I laid in bed at 4:30am, fan pulling in cool fresh air into the no longer stuffy room, thinking about yesterday's entry. What defines 'prudish'? Isn't it a kind of relative thing? Those who have had any cultural exposure at all are quite used to nudity in art. It's safe to call those offended by nudity in art prudes. That's a generally agreed upon thing in society. Nudity, live and in person, is quite another thing. Of course in places like 'Berserkley', the citizenry have no problem with walking around on the street without clothes. A "What It Means To Live In Berkeley" parade featured many people who had left their garments elsewhere. The Berkeley photographer feels "the shock value of going naked in public came and left a long time ago". Back when he was young, it was 'hip' to go naked on the beach. But Berkeley could be on another planet, for all the influence it has on Midwestern mores, or even southwestern desert mores. You go naked here in public, you're gonna be arrested. It's just as plain as that. Yes, all of these attitudes are culturally determined. The 'youbangees' in Africa are very used to all those bare breasted women. (If they haven't been Westernized yet.)

It's been well ingrained in me that to be naked anywhere but your own bathroom or bedroom is to be vulnerable. Yet my Grandmother's cries of "Shameful" as I ran naked, while getting ready for work, through the living room to her bedroom only exasperated me. I tried to explain in broad daylight, no one could see in. If someone positioned himself directly in front of a window to gawk, we'd have a much better view of his sun-illuminated body that he would of ours. The logic fell on deaf ears. By average societal standards, poor Grandma was a prude. I was hardly being exhibitionistic there. Walking naked in front of open curtains at night, by average societal standards, would be considered exhibitionistic. The casual walker by can get a look at obviously clothes-less bodies. Several months ago, we were sitting on our back porch. The neighbor next door had an uncovered window. As much as I tried not to look, my eyes kept going to the clear view of their TV and the woman sitting there, watching it. If I had audio, I could have watched their TV. I wasn't trying to be 'voyeuristic'. And that's the same with any dude walking down the street. I don't want some potential creep getting an eyeful of our plushly pink flesh.

I guess, in Berkeley, I'd be a prude. It's all a socially determined thing. There's no 'wrong' or 'right' ethically. It's just easier to go along with the culture you're in. Telling the 'youbangees' to cover up is stupid. It's not our culture, it's not our business. On the other hand, I shouldn't feel prudish because I'm not keen on putting nekkid pictures of myself on the web, for instance.

Not even my neighbors see this belly button. Don't you feel privileged?

It's funny we should be having this conversation. Last night Laura and Julia were clowning around. Clad only in her hat, Laura was so cute, Shayna begged for me to bring out the camera. Julia joined the action, and put on a fur hat she has. Yep, they were cute, all right. The flash only worked on a couple of pictures. Those, revealing bruises, scars and the like, seem NAKED, but the ones in the soft dark seem artistic. What makes a picture artistic, versus merely naked? Laura said she actually preferred the ones with the visible surgery scars and bruises. She finds an unmarked body 'disgusting', for it means the owner of that body hasn't really lived. Unmarked youthfulness has a beauty of its own, but there's something to be said about the attractiveness of character the wrinkles and scars give us. All, really, have their merits. But it's too true societal ideals prefer a standard only a few can live up to. Do the 'ideals' equal art? Those photos of the women in Playboy don't seem artistic to me. Sure, they may not have that 'doe caught in the headlights' look most of us would have, should our naked posteriors be gracing some website or magazine. But artistic, they're not.

Perhaps that's a major element. It's such a fuzzy definition. Why does this picture Julia practically begged me to put in the journal seem artistic to me? But it does. It doesn't seem 'nekkid'. And am I being terribly inconsistent with what I just said earlier?

Does naked=vulnerability and nude=sensuality? That's part of the distinction. But not fully there, for those photos in Playboy may be sensuous by some people's standards, but they're not artistic. Actually, they usually don't even seem sensuous to me. They look posed, with an attitude that the women will do ANYTHING to get a few bucks. The intent of those media who use such pictures is purely to excite sexual reactions. Which is quite different than an artistic intent. Rejoicing in the human body is part of it, requiring a real, unforced, innocent sensuality. Only that can be artistic. But, still, it all seems hazy, with no way to clarify and make distinct boundaries. At least now I lack the way. I'll think about this some more.

~ ~~ ~~~ ~~ ~

Thinking more about this, what appeals to me most in that little artistic picture is the loving look Julia has as she gazes at Laura. Laura is happily amused, which adds to it. That it is sensuous becomes more of an emotional thing than a physical thing. It goes back to what's in the mind and heart, which makes it art.

October 3, 1999

"Did I Just Dream I Did That?"

Did I just do that? Did I just put what some would consider a 'nekkid' picture up on the web? Naughty me! Whew! The element of danger whiffs around me. Maybe that's why they call it 'risqué, it feels 'risky'. Well, it's done now. I did spend a long time staring at the page, black background with red border surrounding the picture to pick up on its reddish tones. The thought battle with myself went back and forth. I love this picture. I cherish this picture. But do I dare put this thing up on the web for all to see? "Shameful!"

Where'd that voice come from? Doesn't it sound particularily like Gramma, when she'd say "Shameful!"? Where'd she get that? There's this awful concept some people have that the body is inherently sinful and wicked. That's the bill of goods Gramma was sold and bought. Good, it ain't. Evil is more like it. There is none of spirituality in that. Divine Spirit never had any thing to do with this. Jesus, if you're needing his words, never said anything like that. Who did, and why? I could research and find the origins of this concept. I'll leave it to the people willing to search through ancient tomes. Suffice to say the results of this concept has been only suffering. You cannot separate the spirit from the body. Well, you can, but DEATH is the result. This is NOT a life-affirming concept. This is WRONG, this is evil. I must say it so.

Even if it pisses some people off. It needs to be said.

I take no joy in offending anyone. I rather urge you, if it be you reading these words, to examine more closely this concept. Don't take this as immutable word of God. THINK!

"Think!" Where did I hear that before? I did, you know. It was my Mother, who has always encouraged me to think for myself. Small wonder she was the family's 'black sheep'. Can't have any of that 'independent' thinking going on..

If any spiritual leader tells you not to question, to just 'trust and obey', run, run, run far away from them. It be no good they're up to. Never sacrifice the inviolability of your own mind. NEVER let anyone do your thinking for you.

END OF LECTURE

Yes, I'm not 'playing it safe' here. This here journal, while it may seem so some days, is not a ' laundry list devoid of passion or disclosure' ( A thing that will get one rejected from that Blklsted webring). Occasionally I do let something out a bit controversial.

Wouldn't want to be consistent, would we? Consistency is AWFULLY boring. I don't like boring. It bores me!
 

Later this day . . .

Pink Cadillac

(While Laura and I were napping this afternoon, we 'took a little journey to Tucson'.)

(A Dream:)
Pink Cadillac

A huge gathering of people from the Metropolitan Community Churches ('gay' churches) were convening in town. Laura and I were going to see what the excitement was about. The large white wooden church's parking lot was filled with cars, down each street of which the church shared a corner, cars could be seen all the way to the vanishing point. "There could be thousands of people here!" I was glad for the gathering, but mindful of the pain each of the gatherents must have had at being excluded from so much of mainline Christianity.

Laura and I entered the church to find a wedding is in progress. The preacher, a balding dark haired heavy set man (who reminded me of Desert Voice's former choir director), was talking about a long pink convertible Cadillac positioned just in front of the altar. They must have removed a few pews to get it in there. But how did it fit through the church entrance?

Anyway, the preacher was in a jovial mood. He said of the car, that he'd let the couple live in his house if they let him use the car. A young bearded man in the congregation asked "What if your house gets stolen while you're out driving the countryside?" The smiling preacher answered "I wouldn't care, I'd have the car!"

I could see the couple now in the car, two tanned smiling young women ready to begin the ride of their lives together. For a brief moment I envied their youth. Then my emotion turned to joy, as I wished them a long, happy life together.

October 4, 1999

"A Good Try At It"

I was rather sleep-starved, but that didn't stop me from doing my 'walkies'. After coming back home, I got right into my sewing. Is it humanly possible to finish six chambray shirts this week? I'd like to have a good try at it.

I was pressing shirt plackets when all of a sudden the iron began spewing water all over. I called Laura and turned it off. Laura must have not heard me, so I used one of the big whistles she'd bought as a signaling system. Two big blasts, and still no Laura, but the whistle seemed magical, for it 'did' bring someone. I was happily surprised by our friend Serena. Laura followed close behind. We had a brief, but caring and sharing conversation. Serena left to talk to Shayna, so I then showed Laura the iron problem.

At first she tried tightening a clamp. Still spew. Then she took apart the clamp and tubing assembly and cut off a piece of the tubing. She handed it to me for perusal. After peeling back the surrounding webbing, I saw a tiny hole. Laura chastised me to figure these things out myself, for she wouldn't always be here to solve them. Actually, she was more blunt than that. "Some day I'm gonna be dead!" is more closer to her wording. Gulp. Yes, twenty years difference in our ages, and Laura made even more fragile by hardening of the arteries and emphysema, I have to confront the possibility of years ahead without her. Each time I'm made to think of it, I know it helps to prepare me, but I don't like facing facts.

Oh well, no one does. Back to the sewing. Later, Richard, who came with Serena, put a nifty screen savor on our computers. It does mandalas, it does fireworks. It will take your own bit-mapped images and randomly toss them into the display. It even, to my mild displeasure, allows a midi file to be inserted. Laura rigged her computer to constantly play "Fussin' and Fightin'". Hearing that tune over and over could make me go bonkers. Fortunately I know where the volume controls are.

Anyway, it does cool mandalas. I might watch the screen with camera in hand to catch one. Humph! All my work on mandalas, only to be outdone by a brainless, heartless computer. Oh well, the programmer(s) had a brain, so maybe it's not as bad as all that.

October 5, 1999

"Happy Morning"

The bougainvilla survived, after all!

I was sure they wouldn't. Goners, for certain, those twiggy things. But lots of leaves and three blooms greeted me this morning. I like nice surprises.

~ ~~ ~~~ ~~ ~

That wasn't the only happy thing this morning. Laura and I spent time together, grabbing minutes from the duties that tried to claim them first. Gazing into Laura's loving eyes while cuddling, I begged to interrupt the cuddle long enough to take a picture. That look is there, despite needing to use the flash. Later, when Laura fell off to sleep, I even bitmapped the image, and now randomly, her eyes peer out from the computer screen before the shut-off mode kicks in. I also bitmapped a tranquil scene from the arboretum, and will add other favorites from time to time.

October 6, 1999

"Icky Morning"

I woke up this morning shivering, full of anxiety, from a bad dream. The unaccustomed chill in the house might have caused the shivering. But it wasn't to blame for the awfulness of the nightmare! I dreamt I was dying from stomach cancer. Laura and I were in Dr Eichler's office. "How Long Have You Had These Symptoms? she implored. "For maybe two years." Her mouth dropped, "TWO YEARS! You should have come to me TWO YEARS AGO! I could have saved you! Now there is nothing I can do!" I began crying while Laura asked me "Why didn't you tell me?" All I could come up with were lame excuses such as I didn't want to make a fuss, doctors cost too much, etc., etc. And now I was so weak, I felt my spirit drifting further and further away from my body, becoming more and more ghostlike with each day.

On second thought, that sort of dream would make me shiver on an un-airconditioned night in the middle of summer! I know what caused it, though. I'd went to bad with an upset tummy, from having eaten too many tortilla chips. I would have been fine, if I'd just eaten the chili relleno. It's a subtlely spiced thing, not too heavy. But, no, I had to shove chips down me by the handfuls.

I still don't feel so good.

October 7, 1999

"Better"

A dream like yesterday's can set the whole day wrong. " Was the dream prophetic?" was one of my weepy worries. I'd tell that worry, and others like it, that it was irrational, to go away. It didn't help. They stayed and nagged at me 'til I was raw with fret. Despite all this weepiness, I made progress on those chambray shirts. Now the pocketed and flapped fronts are attached to the backs. The collars will go on next.

Now today, I woke from good dreams. I don't remember the details, only that I was happy, proud, confident, and most assuredly, not at death's door.

October 8, 1999

"Creeping Crud"

I've got the 'creeping crud', headachy, shivering, sticky-eyed, peaked. We're all a little off. Laura feels the worst, however, blowing her nose a lot.

October 9, 1999

"Not Up For Dragon Slaying"

There's a dragon in there.
But I'm not up to slaying him today. Wromthrax will wait until another day, when I'm stronger.

Another journaller is having a 'carriage ride into the past'. This often provokes me to have a glance backwards. Oh my, one year ago, we were all battling bugs, THEN as well. . . Who says history doesn't repeat itself?

October 10, 1999

"I Made Progress"

Bug vanished, this was mostly a day of plowing through tasks. I made progress on the shirts, but before I began that work, I had another small vexation. One of the strips along side the door opening to my sewing room closet had been pulled loose. Periodically I would catch it. It might harm delicate fabric, should it be caught on it. Could the grand daughter of a carpenter figure this thing out? I pulled the strip away, and put a layer of Elmer's glue down the strip and the wall edge. Then I pushed it up as tight as I could. This wasn't going to work, as the mid section of the strip bowed out a little. I hunted for a tack and hammered it into the center, flattening it. Viola, better than new.