thought in MAIN PAGE progress  



Anthony Weir


tongue-sticking and...

Kali, an aspect of Shakti, the wife of Shiva, is the goddess of angry love and of the destruction of illusion and ego. Illusion and vainglory triumph in almost all cultures, and Kali is the Goddess of the Destruction of Vainglory, the personification of entropy. She is usually portrayed, like the Biblical Judith, holding the bloody heads of the vainglorious by the hair, with others dangling from her girdle or forming a garland.

Love the bewigged and hydra-headed monster is a term beloved of moral blackmailers. It is the worst of shibboleths - a woolly weasel-word. Males typically mean it as 'open to sexual pursuit'; females typically mean it as 'appreciation'. For me, however (always in Dissident Mode) if I were to use the word at all, it would mean 'respectful fondness'. Thus I can apply it only to dogs and other such profound, multidimensional beings.

Fondness is a word rarely used in English are the related 'lovingkindnesss' and 'wholesomeness'. It is a word without baggage, and precise: a Cordelia-word despised by the solipsistic Lears who rule and manage the planet. 'Love' can mean almost anything - according to context - or according to what the hearer wants to hear or believe - or it can mean nothing at all. It is snake medicine peddled by all and sundry. It usually involves some kind of moral pressure or blackmail, and (like Freedom and Democracy and Decency) must never be defined within the context, lest logic, reason or commonsense rear their fragile heads to challenge the hallucinatory Hydra.

It is of course not love which makes the world go round - but desire (including the solipsistic desire to keep on living!) and desire's ghastly offspring, greed.

In its usual, colloquial sense, love (especially since the neo-quasi-preRaphaelite 1960s) is a kind of sickly layer-cake which feeds the lovelorn ego. In its Romantic "archetype" (?) it came into vogue in the 11th Poitiers, at the court of Eleanor of Aquitaine's father, duke William IX of Poitou, "the troubadour Duke", a sort of medieval Elton John drivelling on about candles in the wind. Interestingly, it came to France via Sufism (shame be it to say) - poets like Rumi, in fact. It has gone nastily downhill ever since. It is neither eros nor agapé, not even philia, but a wheedly kind of narcissism, which particularly appeals to the generations of indulged solipsists who were born after - say - 1950 and were deprived of an education in Latin and Greek (hence perspective) - let alone logic and metaphysics.

Naturally enough (to mount another hobby-horse) poetry has become more and more solipsistic in the anglophone hotbeds of capitalism. As the world and all its inhabitants shrink in front of the tide of money and television, so poetry retreats into the particular and the banal. It has become anecdotal particularity with no grand dimension as, for example, in Greek tragedy or The Canterbury Tales.

Solipsism is not self-love (except in the narcissistic sense). Solipsism is the commoditisation of the self, a kind of emotional death, lack of empathy, perhaps a kind of autism. (We are, after all, the autistic species - or we wouldn't need language.) It is what drives Western capitalism. It is the banal solipsism in which 'Christian' culture is mired which drives 'Islamic fundamentalists' and 'Islamists' (and myself) to raging despair.

Self-love is quite different. It is self-fondness, something conspicuously lacking in capitalist society. It seems obvious that one cannot love or appreciate anything beyond oneself before one appreciates oneself 'warts and all'. Western capitalism is designed to prevent us from loving ourselves (in shape, form or essence), so that we will keep on buying palliative, narcotic crap to mask our supposed demerits. Thus we cannot love anything else. We know only desire. Which is 'good economics', but death to the planet.

The most striking aspect of the word love as colloquially bandied about is that it is often applied to people whom one fancies, desires, lusts after - but doesn't necessarily like! How can you 'love' people without liking them ? This is quite a profound question, since missionaries (and there are lots of New Age ones) claim to love the people they destroy, but rarely claim to like them.

To the three Greek words Agapé, Eros, Philia can be added the Latin word Caritas. Which turns into 'caring' in English. Also 'charity'. And 'cher' in French which - interestingly has no noun-form (apart from chéri!).

'Charity' is a word which has been debased to 'hand-out', and nothing to do with the Good Samaritan. It can also mean 'empathy'. Caritas used to be caring for people 'holistically', giving them a comfortable death on the pilgrimage to Compostela, or inviting them into your kitchen. Now it is Médecins sans Frontières, who 'save' little children from easeful death so that they can die of HIV, cholera or violence in the slums of Ouagadougou, whence they trekked from northern Burkina Faso.

Deeply disturbing for modern airheadedness is the fierce, angry love (already mentioned) of saints, often fanatics, often seriously troubled, like St Anthony, or dangerous psychopaths like St Jerome. On the other hand, there is the subtle love of Rumi for the Truth through the entrancing form of the Wild Wise Man, Shams (which has "homosexual" overtones, but is absolutely not homosexual). Rumi's love is anti-dogmatic, and certaionly not ascetic - which is quite the opposite of the early Christian saints. The nearest we get in Christendom is the rather silly St Francis. But he had a good heart, which is something conspicuously lacking in most of those who talk about love,.

There is the Courtly Love, also mentioned above, which is the love of the unattainable. This is linked to monastic love which is the love for the unattainable, unapproachable and ineffable Godhead. But whereas Courtly Love demanded clean fingernails, monastic love condemned those with clean fingernails - quite rightly - to Hell. For you can never trust anyone who has clean fingernails, or wears a tie, or shaves.

But English has a wonderful, tender, self-explanatory word, now (like 'wholesomeness') never used:
Lovingkindness. About which the less said the better, lest it enter the New Age vocabulary of treble-think.

The most messy of all kinds of love is, of course, the kind that involves sex - that is to say, involves bargaining. This kind is at best a red herring in a cul-de-sac, and at worst the creation of monsters. Sex is so obviously silly that you'd think that an 'intelligent animal' would have relegated it to the dustbin of history and infantile emotion. But of course it appeals to emotional cripples - who now are Lords of Creation, and in the process of trashing the planet - not just through psychopathic consumption, but through psychopathic breeding.

As for the fabled 'ecstasy of love' the love is only the explanation of the ecstasy, which is a beneficent change in brain-chemistry brought about by fasting, whirling, powerful plants, meditation, etc. Where the ecstasy is sexual, it is brought about by the illusion of total sharingness, primordial companionship, mutual connection and understanding, which illusion is itself brought about by the desire for 'sex' to be on a 'higher plane' than the emotional prostitution is usually is.

"God is Love", say the chattering Christians. Thus they know neither 'God' (the infantile fiction who is patently and blatantly a sadist a million times worse than Stalin) nor love. But love can be turned into a god. "Love is God" say some Sufis, and God is acceptance of death, say others. God is Truth, too - even if there is no God, and Truth is just a Platonic simplistification. It gets very semantic-mystic with Rumi, and I have indeed, humbly translated 'Allah in some Sufi writings as 'Truth'. The love that Rumi equates with 'Allah is (paradoxically) a kind of polytheistic love - Freudian and Jungian at the same time, sensual and ascetic, generous and acerbic, furious and tender. This is why Rumi is still so highly thought of. He is the Shakespeare of Philosophy, but rather subtler than the crude Bard of Avon.

But Lovingkindness lurks in dark places. Let lovingkindness be FUN and silly as dogs are silly. Dogs are the wisest people: they live in two worlds as no other creature does. They are silly, and they are gods.
We are stupid, and we create false gods, behaving - just as you would expect false gods to behave - almost as badly as we do.


and now, for something completely different...

He's lovely! Why is she standing on him ?
Who is he ?
Try Googling...






31st August 2010

Dear Alan,

Talk about "breaking new ground"!
"Good clean fun" - no feeling of being a bit soiled or short-changed. In fact, a lovely feeling of mutual appreciation.

It's amazing how we have 'got into' or discovered this gropey-nuzzly-kissy and sucky-licky 'sex-play'. Having your nice fuzzy balls pressed against my face/beard/mouth is just the most beautiful and loving feeling ever, and I really hope that I make you feel as wonderful as you make me feel.

I think this sort of experience is pretty unusual between men. We're not playing power-games or roles, just being ourselves with each other 'in sexual mode' and doing simple and gentle (even childish) things that we haven't had the opportunity to do before. It's very liberating - and marvellously surprising- deep therapy.

It's absolute heaven when you're sucking my cock and I'm licking your balls and cock. Keep on pulling your foreskin down every night so that it will get easier and easier for me to lick and suck it properly. It would be great if it could slide into my mouth completely peeled back just as mine slides so tinglingly into your beautifully gentle and appreciative mouth.

The whole sharingness and trustingness is brilliant: feeling the freedom of being totally available to you while knowing that you are totally available to me: freedom of desire without demand; having a friendly cock and balls to play with as long as I want. Being able to be deeply and relaxedly intimate with another male is something we've both always wanted. And it's great to grope while cooking and eating - a real turn-on.

Being so happily and gently accepted as a sexual partner is wonderful. It's a bit like having lived in a small ground-floor flat for years - and then discovering that there's a garden you can walk into. I think we can now have such good times together because we aren't forcing 'baggage' onto each other, and don't make demands or have stupid expectations. You are amazingly sane and sensible and rational, especially given the soul-shrinking experiences you have had. Your recent experiences with me must be quite a shock to the system. A pleasant shock but a shock just the same. They have certainly taken me by surprise, and I wish I had known years ago that you could 'supply' such gorgeous sensuality - which penetrates (without resort to banal, mechanical, physical penetration) right to the centre of my maleness.

Phalloracular, testiculomantic nipple-ecstasy!

Back in March I wrote:

It was good that you came in my beard. For all I know, it's still there, but I think most of it got wiped off on your balls. I don't know why I have suddenly realised that I love having balls pressed into my face. There are probably other things I'd love - so All Suggestions Welcome. No need to suggest, even - just do it to please yourself!

Actually, I was sort of pleased that you couldn't come this time: it showed that you, too, were bathing in therapeutic ecstasy rather than burning with lust.
You have now experienced the intensity of pleasure created for its own sake - the beautiful and deep tide of feelings - and not to achieve a goal. I think your cock and balls were very happy being loved and worshipped, and it was just your brain that made you feel you should squirt - but it was too surprised and overwhelmed by all the feelings you're not used to!

It's great to share the love of cock - soft as much as hard. As I said, so many guys we've met seem only to be interested in their own organ. I really appreciate and share your feeling for a good, available, "friendly" - even brotherly - dick.

Keep practising pulling that foreskin back - for yet more pleasure for both of us! Maybe when we meet again you'll have a beautiful flat belly, with its blond fuzz that is such a turn-on.

Hugs and kisses and nuzzles and licks - until we meet again, in love of cock and mutuality.


to a man who is computer-illiterate

when not ridiculous,

we are evolution's
royal wrecks.

To be in love is silly
to be loved oppressive... hard my willy
- so let's have tender,
unpenetrative sex.




Hi Anthony,

After a lot of thought, I have decided to put my thoughts in writing. It appears you are getting a lot more from my visits than me. Are [sic] sexual exploits are enjoyable at the time but fade with me after I come. There is no longterm buzz.

I don't see any point in being false about it with you. I can't help what I feel. I accept your enjoyment and thoughts. I will keep seeing you if you like, but it would have to be at Malc's or Rosie's if they agreed. It's up to you.

A minor point about your place: as I mentioned - about access. My car is 900 cc and no power worth talking about. I had to have a new wheel bearing fitted today after spinning the tyres on your lane getting out onto the road last Saturday. Not your fault.

I leave the matter of us to your thoughts, but my interest in sex in general is fading. Maybe it'sd my age or just life's interests.

Best wishes,


PS Sex is not an issue with me.
I now feel in general that it is not a necessity for living. I can live without it.