Musings on Old Age, The Ego, Art & Sex

Old Age

Being the young man that I am, it would be foolish and arrogant of me to pretend that I truly know anything about old age. What I can observe, however, is that reaching an old age and inheriting all that comes with it is a bizarre and absurd phenomenon, which is why it fits in well with the rest of reality. In our senior years, we return to a likeness of infancy. We reduce in size, are often required to lean on things to walk or to stand (such as it is with toddlers), and sometimes we even have to resume the wearing of diapers, which are euphemistically called, “incontinence pants”. You will notice that in many circumstances the elderly are often talked down to as if they were children by their care providers. It is not unusual to see.

An old man is akin to an infant with 10,000 wrinkles; a pruned up baby, albeit a far wiser one. The forces of time and entropy work upon all things most naturally, and not to exclusion of our species, either. We humans like to refer to this as, “our mortality”.

The Ego

The ego is a monster of many tentacles. They are multifarious, these tentacles, and are eternally hungry to attach themselves to all passing sensory things, desiring to draw them in, to keep them. Consume them.

From time to time, for the sake of the virtues of temperance, justice, and reason, we must sever our dear monster’s tentacles. It may be a painful endeavor. Upon regeneration, we must persevere and sever them again. And again. We must tame the beast which is ourselves.

Sex & Art (An Analogy)

Herein I will attempt to make a nice analogy between sex and art, both of which, in my view, are highly related three letter words. They are in fact rather in the same bed with each other if we consider the following:

Creativity is a fertile phenomenon. When we are feeling ‘creative’, we are turned on and stimulated. The initial idea or conception for an artistic endeavor is the sperm, the seed for the planting, or the ovum eager for reception. The physical act of creating a painting, sculpture, poem, etc. is akin to the act of fucking, making, creating. Our paint brush, pencil, slab of clay or typewriter is the effective genitalia of our (re)productions. We are planting our seed with each stroke of the brush. Finally, the resulting artwork is the orgasmic completion. We are satisfied. So we set down our brushes or our pens and have ourselves a relaxing cigarette.

Let us remember that if either art or sex is to be of any good worth, there must be attention paid to sensitivity, intuitive judgement, and artistic temperance. Both sex and art are sensual affairs which involve precision use of our senses and emotions. Of course, we may even transcend analogy and say that sex is an art — and for those whom have mastered the practice or are in the steady progress of doing so, they are sure to agree with you!


A Few Aphorisms

  1. Realistically, nothing is an unreal thing.
  2. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in America, eat deep-fried candy bars while hypnotized by the mass distraction of portable social media devices.
  3. The Ego is a monster of many tentacles. From time to time must sever our dear monster’s tentacles and tame the wild beast, which is ourselves.
  4. Whether fortunate or unfortunate, it is nonetheless fortune.

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