Pleasure

Iím not interested in pleasure academically, just like I am not interested in learning about life from a distance. What is the use of distant words that I have never experienced. How can you academically discuss an orgasm if you have never had one? No, I am not interested in pleasure as a subject. There is another reason I write about it.

Does life live? The question is absurd. Life is composed of living. Life is not a noun, it is a verb. To discuss these things without experiencing the exquisite nature of life is pointless. We talk about a fantastic sunset not because it has academic value. We listen to music not because it follows mathematical rules. What then is academics for?

We learn so that we may live extraordinary lives. Every student that goes through high school is given the tools to witness the beauty of mathematical precision and the awe of the inaccuracy of centimeters. Every student is exposed to literary works that allow them to ask the question: What do I want to do with my life? Would I want to try this?

But how often is it that a student actually finds themselves fascinated by what they are doing in school? Students are told to learn these things academically: ďthey are of no use to you now, but they will be in the future.Ē How can we be expected to believe that something we cannot use now will be useful later? What is the point of learning math if I intend to become a writer? The answer is not that you may end up writing about something that contains math. The answer is that math is beautiful.

Below is a product of math. A fractal, the result of an equation repeated over and over again. Itís almost hypnotic in the way that you can feel it repeating itís pattern. It repeats the same sequence of shapes infinitely without ever actually repeating exactly. You can get lost looking at one of these for hours. Math is beautiful.

You can ask the question of how this is produced, but if you donít experience the vertigo of endless colors and patterns. . . then who cares?

A person can know of pleasure, know of sex, know of relationships, know of the intricacies of how nerves transmit pleasure to the brain, but if it has never been experienced. . . then who cares?

When I write I am interested in the joining of knowledge and experience. I want my reader to learn something that they can explore later at their leisure, an academic value in that they are able to contemplate the events and possibly try them when they have the opportunity, but that by itís self is not enough. I want my reader to experience something when they read my writing. I want to send chills down your spine. I want you to have to shift in your seat. I want you to stifle a surprised moan. Why? Because that is the reason we read.

We read because we experience things from words. When someone tells us a sad story we can feel the sadness of it. When someone writes a book on love something inside us screams an affirmation. When we read of pure unadulterated pleasure, something in our body heats up.

I want to explore the sensations, taboos, impulses, thoughts, situations, desires, and acceleration of sexual fantasy, and I donít mean like academically explore them (although a little of that is included) I mean explore like a child walking through an enchanted forest. Touch everything. Smell the flowers. Chase the pixies. Dance in the sunlight and do spells in the sparkling rays filtering through the trees. Weave a tale of beauty and suspense from the imagination of my childhood with all the new found intensity and intricacies that the discovery of sex brings to adulthood. And I would like to take you with me if you are interested.

Beauty, bliss, and happiness are as fleeting as a sunset. Itís all temporary. But just like a pixy in the woods, it can be captured, and in return, you can fly.

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