emotional, murderous, key, quintessential, coaxing, kitsch, revitalizing, holy, licentious, immoral, satanic, spiritual, yielding, demanding, distorted, plundered, moral, abused, sacred, perverted, subverted, propagandized, vilified, castigating, diabolical, replicating, basic, jealous, smug, excruciating, immobilising, knavish, needed, rejected, aggrandized, misunderstood, mystical, insatiable, bare, comprehended, miserly, generous, mysterious, menacing, violent, gentle, giving, divine, stealing, benevolent, consuming, altering, boring, lying, revealing, retracting, mending, supercilious, invisible, always, impenetrable, penetrating, unintelligible and surging with indefatigable lust for recouperative, informational descrytives that could be, only, anyway, infinitesimal contribution to a comprehensive collation that would ever come near to a requited depiction of the rising and falling, stretching and contorting, vanishing and universally asserting, omnipotent parameterlessness upon, around and within the whole of experience that is everything of human life. 

This processing, analysing, synthesising and assimilating to coalesce concepts for a substantively informed view, is with but linguistic apparati, in vain attempt to amalgamate a total of all possible reference to the intertwining motions of physical, mental, sensual, emotive, spiritual, philosophical, theoretical and originative technicalities operating over, through and between the spectrum of humanoid Earth species.

And yet, some bold folk, some obvious whizzes, some ‘must-be-gumpish-like’ ones, and they have existed, spread out through interminable aeons and eras, across all inhabited areas, some such denizens have consistently managed the miraculous finesse of consolidating all of the entire, down to a small parcel of infinite perception, in just one fractional moment of single syllabic mention, by encapsulation in the neat little word ‘love’.  !.  What a quaint, versatile notion.

So.  Two people. Initially, at a point, they bumped, in a victual shop, a library, a friend’s home, an educational zone, the work place, wherever.  And a magnetic simply was, drawing them, pulling them, tugging them, an increasing centrifugal incongruity propelling an inexplicable, centralising exclusivity, transmuting individuals into one.  Titillating, scintillating zing, tingle, tap and pump of skin, heart and genitalia beat, loudly condoning an avaricious hollering that will be assuaged in repetitive requisitioning of myriad methods of mind and body proximity merging, for which, the soul screams its ever expanding energy quota, intermittent with the successively murmuring, satisfied sweetness’s of beings mutually fallen.  (In love.) 

Immersed in surfing an endless space ocean, flowing, rolling, floating; really thick pile carpets, buoyant, kinetic, slo-mo, lunar-low gravity, everything colluding with wanting.  It is the want that is desired, desire wants.  Desire wants want to want and desire is all that is wanted. 
 
The intense sensation is that complete intersectional overlap is predestined: a dreamy, humming, everlasting yen in cyclical wax and wane that categorically evidences bonding as a constantly re-sourcing thrum, ions all aligned in a directional impetus for unison focus, like an implicitly renewable, power generating, perpetual motion engine. 

The in-depth, all consuming research of Wilhelm Reich*1 was after such a life force energy he called Orgone.  His mentors and forebears, including Freud, were on their way to taking him to one of the places he was trying to get to.  A very short word, perhaps one of only few that can stand for this type of current.  Three, well co-ordinated letters that may constitute a seminal reference to the absolute.  Sex. 

Can one experience the ethereal, radiating flush and blush of loving and it have nothing to do with sex?  Is it conceivable that the rush and glow of desire is divisible from sexuality? 

Yet can sex be anything of its fulcrum without the over powering propensity for union in love?  Is it that a value system, inherently providential for wise captainship of the personal Orgone generator, functions as a guide for some of those bold folk?  Joy of contained, maintained, balanced, abandoned love?

What is the originator of ‘love’ – the desire to bond, to feel another as self, “two as one flesh” physical enactment, light speed freedom timelessness soaring in mere minutes of togetherness, levitational portal into sheer beingness, where all else that isn’t literal coitus, is but heightened precursor to reiterated consummation moments, and post climax subsidence rides orbit towards rising fulfilment? 
 
So.  Two people have been together for some time.  Down the road agreed availability in daily routines by configured living arrangements has settled the thing of a singular them; the body-soul roars less demandingly; the centrifuge does as it would ordinarily do, rotating them at distance from the new space of common centre oneness.  Rationally, rapturous ecstasy is remembered, but a life that goes on a bit more as usual feels drier, wane wonders where wax is and, if it was not implemented during the first rosy hue, a decision may ensue that marriage is the inevitably designated vessel for love and sex to continue.

What is sex? – meaning, how did it start, where did it come from? 

How did it come to be in the first place?  What’s the origin of the sexual apparatus design and function? Polygamy, monogamy, hetero, homo, bi, these analytical, classifying, definitional, dividing expressions parody true grasp of the core beginning; mating, (sex just for procreation?), the urge, the urge to what?  Experience the central body-mind-spirit space instant?  Because it’s release?  So that there can be recharge urge to urge to merge, with an externalised, inner soul, which is vicarious merge with the prior, premier, cosmic urge: “I want my Mother (Father); I want to go home!”?

In J.R.R. Tolkien’s parallel reality, Lord of the Rings, the tree-herding Ents stem from a terribly long time ago at ‘the oldest beginnings’.  These males have to begin to concede that the survival of their breed is in jeopardy by the inadvertent loss of the Entwives and their longing, yearning, fraught sadness is for reunification and restoration of companionship which implies the explicit activity of Enting.  Surely?

Attraction.  Laws of.  A certain start to it all.  But the pathways to seeing fully are obscured by a sort of opaque membrane; like a lonely, automated, perpetuating entity denied exact GPS knowing of itself in relation to anywhere else; just isolated, a recurring orgasm bubble ‘happening’ out near a distant star.

It’s lifelong homework to detect the dictate of universal myths that impose mental incarceration and to unravel the fetters that confine intelligence.  And then to catch up with persistently proliferating data and records which reveal actual details of the origins of all, the cosmos, the galaxy, the solar system, planet earth, the font of life on planet earth . . . from whence art thou, oh two-legged, upright ones who ****?

How many kids first encounter the eccentricities of ‘the birds and the bees’ through a crass foray by childhood snigger?

Lesley Charter.  The first in the class to hold a dancing party.  But way before that she selects grade 2 pupils to attend an announcement; break-time, off-limits behind the classrooms, a few girls scurry over a low brick wall into a 3×3 cement quad.  Smug, unaware cavalier in a lewdly jocular smear that she’s already internalised around the subject, Lesley’s got the scoop to divulge to the assembled 7 year olds:

“. . . he puts his thing into her thing.”

“Oh. Um?
 . . . [silence]. 
Huh? . . . so, yah?”

The contents of her bulletin don’t register.  The siren rings anti-climax over her breaking-news.

Family.  Ten year older sibling preparing to marry.  Mother talking to her.  Both of them quite indifferent to the twelve year old girl also in the room.  As adjunct to the uncensored, adult conversation, a black and white dust covered, hard cover book lies on the bed.  The girl picks it up, has no idea what her eyes are making of the pages turning before her; suddenly mother is snatching the book from her, calling her a bad, ugly, naughty, dirty, horrible, evil little girl.  There’s shock, hurt and shame.  She has disappointed so.  But an inward, anterior wall has gone up where it wasn’t before, with a mental note behind it that there’s homework to be done.

Maybe she’s putting two together with the crass scoop, but the homework has begun and will go on and on and on; more unravelling of a parameterlessness whole that has been spun and spun and spun.

Archetypal stories of ignorant, religious, conformist guilt and fear are legion.  The woman lying rigid.  The man unable to prevent himself from resorting to base, brute instinct?  Like the marital bed scene in the film ‘Ryan’s Daughter’.  It leaves an indelible bleach on any homework pages.

Her first father-in-law took her to dinner to instruct her in the ways of being a wife to the son of a senior steward of the protestant church and a free mason.  Over peri-peri chicken livers and Moçambique prawns laced with bountiful carafes of Portuguese wine, in very merry, intimate cajole, he implored her to expend herself in managing the household money in a little housewife’s account book and also, with much sentimental sanctimony, he counselled her to prepare herself to tolerate a husband, because a man is ‘an animal in bed’. 

But her homework had not been wanting, so, much like she couldn’t receive 7 year old Miss Charter’s little divulging scene, she couldn’t really get why f-i-l would think he could command entitlement to reserve her sex life for what he thought it should mean.  She felt immeasurable dread.  She pitied him that this was they way he’d been trained to see himself inside his head.  She never did ascertain what m-i-l had to say about his version of their interplay.  Perhaps she liked him like that and he never knew. 

That was long after another book had simulated apologetic supplanting of the black and white dust cover that had caused her to be a bad, naughty, ugly girl.  Also a hard cover, it was brightly coloured, very sixties, suburban American, with the appalling title, ‘On Becoming A Woman’.  Mother had bought it from a door to door religious saleswoman and deftly left the devious gift in an obvious ‘pick-me-up-and-read-me’ position.  There the book remained, rejected, relinquished in its obsequious content and method of delivery, but reinvigorating her sensibilities for extreme privacy in her personal homework.  After first blood, her emergences coincided with increasing reasoning that if ‘God’ had made her, he’d made all of her, including the pleasing sensation that had begun to get her attention, and that if God didn’t like her like that, he was either peculiar, cruel, stupid or needed therapy for not coping with his botched mini-Him invention, and because she wanted God to be a purposeful, intelligent, together personage and force, she decided herself positive and embraced herself as a fine, glorious, sexual, creatively energetic being. 

Many grandparents and / or parents of the 50’s generation conceived on ‘honeymoon’ because they were unaware of the biological likelihood that they were going to.  Worse on the stigma ratings, those preceding women who continue to berate their urge with silent self-scourge, because their gestation calculations don’t tally with their wedding date.  (White dress!  Do any 21st century bridal brigaders perusing shiny marketing brochures get the significance!)  

Twenty nine years subsequent to walking down the aisle clad in pristine tresses of white opalescence purely and surely because she was symbolically eligible, there was recall how, on the eve of matrimony, a church counsellor had referred her to a gynaecologist to purchase contraceptives.  The account of the appointment, (noted in the homework book), seriously suggests evidence that her virginity had been taken prior to her wedding night, without her knowledge or consent, (doesn’t that constitute rape?), during her first internal examination, by a doctor, in the name of the medical ‘profession’.*2 

Well, diagnoses of insanity tend to be flesh in one trinity with religion and sex.  Thankfully, delving ‘Metaformic Thealogy’*3 and re-creative feminist creeds seed opportunities for being debriefed – and delivered – into compassionate, healing relief. 

When there is re-association with the actual, originating rationale and reason, the complex obsession with female virginity constitutes mental treason so clearly out of proportion: it was only ever about genetics, about paternity, to do with the continued, perpetuating exclusivity of bloodlines!  To have to acquire the logistical facts in the theological quagmire construed around the mother of all figureheads seems quite blunt: nothing to do with being in tact.  Accurate translations explain that she was required to adhere to conception rules governing the timed gestation and birth of the heir to the throne*4.  Centuries later, a beautiful princess was subjected to global knowledge of virginity tests performed on her at the behest of Royal Surgeons to ensure lineage of the children born. 

While the littlest ladies are dressed up as pageant queens or sent off to fancy dress parties as one of The Spice Girls, the gals are just supposed to keep on believing that they must also be able to measure up to the phenomenon of chastity in the parallel reality virgin story.  The dualism has such extremely squinted visions, like the immense span between traditions within the Judeo Christian religion.  

There are those who observe the deity by complying with the requirement to copulate through a hole in the sheet.  Never wanting to harbour prejudice against anyone in the different ways they may treat the matter of sex and god, there are nevertheless some specific questions of naïve curiosity to which answers appear illusive.  Are there sex aid shops or religious bookshops that sell such sexually specialised linen – where in the sheet is the hole placed, radial centre? – and, is the hole beautifully, (but softly) embroidered so that the sheet won’t fray – and, technically, how does one get the method of insertion down to such a fine art, without it being rather tricky?  Then, just a reminder again, what’s the justification, what are the reasons behind the laws of forbidden touch?
 
In many sectors of citizenry, any lucidity or consciousness to do with sensuality, sexuality or sex was (is?) descried, not allowed, attached to a big, blinking, VERBOTEN sign.  Even moving through a modern day bathroom could accrue mortal fear of falling foul and going to hell because of catching one’s own naked image in the mirror’s eye.  The very real condition of Grand Hysterie might still be redressed by long term sectioning, rather than prescribing a goodly dose of sex and yet, what should be made of the Victorian Physicians’ patient satisfaction machines?  Anomalies are pendulus, a back and forth sending, Felicia’s conflictingly delicious, moralising speech on crutches outside the church in the movie “Witches of Eastwick”, a yo-yo, being thrown in, and out. 

Celibacy?  In a widely wild world, that’s a difficult one to get around.  Especially in view of body health.  Blockage clearance for free flow; for instance, genuine scientists suggest abstinence causes issues for the prostrate; but maybe true adepts are really enabled to channel their energy through the Crown Chakra?

Otherwise off to the confessional to expose private soul to some dude who numbers amongst those who appear NOT to have found a way of living holistically with celibacy . . . queue to go into a little box, sit down, speak through a little grate to one of these people of this number, forced by a law which carries heavy weight across the globe, some poor teenager or gent, in effect, has to say, “I had the urge again about 84 times this week; I couldn’t help myself 11 times; my holiness is impure”?  Instant Absolution! 

The Acerbican Cynic must moot from the characteristic view of the Caesarial Critic:

 . . . what’s he and his institution harvesting off of at that and each and every other moment like it: accumulating and running up through the box, into the spire, into the skies, Orgone energy as offering to a deity in the heavens who made a creature, and made the creature believe it is defective so that he could kak on it forever, while it slaves ever after in mortally degrading toil, suffering at how weak it is to resist its implicit sinfulness that it has no way of escaping?  Can such a braindrainer, with his agents and cohorts, in any way be deemed to be the kind of god anyone would want to love or ask forgiveness of?  Moreover -
(The ‘behind closed doors’, ‘underneath religious robes’, ‘reveal all to me for your penitence reward’ mystique, in a rite of ritual confidence scheme, might one day be seen to be more universally harmful than the obvious cases of sexual misconduct publicised in the main stream; this practice can instigate partitions in the brains of potentially thriving young people who have to turn away from the intrusive invasion they experience as abuse; with nowhere else to take their increasing mire of confusion, a helpless degradation festers on the backdrop of hypocritical, dualistic pretention, till, in their personal isolation, they can let no one near their switch-off, which is simply begging for Instant Resolution!)

The pleasure of regarding the body originates in an aliveness that is healthy and natural, like the epiphany in Joyce’s “Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man” when Stephen Dedalus first encounters a woman’s motion flowing before his eyes.  The pertinence is to discover what it is that young boys really thrive on by seeing the woman’s frame.  But when social dis-grace is placed upon their responses to emergence, the whole surfacing self is held back in the unknown from where it was trying to come out in the first place.  The boy’s increasingly thinking he’s going to hell, and the tapping on the shoulder to look at yet more naked pictures exacerbates into a gripping circle of addictive, private hell; a robbery which can waste away whole lifetimes if the recesses of alter psyche remain hidden at all costs, even to self.  It has to be established whether this “brain sabotage”*5 is deliberate, socially engineered?  Splendidly accomplished as intended?

Most young boys are exposed to pornography in one of the real perils of puberty.  Why?  Reputable investigators would say, “follow the money”, and critical imagination must toy with far fetched examination of who holds shares in a Porn Industry rife with entrapment trickery, where voluptuous profit incentives are no whiff; even religious orders have to generate extensive income to sustain substantial upkeep of vastly expensive, expansive headquarters?  (Are Vestment Interests out of the question?)

Lucky the young chap who happened to pass through emergence in a time and place where a thoughtful counsellor, a writer, was taking the honest, transparent development of youth really seriously and when the boy was about to be used as societal target practice, the counsellor took up his case and made a point, by suggesting that the boy’s nudes showed real artistic talent and he challenged the community with its retrograde and the boy was awarded a scholarship to go to art college; as opposed to being kakked on for looking at a book left in plain view, as opposed to having exploratory drawings confiscated and being kakked on by a bungling adult who hadn’t found his own intelligence to deal with the issue as a responsible parent and an upstanding member of society.  There seems to have been prevalent, a conditioning attitude that predetermines a practice of specifically preventing transparency as a goal to be accomplished in and of itself, an ineptitude that has been purposely bred.

When two people from divergent systems couple, how do they create one workable term when the subterfuge of an implanted belief system goes against them in every moment of their mutually dedicated years?  How does it all work when two people want to be together, walk together, be happy, make work, make life, make smiles, make food, make interchange, company, pleasant time, get on through the mire of why there was in the first place, just smoothly, continuing, going along, in a song, and this thing is just there, p-lying, conspiring, taking, in an imbalanced apportioning of priority within the whole spectrum of what makes up the seconds, minutes, hours, days and nights of life, in the intricacy of time and in the eternality of concurrently existing, never ending, parallel dimensions?  How does one person come to terms and two make one, to be on another footing in their world with each other?
 
Why talk about it – so that it may not hide in looping strings of reciprocally cancelling antonyms which meddle each other into smudged blurs, hindering elucidation of actual truth by contradicting anomaly.  Talk about it because it’s simply got to be in the light – not religious or moral connotations, these words, but rather normal – when looking for something, go to the light switch and switch on the light so that there is light around where the eyes are looking to see. 

One should be grateful that academic researchers and clinical writers of 2009 explore matters such as “Masturbation as a mode of reading”*6.  (The term self-sex is more respectfully correct.)  People who never partner, and the statistic might be great in number, have to be considered, factored in, included.  Although some deity somewhere might deem being alone a sin that must invoke eschewal, despising.
 
Perhaps “Song of Solomon” has been decoded into helpful, respectful, practical, technical detail manual format?  The westerner has sought out accessible eastern cultural approaches, Yoni, Tantra, Sex Magic, The Kama Sutra.  Hindu men may have access to a wholesome, uninhibited, informative upbringing that provides the possibility for them to be sexually concomitant in their adult beings.  “Jitterbug Perfume” by Tom Robbins inspires.  Rufus C. Camphausen*7 contributes intelligence, thoughts, words.

Why was it otherwise all in the dark, did (does) it have to be?  The unseen has a propensity to hide heinous atrocity.

So where is the human race, sexually speaking?  The sexuality of the human, the human in its sexuality, in its experience, practice and identity?

How does the species learn optimization of the anatomical, psycho-spiritual properties and practices of sexual operation, to take it into the firm of infinite absolute, without hoo-hah, run around, inverting table turnings, obstacles and interim suffering?

Is anyone out there really asking with a genuine will for resounding, authentic return?  That would mean first acknowledging that this is something to ask about?

In flickering hopes of contemporary en-light-en-ment, there appeared to be reason for gladness.  Where everything had been held in the unfathomable, utter, rancorous unknown, one would have thought that a door at the end of the oppressive, repressive, cruel tunnel had been located and opened onto a real radiance.  One would have assumed reason for celebration in the work of Alfred Kinsey with his research mates – a new man, shaping a modern world.  “Children are sexual”, he proclaimed; then a mother composing children’s songs asked how Kinsey had obtained his findings and then she began to find out. 

Progressive parents of recent times are mindful to avoid saying negatives over their baby when changing nappies; they intend to covey complete affirmation and to nurture self love for all aspects of the developing body.  Policies of State advocating raising children with no shame for any body parts appear to be moving in the right direction.  But as the spin unravels, confounding shadows loom even more sinister than when sexual truth was prohibited by strict silence.  „Körper, Liebe, Doktorspiele”, a book for parents of 1-3 year olds that is obligatory read in some regions, is distributed with weighty punt by a Ministry for Family Affairs and deemed, by critics, to be direct, state encouragement of incest.  Why?

Parents are starting to become acutely aware that there’s reason to be scared of impending trends in popularist sex education.

Archeo-astrology, American Indigenous oral tradition, Celtic sheela-na-gig impressions and Agnostic Sophia Mythos can blend to take one back to locate inceptions as clue to get to what is now and what is still going to come into view in part two, Reichs, Or Sex gone?
Ambrasia Kurtz
Sendings from Acerbica

notes

*1 - “Man’s Right to Know” Wilhelm Reich
   http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-8843766085651223714&hl=en&emb=1#

*2  - Gyn/Ecology: The Metaethics of Radical Feminism by Mary Daly

*3  - www.metaformia.org

  - http://www.ejumpcut.org/archive/onlinessays/JC32folder/JoannaRussDoubSex.html
   Pornography and the doubleness of sex for women by Joanna Russ
   JUMP CUT- A REVIEW OF CONTEMPORARY MEDIA – Jump Cut, no. 32, April 1987, pp. 38-41

*4  - The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh & Henry Lincoln
   Arrow Books, The Random House Group Limited, London, 1996

  - third party references: http://www.skiens.com/truth/truth.htm
   (Bloodline of the Holy Grail, Laurence Gardner)

*5 - http://www.drjudithreisman.com/archives/2005/12/senate_subcommi.html

*6 - http://www.ejumpcut.org/currentissue/UllenPorn/text.html
   Pornography and its critical reception: toward a theory of masturbation by Magnus Ullén 
   JUMP CUT- A REVIEW OF CONTEMPORARY MEDIA – Jump Cut, No. 51, spring 2009

*7  - http://www.yoniversum.nl/central.html#

Rufus C. Camphausen – “The Generalized Principle of Human Sexuality

The application of this principle – in one way or another and more or less successful – gives rise to  the specific and local psychological ‘climate’ within which any given individual grows up, lives, blossoms and/or withers in varying degrees; and then dies. The principle can be stated in one simple sentence:

It is the nature of every group to guide and/or control the sexual development of its members as well as the individual and/or communal expression of their natural, sexual energy.”