Random thoughts

There is a specific style of bell curve regression farming that this comment is designed to cultivate and it really pisses me off.

1.) What exactly are the “completely unrealistic and insane standards” that pornography instills in men? Are the completely unrealistic and insane standards actually just “look hot and be good at fucking?” I’m starting to think that the people bemoaning these UnREaLiStIc StAnDARDs are just girls who think that they can be fat, ugly, have a the sexual charisma of a dead fish, have Quasimodo posture and locked hips, put zero thought into their sexual imagination or physical presentation, and think that men will still want to fuck them simply because they have a vagina and exist? To these girls, the completely unrealistic expectation is that they look hot and enjoy sex and they deeply resent the idea of putting in effort to look hot for a man. I might need to think this one through a little more. Let me know your thoughts.

2.) Can people just like what they like without needing to create a meta narrative around it that’s just designed to socially police and regulate their enjoyment of the thing? Because this kind of discourse is never really about “raising awareness” or having thoughtful dialogue or expressing caution.

The comment I posted is just one example of many. And if you dig a little deeper, the real thing that she’s worried about is people imagining sex—in videos, in writing, in *any* way. They act like they’re “raising awareness” but in reality, they’re trying to cultivate a social framework that polices and regulates how sex is imagined across different mediums.

These people want to cram their fingers into your skull and reroute the wires in your brain so you think about sex exactly the way they say you should. They wrap it up in bullshit about meta-narratives and social frameworks, but strip all that away, and you’re left with the real thing they’re after: control. Control. CONTROL. They can’t get enough of it. They’re addicted to it. They’re crawling out of their skin for it.

You want to jerk off to some impossibly perfect, fairy tale romance where everyone’s genitals are made of rainbows and nobody ever farts? Go ahead. Be my guest.

You want to imagine scenarios so depraved and disgusting that even the most jaded pornographer would retire on the spot and become a catholic priest? That’s your twisted little secret.<aside: that would be hot>

Let the thought police keep writing their nauseating Medium articles about how problematic your imagination is. Let them choke each other with their performative Twitter threads about the dangers of getting too carried away. It doesn’t matter. Your mind is the one place they can’t touch. They can’t even see it. And that drives them fucking insane.

Why does sex have to be depicted in a way that’s “realistic” in the first place? Why do models have to look “relatable”? Why is there such a fixation on making art conform to reality in order for it to be socially acceptable?

The core belief here is the idea that people can’t tell the difference between reality and fantasy. That people are nothing more than products of their environment, passively absorbing whatever information surrounds them without critical thought. You don’t choose what to believe: you believe whatever you’re told to believe.

Therefore sexuality must be depicted in a way that accurately reflects reality, since people supposedly aren’t responsible enough to engage with fantasy without confusing it for the real world. The art and media you’re immersed in need to accurately reflect the norms of the world you live in, because you aren’t responsible enough to explore the world of imagination without becoming a schizophrenic lunatic.

It’s an incredibly infantilizing and cynical world view— one that assumes imagination itself is dangerous, that people can’t be trusted to explore new ideas and make their own informed decisions about what to accept and what to reject.

And yes, it’s true that repeated exposure to certain ideas can influence people, especially those without firsthand experience to counterbalance them. But this small truth—one that applies only sometimes and to a minority of people—has been stretched into a universal rule. It has become the primary lens through which we judge art and sexuality for all of society.

The demand for “realistic” sex scenes, “relatable” movie plots, and models who look exactly like their audience is an attempt to chain imagination to reality—to insist that art must only reflect what is, rather than explore what could be.

But reality is not fixed. It shifts in response to what we’re willing to imagine first. What we consider “realistic” today was once someone’s “unrealistic” dream. Every monumental shift in history started as someone’s “crazy,” “unrealistic” idea. If we let others to dictate the limits of our imagination, we are, in effect, limiting what’s possible for the future.

You can’t regulate imagination. You can’t police thoughts. The harder these sanctimonious, holier-than-thou control freaks try, the more they expose their own fascist, authoritarian hard-on for power and control.

They’re not protecting anyone. They’re not “raising awareness.” They’re showing us exactly what they are: cowards. Cowards who can’t handle the fact that some of us don’t need their permission to think. To imagine. To create. To destroy.

There’s literally nothing you can do to stop me from imagining whatever I want whenever I want. Ban all the books, pass all the laws, form your little morality cults, rewrite history in crayon, nuke every library on the face of the earth. You can’t stop me.

My imagination is an AR-15 locked and loaded and I’m open carrying this baby everywhere I go. Schools, the bank, the hair salon, everywhere. You can’t vaccinate me. I’m the 𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 g𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮. I’m the 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴?

Every single thought currently luxuriating in my pretty little mind would have me cast from polite society forever. Right now I’m imagining an extremely violent sex scene with people who have not consented to being in the imagined scene or in my imagination at all. The women are being treated in misogynistic and demeaning ways and the men are fully idealized beyond anything realistic.

What are you going to do about it? Ban me? De-platform me? Bitch and moan about “problematic discourse” as I dangle sanity by her ankles off the cliff of your sterilized utopia, whipping her raw with the flail of every depraved thought I’ve jerked off to this week? The way she moans is music to my ears. The more she begs, the harder I whip her. There’s nothing ⟡˚⊹NOTHING⊹˚⟡ you can do to stop me.

Reality is whatever the hell we want it to be. And I’d rather burn in a world shaped by madmen and perverts who dare to imagine the impossible than live in one ruled by gutless, spineless, mindless drones who are too terrified of their own thoughts to let anyone else think for themselves.

☣︎