It is not often that guys like me do things, or even women for that matter. But let's just stick to the more pleasant things in life. Of course, critics may argue that nothing could be more pleasant than sticking to a woman if you are a hormonally active heterosexual male or a hormonally active homosexual female. And even if I concur with them for once, I cannot really make that stand official for those who concur with critics have no opinion of their own, at least none that can ever be a force to reckon with (What is a force to reckon with, do you ask? Stacey Valentine in Sex Commandos.).

It is often thought that my blog is laced with sex though no one has ever brought that thought out in the open, especially never in an accusatory type of way. It is easy to understand why. Sex is everywhere. It is all around us. As Agent Smith had said, "It's the smell, if there is such a thing." About 200 million couples have sex each day on this planet, which means at any given minute there are about 1400 couples having sex. And that is only the number that gets reported, though where it is to be reported and whether the number includes sex acts performed for pornographic movies or celebrity sex tapes has never been made public.

We owe our existence to sex. We aspire to have sex too someday, hopefully with someone we like. We date. We spend enough money on personal products that could otherwise be used to buy a couple of nuclear missiles (Why we should choose to not buy nukes can only be attributed to the human tendency to place sex over violence, difficult though the choice seems.), which are, for what could only be due to the scientists' expressing their desire to be allowed out more often in the only way they know, shaped like phalluses. Basically, we are willing to go through hell and back just for a few moments' pleasure. Isn't that fantastic!

A millenium of evolution has not been able to get rid of the most primitive of our carnal instints (Thank the devil for life's small favours!). No, not procreation as previously thought. There are other ways to procreate these days though, sadly from the feminist point of view, all of them still involve the union of the egg and the sperm. Not even violence, as Hollywood would have us believe. Even so, violence ranks right up there. It is the act of procreation that takes the cake, and the ale too.

Enough sex, already! Or is it? There can never be enough sex. If there ever could be, then the population growth rate would be negative. In other words, it would signal the end of civilisation as we know it. I say 'as we know it' because other beings would definitely replace us as the planet's most sexually active species. And I am not particularly interested in the sex lives of life forms other than human. So there.

Current Music: Bon Jovi - Bed of Roses
I have no business really being up at this hour making a blog entry. I had hit the sack. Was almost in a trance, floating in a dream world. And then I discovered it. I unearthed the importance of perspective, not of putting things into it for putting things into anything is not interesting. The perspective of putting them most certainly is.

For that matter, any perspective is good perspective as long as it is a perspective I have. Otherwise, it is not worth the mind it resides in. I'll tell you why it is not worth the mind it resides in. As long as a perspective resides, it is unknown. The moment you get to know what your perspective is, it comes out.

It comes out with all the force that your mind can muster, and you hit everyone who has a face with it. Since faceless people don't have ears, at least none that listen, it does not matter what you hit them with unless it is a club. So basically once a perspective is out, it resides nowhere in the mind where it should have cocooned itself if you chose to differ it from mine. Thus the worth of the mind it resides in is zero since it resides in no mind, and if something does not exist in some place that place cannot be of any intrinsic value to that thing. Thus, such a perspective is not worth the mind that it resides in.

Now, I am not sure what I was trying to say here. I have managed to entangle myself in my own web of words. That is what happens if I let my fingers type faster than I can think. Or may be they have their own mind. May be it is a part of a bigger scheme of things that fingers usually are up to at this time of the night. That does not, however, un-predicament me. But, as an ardent reader of my blog always says, I am at my most charming when I say nothing.

PS: I started reading my first Dilbert book. Scott Adams is such a Douglas Adams wannabe!

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: The sounds of the night...
I have always considered myself the absolute authority on love. After all, I do fall in love almost every day. That I fall out of it within a matter of a few hours is not the bone of contention here. Come to think of it, since we are not even remotely canine there is no bone anywhere except that funny thing near the elbow that sends a sensation that can be only described as almost but not quite entirely unlike spine-tingling every time it is so much as brushed.

But seriously. Why is that bone called 'funny bone'? What is funny about scratching fingernails on the blackboard or banging empty steel vessels? Or for that matter, having your entire life flash before your eyes the moment your funny bone rubs against cotton-wool? Again, why is it called cotton-wool? Did the Merino deserve this?

Anyway. Coming back to the point (When was the last time I did that? No, really. I am curious.). If I could count the number of women I loved (No, not made love to.) I would have the most number of fingers any being ever had during the entire evolutionary history of not only this planet but many others put together. And if I could count the number of women who loved me I would have the least number of fingers any being ever had during the entire evolutionary history of not only this planet but many others put together. Basically, that tells you I am not just large-hearted but thick-skinned too.

I have issues. No, not of the heir kind. Partly because I don't have any fortune of any size that anyone would ever want to inherit. Mostly because I have been lucky so far. Ha ha ha. Even I could not keep a straight face with that one. May be I am losing my touch. Old age is cruel. That does not mean that the women readers of this blog should take me completely off their radar. Who knows? You could be the next person my heart decides to go to. Why deny yourself that?

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Don McLean - American Pie
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