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When the experience of drugs doesn’t fundamentally change you, it’s only natural to keep coming back for more.
When you get to enjoy the reoccurring insights that your new understanding of life offers you, there just isn’t the same urgency. One new theory is exciting enough.
Doing Mylie opened up a new cavity in my heart and expanded my capacity for love. Caring for my dog Norman expanded my capacity for love.
I also felt something pop in my emotional psyche when I had my last seizure.
The day after we did Mylie, as I sat in my boyfriend’s flannel and watched television with his sons, I felt a horror that he would leave into the garage and never return. Doubt spread through my veins like hot water stings and I cycled through horror and fear that my love for him was not equally reciprocated, that I had only imagined what happened the night before, that I would never love and care for anyone like that again, and that I would never be able to get over the sadness I felt mourning those moments.
The felt such a strong sense of loss that I couldn’t keep from telling my new boyfriend I feel really scared you don’t love me right now. He found this adorable and assured me the feeling would pass. It was true. My love for him went on and I loved him in a more honest, direct, true, atomic way than I had ever loved anyone before.
For the next year and a half we brought joy everywhere we went together. Together, we radiated. And when I walk Norman down the street, 9 out of 10 people we cross crack a smile. And when I ate mushrooms I developed the ability to distinguish my self from my clothes.
And when I ate mushrooms again I stood in a rain forrest pinched between freeways and felt tears spill down my cheeks as I longed for the comfort of Jason.
Drugs are real. My love for Norm is real. And I know something popped when I had a seizure.
The reality I’m not sure of is the earnestness with which I question my memory of him dragging me down, throwing me out, and leaving me fucked at a dark gas station in the middle of nowhere. And I don’t trust that I didn’t effortfully push him to do it.
Is this what people imagine when they refuse to try ecstasy because they fear sex will never be as good again?
Last night I met up with a girlfriend at a cafe to do some writing. Not too long after I arrived, my girlfriend suddenly wanted to leave. I grabbed my things and followed her outside. Charging down the street, she began yelling:
Dude, I just got cocked out!
Apparently some dude had been staring at her from across the room the entire time she was at the cafe. Like, he was really creeping on her. She decided it was time to hit it when he got up and sat down next to her.
I’ve got to find a better way to deal with this. Running away is unacceptable.
I didn’t know how to advise. I don’t ever remember reading an article in Cosmo or even Bitch about the appropriate thing to do when you’re getting cocked out.
I myself have gotten cocked out in the past, and never felt satisfied with my response. For some reason my most immediate reaction is to feel sorry for the cocker-outer. I think about the hard life he has probably faced and the pain of rejection that I will present him with. Manhood is so fragile.
Of course there’s always also the chance that causing this person any humiliation will put him over the edge and trigger him to do something tragically insane. Getting cocked out is about fear as much as it is about pity.
So what is the acceptable way to respond to someone who is cocking you out?
When it comes to romantic desire–both wanted and unwanted–I’ve always been torn between politics and compassion. I ignore my discomfort and identify with my oppressor. It seems cruel to politicize the personal, but it’s undeniable that the personal is political.
How do you respond to getting cocked out? Do you have a comfortable resolution for political acts and human compassion?
Wayne County Chief Financial Officer Mark Abbo proposed a new budget that includes cutting $1 million of funding for what he referred to as “low priority” initiatives like testing evidence from the Detroit rape kit backlog. High priority initiatives include allocating $81 million dollars to the county’s waste management facilities so it can be turned out for future profit, and fixing other failed projects like the new Wayne County jail, which is currently sitting half-built in the middle of downtown Detroit, looking much like one of the city’s famed abandoned buildings.
Wayne County Executive Robert Ficano put construction of the new jail on hold after blowing through $170 million and needing a $91 million budget increase beyond the original $300 million estimated cost. The County is currently talking to Quicken Loans CEO Dan Gilbert, who wants to add the jail to his fast-growing collection of Detroit city property.
The rape kit backlog, discovered in 2009 and dating back to 1991, requires an estimated budget of $5 million to rectify. Prosecutor Kym Worthy is currently suing Wayne County and Ficano’s office for that amount. In the interim, Wayne County has restricted her ability to further test the rape kit backlog unless money comes from external grants. On March 9th, the Prosecutor’s office will hold a fundraiser to support continued testing of the rape kit backlog. Mariska Hargitay of The Joyful Heart Foundation and the television series Law & Order: Special Victims Unit will be speaking at the event to promote Worthy’s efforts to eliminate Detroit’s rape kit backlog.
Since this is a blog and not a newspaper, let me reiterate a few numbers:
Abbo & Ficano take $1 million away from sexual assault victims to put toward an $81 million project–their second of two get-rich-quick schemes involving turning out Detroit contract services. $1 million doesn’t mean shit to these guys–it’s just over 1% of their new proposed budget. This is how little Abbo & Ficano care about the 11,000 rape victims who have spent decades waiting for justice.
My brilliant friend TRPLBLK released a new music video on the Museum of Sex blog today: “DOM-estic Violence.” The song is from Big Dick Niggas Eat Pussy Too, a Curtis-Mayfield-ish-spoken-word-R&B album all about the man’s love for lady parts. I swear, TRPLBLK is the only man who can pat my pussy and rub my head at the same time. The lyric “She pull out my dick and she slap herself with it” should be an automatic nomination for songwriter of the year. Seeing TRPLBLK’s work acknowledged by the Museum of Sex makes me tingle all over. Fuck yeah. If you want to tingle, too, watch the video here and then read TRPLBLK’s interview on the MoSex Blog.