The following post contains language
that could be triggering.
If one tries to explain why they consider the ‘fall of the Roman Empire’ docudrama Caligula great, civilians won’t get it.
Then you show it to them, and not only will they still not get it, they are unlikely to speak with you again. Caligula is an ugly movie, in technique; aesthetic; and content combined (this is the Theatrical Version I’m talking about, presently).
[cont’d]
sorry, Stormy,
but i think you can assume
that if anyone invites you
alone to their room,
it’s probably not because they want to interview you
for a prime-time engagement on the tube
or simply to share a quiet dinner for two:
it is most-likely transactionally-based
on the high probability of painting your face;
and let me tell you, it ain’t in red and blue –
probably a good thing, too.
i know we should,
we can,
do better,
but how have your male fans acted in your presence –
i mean really acted –
through your decades of attending porn conventions?
winning awards for your performances?
what sex act made you most famous?
not all femicentric stories of woe
have to include their version of Romeo,
but the fact my fantasy mind upholds
is that every straight male tries to manifest that one
who will get on their hands and knees without
anything needing to be
said or done –
a natural proclivity to procreate
that still will take
generations to satiate.
i won’t be around that late:
when sex is either so criminally problematic
or we’ve all turned into reprobates.
oh wait…
on the news there’s a reprint
about a local school district’s teaching assistant
who got fired for her OnlyFans account.
keeping in mind this is a story involving children,
the real brief was the outlet shared her online pseudonym –
ladies if y’all wondering where yer dads is at,
’cause now the damn media has me thinking:
i am simultaneously appalled by all the intimacy i see
on contemporary TV,
and frustrated that none of it actually actively involves me –
other than as a third-party,
being cuckolded by a wife who would rather experience it through a screen
than with the man she swears she loves unconditionally.
“sex is not the be-all, end-all of our propinquity,
darling-dearest honey sweetie”
and the movie’s full of jokes but she says it’s not a comedy.
thirty years ago you didn’t have to show it,
but if you had the chutzpah to imply the male erection,
you would be lucky if your film went wider than a festival selection.
but as if Scorsese doesn’t already argue daily for media preservation,
there go another dozen new shows each week up for investigation
in this problematic modern streaming pervasion.
Management would like to acknowledge & thank the participation of the involved, for their assistance in producing the above feature.
theory of a daskeman 