Time… to begin
I have always had a secret obsession with the passing of time. The general workings of life fascinate me more than almost anything. Part of this obsession has to do with the various ways that I catalog the happenings in life. My memory sucks. It does, it always has, and some drug/alcohol dabbling here and there probably have not helped the memory retention area of my brain. Bong rips and getting brown-out drunk out do not seem to lend themselves to having a razor sharp recall. I can’t remember birthdays, names of relatives, appointments or anything other than the stuff I have saved in my blackberry. To combat this poor memory I have relied mostly on writing.
There is something satisfying about going back through things I have written in the past and pulling out a nugget that I forgot and enjoying that moment once again. I was just out on the couch lounging and talking with one of my friends who is about to leave town about random life stuff and everything seems so fleeting. At one point we could not even remember what we had just been talking about. What was important enough to verbalize disappears into the ether forever to never be fully realized at the same time in the same way again. Even things that are “important” fade over time and become insignificant or forgotten. I have a personal journal on my computer, a notebook where I keep my more general ideas, a book with the dreams I am not too lazy to write down and a box full of emails that I will never delete. I have all of these things partly because of my dope addled brain but another part of me wants to mark the passage of time and attach some timelessness to it – though I realize even these thoughts are fleeting.
I wish I always had this urge to document what is happening with me because I would have accumulated some interesting stats that I would be still compiling today. I was talking with a friend on the phone the other day and we both thought it would have been a good idea to tally every time we had ever fucked, and have that number going as a running total. I’m not talking about the number of people we have slept with but rather the number of times we had actually fucked (or made love, for those more sensitive in the group). Wouldn’t you like to know that number? No? I’m crazy? That’s not crazy… having another 10 minute conversation arguing about what would actually constitute your Official Lifetime Sex Number (OLSN, patent pending) is a little crazy. She said it would be any time either party came through penetration. I think it should be more based on penetration and clothes going off. So each time there are both of those activities, clothes coming off and penetration, that would be one notch. I want those stats! If only I were a little more forward thinking as a youth, I would be able to rattle off my number for you today. But I digress…
I guess ultraparadoxical is an attempt to add another outlet for my obsession but in a more public setting. As a society we generally attach more credibility to the things that more people are interested in. I generally disdain that idea but in this case I want to try it out. Instead of having all of these things to myself I want to pass time with some random people who happen to stumble across this site. If you like what you see please tell your friends, or if you don’t have any friends get out from behind your computer and go get laid, you are never going to get your OLSN up just sitting there.
Seriously… you… yeah, you… the pasty looking guy with the stained wife-beater and sweatpants… don’t make me say it twice… go!
I prefer to use the term “Love Making”…
and if that were the case…I’d have a huge stack of stinky love piled up in my living room…