This is a place for men to behave badly, as in locker-room antics, with consideration of course for Shalom's scruples, which will provide censoring mostly automatically.

Feel free to write on the bathroom walls, tell jokes about feminists, throw chicken bones over your shoulders, regale in matrimonial prowess, fart with commentary, or otherwise delight in our own incorrigible nature.


Women may not post here . . .

I like feminists. And there are no women who post regularily at Shalom - are there? There used to be that saintly woman, I forget her name, maybe Terry.

Here's my contribution to Shalom locker room:

Teradactyl. Mrs. Buzzbee had said that they were demons believed to live on Mount Ida in Asia Minor. They discovered iron and the art of working metals by fire. Mother opened the first page of the book called "Digging for Dinosauers" and began to read about what I imagined to be a cold, hairy, black monster with fillings in their wreched teeth. I imagined myself digging for those montrous birds.
�I want to be a paleontologist,� I told mother. She shut the book with a bemused look on her face. I spotted my signature scrawled across the cover: Arif. C. Khan, and at that moment, a vocation flashed across my mind. I would be a digger for lost objects. I started in the backyard in the garden with a spade. Then I moved on to use a shovel. I had aspirations to operate a bulldozer. I�m getting ahead of myself. I finally realized that a teradactyl was not the same as a pteradactyl and not even remotely close to the metrical foot dactyl. The process of disentagling these words from their meanings took immense concentration on my part. But somehow when they came together like this, I was happier, even if they later turned out to detain me in a state of complete bewilderment many years later.
Mrs. Buzzbee was a round woman with puffed up cheeks. Mother thought that she ate too much steak. One day she asked me to say �snake.� When I stammered, she said �aha� (as those Haiku writers say when they discover a frog plopping in a pond). After that day, I would leave the class at an appointed time and join the speech therapist. The speech therapist would stick a wooden ruler to her lips and make me watch her lips go round like a kiss. I began to pronounce words like �snake� and �fire� and �blazingglory.� After I passed the speech test and was able to pronounce snake, I realized that whenever Mrs. Buzzbee would tell a story, I had the urge to roll on the carpet, like an animal trying to emerge from its skin. It was only later when my mother related a story of snake that I understood why I rolled on the carpet:
�A snake begins shedding its skin by rubbing its nose against rocks or other hard objects to separate the old layer from its lips. As the old layer is loosened�including the two scales that cover the snake�s eyes�the snake crawls out of the skin.� I realized later that I was rolling on the carpet to dislodge myself from my skin. When I was rolling on the carpet, I was also trying to imitate, the movement of a snake as it sheds its skin. Mrs. Buzzbee thought such movements were bizarre and made me stand in the corner.

Asher:

I don't know what kind of locker room you think this is, but that lead-in about feminists followed by intensive musing over a mother's love will only provoke hazing behavior from those holding membership in this local testosterone club.

Besides, that bit you wrote is simply too much reading for a bathroom stall. Be prepaired for unsightly graphic commentary.

3p.m.

Just noticed today is St Valentine's day.

Tokens given - 0
Tokens received - 0

Score!!!

Nah, forget it.



Oh well . . .

UNDERSTANDING WOMEN (A MAN'S PERSPECTIVE)

I know I'm not going to understand women. I'll never understand how you can take boiling hot wax, pour it onto your upper thigh, rip the hair out by the roots, and still be afraid of a spider.

WC--

alright - bring it all on. let's see what you got:-) i will be VERY interested to see this...

fazing and all...

please disturb us.

I'll try to think of 5 reasons why Johanna annoys me.

For all your angel management issues, email WC...

I come bearing gifts for you men. Enjoy!

AN ANIMA POEM

"For Whom have I Sought if not for You?"

In pursuing her, was it not you I sought?
When longing and loneliness multiplied my desires.
and 'she' became a plentitude of hers,'
wasn't it you who were the only one?

And in changing dress, food, habits, friends
in renouncing certain things and affirming others
in saying 'no' and saying 'yes'
was it not you I sought?

Making my path crooked and narrow
as if its difficulty alone
would lead me to you
I became my own enchantment,
mistaking my search in finding you.

So eager I was to lose that which I held dear
I ran from you when often you were too close,
for fear I might find you
before my delusions of ' which is"
had time to abandon me.

Yet you never left me.
In spite of my searching,
you pursued me-
as close as my heart beat
as near as the sound of your breathing.

-Bob Shelby

Freeebird:

You might be misunderstanding a certain side to the male psyche here. The need to regale and carry on only looks like it lacks an appreciation, or awareness, of anima, but that is not always the case. Often times the need in a man to be averse or PC in response to the stereotypical masculine bravado is a sign of immasculation.

IOW, it's possible, as the poet tells, to experience this rapture of the dark anima infolding and illuminating the passions as a secret lover, and also enjoy boxing, football, and all the vicissitudes of decadent male humor that women secretely adore us for when we're also able to be gentle and laugh at ourselves.

Otherwise, you're perfume is stinkin' up the place, sister

for men only. shhhh.
lockthedoor. go back
to the undifferentiated libido before it splits
into language.
the roaring tongue of grace,
or the raising of a hooded viper,
(not the raising of a flag, or the raising of your disposition. You gaze into a mirror
of wholeness and who gazes back
?)Imagine that your whiteness was turning black
blackness surges through you and all your flourishing maleness,
like night left after a tractor trailer
lost its hub cap, rattling
of your body; brace for the crumbling
decent as the eight fingered hand
[breaks]

(does something?)

the locker room.

lol

I think I'm about to get locked out of the locker room

Ok, I'm going to bake a cheese cake.

As long as your this poetically self-incriminating, the boys probably won't even notice.

But if you serve them cheese cake, just don't tell them you made it.

"Whenever the hand reaches out for help, the hand of
AA should be there, and for that I am responsible."

One of my little program mission statements.

Mentoring young men, who are likely to look up to me as a father figure at times, is baffling. I feel like a teenager myself, for Pete's sake!

I met my first Iraq veteran, he says that he shot 8 people, and had been self-medicating his PTSD with drugs. He acts as though he wants me to issue
orders. I explained that 12 step recovery is a "divine and blessed anarchy." No one gives orders.

A young woman who was shy about reading during the meeting was shown how by yours truly. She cuddled up to me and was almost in my lap. Never even met her before, and we were joined at the hip. Wow! It was all fairly innocent at the time, but thoughts from the daemonic realms attacked me later. Quite naturally.

We have a saying that "men sponsor men and women sponsor women." I really need to remember that when a pretty girl 25 years my junior wants to snuggle.

Is is "blessed is the man who endures temptation" or "blessed is the man who ENJOYS temptation."

Right now I can't remember...

quote:

Originally posted by w.c.:
[qb] As long as your this poetically self-incriminating, the boys probably won't even notice.

But if you serve them cheese cake, just don't tell them you made it. [/qb]

lol. It's true. But I feel self-recriminating on this board at times. Henceforth, I will not overemphasize my superego.

Anyway, I was just thinking that I over baked the damn cheese cake. Or the cheese cake was made with tofu. Something like that. I tossed it in can. And...I really need to get laid soon. This dry spell is extremely annoying.

And I need to stop reading Lacan.

Asher: "And. . .I really need to get laid soon."

Join the Catholic church. Those Catholic girls .

quote:

Originally posted by Stephen:
[qb] Asher: "And. . .I really need to get laid soon."

Join the Catholic church. Those Catholic girls . [/qb]

Shhhhhhh. I think we're about to get booted.
Notice how Catholic girls transmute their libido through the use of affirmation? (See Women Only Thread and other such related threads). One of God's commandments is propogate. Is it not? And I would add: enjoy the art of propogation. (See the Koran) Verily, for the Muttaqun [righteous], there will be a success (paradise); gardens and grapeyards; and young full-breasted (mature) maidens of equal age; and a full cup (of wine)" (An-Naba 78:31-34). There you go. I can have that all here.

The locker room at Shalom place. A legendary place with legendery cheese cake made of tofu (Did you even notice!?)

and on that note:

http://www.deadradio.com/

quote:

Originally posted by Asher:
[qb] and on that note:

http://www.deadradio.com/ [/qb]

and the head of our army is saying "no sex, before marriage." I wonder what he'll say in the locker room of his mind.




Anyway, back to MY SHOES.

Her name is Mary and she grew up Catholic, became a liberal during the revolution, lived in a commune for awhile and went to school to be a psyche nurse. She is flying to Hawaii next week, in search of a PHD.

One of the biggest crushes I ever had. The face, the hair, the shape, the voice, the personality, the spirit, even the flaws, were all Heaven sent. For several years I was afraid to even speak to her or look her in the eye. There was major chemistry on my side, and she barely knew I existed. I know it seems like high school, and I suppose it is.

Somewhere along the line, we began to speak and become friends. I was falling head over heals and
knew nothing would come of it. She was not quite divorced and looking toward the middle of the Pacific ocean...

I enjoyed the long talks about spirituality and all of the books and people and ideas. I got to know myself through the experience, and thanked her for that. Pieces of me were drawn out so God and I could look at them.

Two people committed to a spiritual path, even if one is unhappily coupled and the other unhappily alone, one an Orthodox Christian and the other a
"recovering Catholic," managed to find each other
and love each other while remaining integrous and faithful to spiritual principals.

She says she'll write...

I'm grateful she is going, as I was reaching the limits of my endurance, and might consider someone
more available to respond in future romantic involvements. PBPGINFWMY

Hi Fellow Men,

I resisted peeking at "for women only" (after the first poem) and "for men only" until tonight, when, I confess, I read "for women only" first. I'm bad.

I like that poem:

"Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say
It's in the arch of my back
The sun in my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally"

Sooo true. I try so much.

Then I read the "for men only" and found out that you fellows are my kind of locker room pals. Oddly respectful.

I long to be tempted, so long as the temptation is graced in ultimate inaccessibility. Then the solo temptress merges into the gender more beautiful, which merges with my own soul�s longing for that which it cannot possess, until my soul forgets what it cannot possess, and remembers, and is possessed by longing for its source.

This could get a bit tricky during Lent . . . .


Asher:

Most of us have already burned ourselves with the torch. Notice, however, that in the initial post I encourage the freedom whereby we may

"Regale in matrimonial prowess."

Not being married, but fairly sensible, I was leaving the door open for metaphorically encripted erotica, but then the thread began before Ash Wednesday.

As for locker room space and its privacy among Christian men, the lesser and greater goods are still in force. The trick here is to not lose the masculine bravado altogether with too many florid descriptions.

Let's leave the perfume, and the long romantic discourses, to the women; they love it when they think we're actually listening.


Welcome Ryan:

Careful not to flush too many times

I do go to a men's group where we sit around and burp and fart and scratch our nuts and tell a few ribald stories. The guys talk about the hunting trip and the shooting range, while smoking Fat Cubanos.

Perhaps you have not seen that side of me at shalomplace. I make no apologies for being gentle.
(or Gentile)

My archetype of Christ leans toward Mel Gibson's vision a great deal more than the whimpy, effeminate Christ frequently portrayed in religious statuary and iconography, but he was, in my view, the only man since Adam who had access to
Lion of Judah strength and gentility all at the same time.

C.S. Lewis and Thomas Merton take a manly view of Christianity, and they suit me just fine, but to shut out the Sunlight of the Spirit for the sake of some Western distortion of maleness is just not my personal cup of tea.

The men whom I have admired had strength and vulnerability in abundant preportions.

Here's a primal scream:

AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
rrrrrrrrrrrrrGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGgggggggggg
HHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

well, i was standing on bloor and spadina, on my way to the biblioteque and these two raving mad drunk people come up to me and say free beer and like the prototypical canadian that i'm not i ignore them until i see many people walking on the street with six packs of kokanee glacier beer and so i take a pass from my now brothers and go to van and agree to get my hand beautifully stamped with "K" which I misread all day to be a "Y" and I walk away with a free six pack which I am now happily drinking, slowly. It was an act of pure love, I swear. And this jogger, you would have loved it, did a U turn and grabbed a six pack (after showing his ID, I guess you had to be a canadian citizen, lol) and runs on into the sunset. I proceeded to crack open a beer in the library and read Deleuze's Antioedipus, which was/is simply excellent.

And my analyst was saturnine yesterday to top it off and so I offered him a beer to spread the pure love.

The very same thing happened to me the other day.

Kokonee must be omnicient...

Drinking a cool cup of water from an artesian well is way healthier and spiritually uplifting for you men than the wicked brew of Kokonee.

shoeeeeee. ;-) Take your water elsewhere. I like mine golden like helios.