Okay, now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s take a closer look at the significance of the phallus in Bhutanese folklore and legend.

Among the many weird and wonderful things that the visitor to Bhutan will encounter, there is one that stands out (no pun intended). It is the frequent depiction of phalluses on the walls of Bhutanese houses.

You can see very realistic depictions of male genitalia painted on the outside walls of people’s houses all over the country – even in the capital Thimphu, which is the closest thing Bhutan has to a cosmopolitan city.

Apart from painted phalluses, you’ll often see life-sized phalluses carved of wood above the doorway of a house or hanging from the four corners of the roof.

This is supposed to ward off evil spirits.

It’s not pornographic

For the people of Bhutan, the phalluses are neither pornographic nor erotic symbols. And they aren’t painted on the houses as fertility symbols, either.

The phalluses are a reference to one of Bhutan’s most popular saints, Lama Drukpa Kunley, who lived at the turn of the 15th into the 16th centuries.

Lama Drukpa Kunley is also known as the Divine Madman in Bhutan.

According to the Lonely Planet Travel Guide,

…he felt that the stiffness of the clergy and social convention were keeping people from learning the true teachings of Buddha. His outrageous, often obscene, actions and sexual antics were a deliberate method of provoking people to discard their preconceptions.

The Bhutanese tell countless stories about his sexual adventures, and you can’t help think that they immensely enjoy hearing these folktales again and again.

One of them recounts how the Lama once tamed a female demon in the mountains with his powerful thunderbolt of wisdom.

So the painted phalluses in Bhutan are more a reference to the antics of the Divine Madman than erotic or fertility symbols.

A temple of hope for childless women

The people of Bhutan love the Divine Madman so much that they’ve even dedicated a temple to him. It’s located in a little village near Punakha, about two and a half hours drive from the capital Thimphu.

Childless women make pilgrimages to this temple of Chimi Lhakhang to pray (as do tourists, who want to see what all the fuss is about).

Inside the shrine, there are three effigies that the infertile women have to carry around the temple: one is a small stone that strongly resembles a phallus, another is a bone in the shape of the male reproductive organ that the third is a piece of bamboo that also looks just like it, too.

Our Bhutanese guide was convinced that the blessing from the Divine Madman worked wonders. He explained about a western tourist who made the pilgrimage and promptly got pregnant in the year after her visit to Chimi Lhakhang.

Regardless of whether you believe in the power of the Divine Madman’s blessing or not, Chimi Lhakhang is definitely a serene and beautiful place to visit.

The temple sits on a small hill in the middle of rice paddies. All you can hear from here are the birds singing, the wind softly blowing and the constant chime of the prayer wheel’s bell.

As we visited, the prayer wheel was kept going by a woman who looked at least a hundred years old.

I just hope the Divine Madman will not be mad enough to bless her, but rather her granddaughter or great-granddaughter.

First of all, this is just an incredibly strange culmination.  Second of all, I can't imagine anything more wretched.  As a fan of Disney movies and Disney music, despite (and because of) the occasional pornographic splice or sexually suggestive movie cover, I'm terrified at the prospect of Philip Glass even approaching this subject matter.

I know many people consider him one of the preeminent American composers of our time, but I think his operas are garbage.  Everything he writes is recycled and circular.  It's like chinese water torture, or like being on a merry-go-round you can't get off.  It makes me simultaneously sleepy and nauseated.  He is going to MANGLE this.  I went to the Met's recent production of Satyagraha, which was supposedly about Ghandi's life, and I had to leave after one act it was so awful.  It was a symphony of dying cats, in round.

Glass seems to think he's perfect for the job, however: "The story of the last days of Walt Disney, American icon and creator of perhaps the most pervasive fantasy world on our planet, is surprisingly gripping and at times disturbing."  I agree, but please, Philip, for the sake of Disney's memory and legacy, LEAVE IT ALONE!

Much thanks to for pointing out this bizarre phenomena featured at Metro.co.uk. ■

It is always convenient when a film's title actually holds a key to its meaning. In this case, the title points to the idea of the gaze as inherent to the film. One is not sure that the gaze is the primary theme, but it's certainly important. It corresponds well to the opening shot. The shot frames, nay objectifies, Alice (Nicole Kidman) in a way that ought to make anyone self-conscious for watching. The subsequent shot of Bill (Tom Cruise) frames him in the same way, but instead of undressing, he is putting the final touches on dressing up. Later in the film, when the masked man tells Bill to remove his clothes, Bill is rendered aghast. After seeking out countless women throughout the film with the intent to dominate them sexually, Bill gawks at the suggestion that he remove his clothes. This early scene in the film looks ahead to that later one.

The early dialog between Bill and Alice establishes the motifs of gaze, power, and repression. She complains that he doesn't look at her the way she likes. He flippantly tells her how "perfect" she looks without looking at her. Not long after, Victor (Sydney Pollack) greets Alice at the party by telling her how amazing she looks. While still preparing for the party in the bathroom, Alice uses the toilet and (later) applies deodorant in front of both Bill and the camera. Lapsley & Westlake present the possibility that this begins Alice's (as the proverbial "Woman") revenge against Bill (the proverbial "Man") and his arrogant dominion over her. First she allows herself to be objectified and then revolts against this notion by displaying herself in all her ordinariness, the sort of ordinariness that a man like Bill almost can't handle.

Kubrick establishes Bill as (what Freud and Lacan would identify as) the keeper of the phallus. In this instance, "phallus" refers almost completely to the symbol for power and only at times to the male instrument. That Alice is castrated (without power) is seen in the early scene already described and then again at the party. She dances with a man (not Bill) who dominates her not only in the dance, but in his attempts to persuade her to go upstairs with him. Her desire for him (her attempt to undo her castration) almost gets the best of her, creating an interesting situation in which Lacan's notion of "lack" appears clearly in both parties. Alice's lack is seen in her desire for the man; and vice versa. Alice's resistance signifies her loyalty to Bill, which he in turn interprets as weakness. He has no concern over her faithfulness, because (in so many words) she needs him more than he needs her. After the party, when Alice confronts Bill on just this issue, Bill backpedals and insists that she need not worry over his faithfulness to her. All the while, however, Bill distinguishes between male and female natures. Women "need" men, while men simply are faithful to the women they love.

While Alice dances with the desiring man, Bill flirts and talks with two women nearby. The scene not only illustrates Bill's repressed desire for something more than Alice, but it alludes to the rest of the film which has Bill pursuing never one woman, but multiple women. The rites at the mansion that Bill witnesses is the ultimate example of polygamous sexual relations. At one point in the earlier scene, the two women start to walk Bill somewhere, and he laughingly asks them where they are taking him. They say, "where the rainbow ends." Here again the scene points directly ahead to the mansion when, first, one woman guides him through rooms and halls, and then another attempts to take Bill from her.

When Bill is interrupted and ushered upstairs, he encounters the character of Mandy for the first time. She is Victor's liaison (apparently a prostitute) who has overdosed on a speedball, a shot of heroin and cocaine, with a dash of champagne. Here is the first instance of Bill using his credentials and profession as a physical to wield power and change a situation from one thing to another. The first sight of Mandy is disturbing and disquieting. Her nakedness seems not to phase Bill, but his flirtations only a few moments before remind the viewer that despite his professional status, her state has not gone unnoticed. Neither Bill nor Victor, who is also presents, acknowledges this fact. But in the scene's closeups of Victor, the immediate background features a painting of a nude woman, which appears to enwrap Victor in the shot. Cuts back to Alice during the scene reiterate Bill's life apart from her and serve to contrast Alice's resistance of temptation while Bill, through his status as "doctor," has license to be with and to see women. A brief montage a little later shows Bill examining a woman in his office. Though a nurse is present (as he assures Alice), the fact can't be ignored that he regularly interacts with women stripped of their vulnerabilities while he maintains the power position - not only dressed, but in doctor attire.

The gaze makes another explicit appearance following Bill and Alice's return from the party before and after Bill approaches Alice in front of the mirror. The double-image of Alice and her entrancement on herself displays her lack and her willing framing of herself. As opposed to the film's opening shot, here Alice's front side is visible as she, once again, undresses. When Bill enters the picture, he comes as a predator toward Alice, the prey. For the first and only time in the film, Bill has some vulnerability on display, and he never glances toward the mirror to acknowledge them. Alice focuses on the reflection rather than on Bill. Meanwhile, a groovy song plays with the chorus, "They did a bad, bad thing..."

While smoking weed in bed, Bill and Alice have their revealing conversation about men and women. As with most of their talks in the film, their subject matter is exceedingly general. It's been said that Stanley Kubrick never made a movie about people but about Man and the human condition. Eyes Wide Shut has been criticized for a lack of depth in its main characters, but Kubrick is using the characters to get to something much bigger. Though their discussion begins with Alice questioning Bill about the two women at the party, they quickly move on to the big picture as Bill implies to Alice that men are more interested in sex than women. Alice realizes that Bill isn't worried that she would ever betray him, another picture of Bill's security in his own position of power over her. Seeing an opportunity to usurp his power, Alice reveals Bill's lack by confessing her own fantasies of infidelity. She callously tells Bill of the naval officer whom she desired, and the rest of the film has Bill visualizing their never-actually-happened affair in between attempts to reassert his power both over Alice and the proverbial Woman. As Bill and Alice talk in the bedroom, they flirt and laugh, creating a mood that contradicts the nature of what they're discussing. Kreider points out that this is a recurring element in Kubrick's films. Think of "Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the war room!" from Dr. Strangelove and "I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm just gonna bash your brains in!" from The Shining. Victor makes a similar statement about Mandy toward the end of Eyes Wide Shut when he says that she wasn't killed, she just "got her brains f---ed out."

When Bill goes on his first house call in the film, he is greeted by the first of a number of women who strongly resemble Alice in appearance. Another such woman is the prostitute's rooommate that Bill meets on his second visit to her apartment. Kreider notes that her name, Sally, is an aural anagram of "Alice." Bill's impression that polygamy can work for him as a reassertion of his power is not only inherently flawed, but it reveals his own repressed lack (of fulfillment). Not only is Alice's hypothetical affair constantly on his mind, but nearly every woman he encounters takes him back to her.

The sexuality in the film, in all its forms, seems to show Bill's lack of satisfaction wherever he looks. Nearly every woman he desires comes to an unhappy end. Mandy's death is arguably attributable to him. And though Domino the prostitute did not contract HIV from him, she surely contracted it from someone not unlike him. Bill is mistaken by a group of youths as a homosexual, and the hotel clerk possibly makes the same mistake. The orgy is the ultimate example of unfulfilled desire exploding into a large-scale attempt at acquiring the phallus/instrument-of-power. The sexual ambiguity in the film corresponds with Bill's desires, which he cannot even identify and does not know how to satiate. Lapsley and Westlake offer the possibility that Bill stands for a sexually ambiguous character seeking satisfaction but not finding it.

More ambiguous than the film's sexuality is its narrative. Victor's explanation of what happened and what didn't only satisfies if one blindly trusts Victor, who has everything to gain by lying to Bill. Kreider's essay identifies the three times in the pool room that Victor proposes that he and Bill talk to each other plainly. The pool table itself, blood red in color, seems to point not only to the orgy sequence but to death, and the implication that Victor is lying. Much of what he says seems melodramatic even compared to the bizarreness of what Bill witnessed at the mansion. Bill's final conversation with Alice likewise leaves a thematic uncertainty. While in a toy store with their daughter, Bill asks Alice what they should do. "Be grateful," she says. Again, their generalities do less to solve their personal problems than to reveal the macro-problem of relationships, especially marriages. As one of the few scenes in the film when she is wearing glasses, Alice is possibly seeing things more clearly than she naturally would. That they are situated in a toy store is reminiscent of 2001, when the narrative returns to a childlike state, connecting the conclusion with the outset. But unlike 2001, Bill and Alice have not arrived at the next stage of their evolution. On the contrary, though they have moved ahead in the sense that they see each other more clearly for who they are, and Alice wields more power than she ever has, her suggestion as to what they now must do reeks of the lack that the rest of the film has pictured. Bill's quest for fulfillment has now turned, ever so slightly, to become Alice's. As the holder of the phallus, she is now "free," although quite imprisoned, to pursue gratification using Bill as a tool. The film's conclusion implies less of a resolution and more of a perpetuation of the same problem, unsolved. When their eyes should be finally wide open, they're still decidedly shut.

I dreamt last night
of a world in which
my cock reigned supreme.
The imagery of the dream
was very Crusades-meets-4-horsemen-of-the-apocalypse.
The Cock subjugated men and women
by preternatural dimensions and prowess;
its fame soon pervaded the land.

O venerable hard-on!
We swear our allegiance to you and you alone!

But alas, I woke to face
the gruesome reality:
Admin work at the institute;
manhood- limp, flaccid, destitute.
Attractive women who won't give you the time of day,
rendering aimless the primitive throbbings
south of the navel.

Shit.
Never before has this all too human dick
felt so oppressed within the confines of propriety
and a rather tight pair of knickers.

Aber  das ist auch wieder eine Geschmacksfrage. Ellen mag Worte, die in ihren Ohren schön klingen und dazu gehört durchaus auch Möse und auch Fotze (oder noch lieber: Votze, da hört man sie doch schon leise und feucht schmatzen), die sie nicht als abwertend empfindet. Nein, 'Möse' ist ihr Favorit. Daneben lässt sie noch 'Muschi' gelten, auch wenn es ein bisschen albern ist, aber es lässt an ein behaartes kleines Kätzchen denken, manchmal ganz niedlich und passend. Ja, 'Kätzchen' kann man dazu natürlich auch sagen. Auch an Vagina und Vulva ist überhaupt nichts auszusetzen (wenn man sie denn für die passenden Teile des weiblichen Geschlechts verwendet), im Gegenteil, Vulva erzeugt klanglich schon beinahe den wunderbaren Hohlraum, den sie verbirgt.

Scheide geht nur manchmal, da muss ellen an Schwerter denken und die dazugehörigen Futterale und das macht ein sehr ungutes Gefühl im Bauch. Viel besser natürlich: Feige, das klingt einfach lecker und da wären wir wieder bei der Verbindung zwischen Sex und Essen. Und dann natürlich ganz wichtig: Klitoris, Kitzler (noch besser), Lustknospe oder auch nur Knospe. 'Knospe' gibt das Aussehen ja gar nicht einmal so schlecht wieder. Eigentlich ist das ja schon eine ganze Menge, denn bei männlichen Geschlechtsteilen ist ellen ungleich einfallsloser: ein Schwanz ist ein Schwanz ist ein Schwanz.

Glied und Penis, nun ja, das ist irgendwie zahnlos und medizinisch, aber erträglich. Phallus geht noch, an bestimmten Stellen, noch besser 'Phallos'. Und - wieder wichtig - natürlich Eichel. Kein wirklich schönes Wort, aber notwendig. Glans klingt schöner, ist aber irgendwie unüblich, oder? Und, was ja manchmal vergessen wird: die Eier oder Hoden. Beides keine schönen Wörter. Aber Scrotum klingt nach Einzahl und das dürfte ja manchen Männern wiederum Bauchschmerzen bereiten (ja, ellen weiß, dass das streng genommen den 'Hodensack' bezeichnet). Und Testikel, nunja, da muss ellen an Tintenfische denken und mit denen mag man ja keinen Sex, oder? Ach ja, einfach 'Geschlecht' ist auch sehr schön, das hat dann etwas androgynes, weil man es für beide 'Geschlechter' verwenden kann.

Das soll hier keine Anatomie-Stunde werden, denn worum es ellen eigentlich geht, ist die Wortwahl, der Klang der Wörter, die die schönste Sache der Welt und alle dazugehörigen Teile bezeichnen. Man muss da nichts unnötig versüßen und verzärtlichen und überall ein -chen anhängen (obwohl ellen Vötzchen ganz gut gefällt), aber man muss auch nicht übertrieben grob werden, das ist der Würde der Sache und ellens Liebe dazu nicht angemessen. Es gibt Worte, die sind einfach zu unschön, um sie zu verwenden!

'Geil' ist etwa so ein unschönes Wort, irgendwie derb und brutal. ellen würde nie sagen: "Ich bin geil", sondern immer "ich habe Lust" oder vielleicht "ich will Dich" oder "kommst Du ficken?". Ja, ficken, auch vögeln, gar kein Problem (und vögeln: da muss man ja schon an den abschließenden Schwebeflug denken, oder nicht?). Aber wichsen oder gar wixen? Nein, das geht gar nicht! Hier hat man doch Auswahl: also bitte lieber masturbieren, onanieren, sich selbstbefriedigen, es sich selbst machen oder auch besorgen. Und abgegriffene tierische Vergleiche wie Stute und Hengst: autsch, das tut wirklich weh (ganz abgesehen von Ehestute, grauenhaft!).

Okay, das reicht, ich glaube, es ist alles klar: ellen redet gerne über Sex (noch lieber schreibt sie darüber) und sie hat keine Scheu, sich klar und deutlich auszudrücken. Aber es gibt eine Grenze und die heißt Geschmacklosigkeit. Aber trotzdem: ellen legt auch nicht jedes Wort auf die Goldwaage, ihr dürft also ruhig weiterhin hier kommentieren, wie euch der Schnabel gewachsen ist! Aber gewisse Worte werdet ihr eben nie von ellen hören.

Und falls euch wirklich mal die Worte ausgehen sollten, dann empfehle ich euch folgendes Buch: Jean-Claude Carrière: Mit anderen Worten, ein erotischer Sprachführer, da wird man sicher fündig! Achja, die Vaginamonologe von Eve Ensler darf man in diesem Kontext natürlich auch keinesfalls vergessen! Oder habt ihr selbst eigene Lieblingsbezeichnungen für Geschlechtsteile und alles, was man damit machen kann?

Ben curato nella grafica (crediamo uno dei rari casi di grafica pulita con contenuti zozzi), l'azienda si pregia di produrre il primo profumo alla figa. Sic et simpliciter.

Per dovere di cronaca, traduciamo diligentemente e maccheronicamente dalle pagine in inglese (le altre sono in  tedesco, ma guarda un po'...). Dopo aver dichiarato la nostra maggiore età (anagrafica, ma non mentale) leggiamo:

VULVA Original non è un profumo. E' un piacevole odore vaginale, pura sostanza per il tuo piacere olfattivo. Respiralo e godi, tutte le volte che vuoi, dove vuoi, dell'odore di una bella donna.

Lasciando perdere alcuni interrogativi sui processi produttivi (ad esempio la fase di estrazione del principio attivo, il reclutamento delle donatrici ecc ecc), sospettiamo l'imminente produzione di Phallus, il primo e vero profumo del cazzo. Tanto di cappell... o.

Aggiornamento

Toh, qualcun'altro se n'è accorto. Ingenuo...

*ahem*

Precisely why I try to be the bigger person, when possible. Because you never know who's going to be writing your obituary! Also, another reason to be childfree - less people to try (or not try) to make happy.

Why NOT to be a goddess

Because, honestly, what exactly do they need her to quack about?

I hesitate to even link these two articles, but here it is. You ask me about ducks, that's what you get.

And, since I've been talking about it so much lately, Myspace douchery.

Please, please, please, for the love of Pete, PLEASE do not try to make your own sex toys.

Speaking of sex toys...

I need to stop now...

I can't keep my mind on something for more than a fraction of a second. Tomorrow it's back to the real world and life in real time, instead of the delicious slow motion that it's been lately. Obviously my mind is already racing.

Well, the office bathroom situation I have now makes me rejoice! Separate men's and women's, multiple stalls, the whole nine. I'm no longer walking in on coworkers with chonies around their ankles, or queuing up so the whole office can see my hold-it dance. Wait, wait, though. This does not mean that the new loo is entirely free of oddities.

Let's look at exhibit #1. There is a giant poster in the women's bathroom of a huge banana pile. Perhaps my mind is in the sewer... But am I crazy to think a long tubular fruit is highly phallic? And to top it off the poster says "banana bandits." I mean, yeah, I guess I could be called a banana bandit. Should I be ashamed of this? Regardless, I am always a little taken aback when I walk into the bathroom and see a giant poster pointing to me, accusing me of being a banana bandit. Banana smuggling. I drop my pants in this joint, must I be smothered in sexual innuendo? Fine, alright, I am a bandita, so what?!

To support my point that banana banditing is a highly inappropriate bathroom accusation, I would like to present an alternate scenario. What if a banana bandits poster (with a giant unpeeling banana, hi bathroom banana) were in the men's bathroom? I am sure there would be at least a few highly homophobic reactions. I bet I would even hear the occasional guy yell "I am no bandit, keep the banana to yourself." That is because the phallic nature of the banana penis, I mean banana, would be recognized by all.

The other questionable features of this new bathroom are the signs on the inside of the stalls. "STOP! FLUSH! Take care of your business after you take care of your business." Is there a crumbly shit problem? Who are these people who can't drop solid deuces? Thank goodness I've never walked into a floater, or the aftermath of one, but seriously. It's kind of an unsettling sign. Like, yeah dude, I generally flush my URINE (if you're into that kind of denial). But thanks for the reminder anyway.

Alright, that's all. Banana. Ok, good talk.

It's one of the world's largest flowers, it stinks of rotting meat or rancid cheese and looks very much like a giant penis.

The Amorphophallus Titanum -- literally "the giant strangely shaped penis" -- has been attracting big crowds at the National Botanic Garden of Belgium on the outskirts of Brussels.

The rare phallus-like flower that springs from the plant only survives about 72 hours and its timing is completely unpredictable, said Gert Ausloos, head of education at the garden...

Also known as Corpse Flower, it releases a strong smell to attract pollinators, thought to be sweat bees.

Thousands queued to see -- and smell -- the 1.6 meter tall specimen on Thursday...

First discovered in 1878 in western Sumatra, the plant was first cultivated in Europe at the Royal Botanic Garden, Kew, in London in 1889. Because of its appearance, Victorian women were kept from viewing it.

Don't look! Don't look!

Thought:

V-neck t-shirts are like the Hipster phallus. The deeper your v-neck protrudes the bigger you hip-dick. Your record collection actually grows. Your street cred increases with every inch. The deep v is a testament to just how committed you are to the lifestyle that is hipster. Yuppies have sports cars, and hipsters have V-necks. You feeling a little short somewhere, just buy a deep v. Colors increase girth ps.

Die größte Blüte der Welt erinnern momentan noch eher an einen Walpenis, womit sie eine doppelte Berechtigung hat, in Stuttgarter Wilhelma zu stehen.

Einmal als Pflanze im Botanischen Garten der Wilhelma und zweitens als Anschauungsobjekt für die Sexualität ozeanischer Großsäuger, die aus Platzgründen dort sonst nicht vertreten sind.

Mit einer WebCam lässt sich verfolgen, wie aus dem Phallus
unter Verströmen penetranten
Aasgeruchs doch noch eine
Blüte wird.

Es kann jeden Tag soweit sein.

Andy Brouwer visited the fantastic Khmer temple site of Wat Phu in Laos, and provides us with some wonderful photos. His series of posts can be found here, and I heartily recommend them.

Speaking of temples, and especially the symbolism of royal power in Southeast Asia, texturbation's been visiting Cambodia lately, and has a gut-busting meditation on the ubiquitous shivalingas that focus so many Khmer temples. A snippet:

is the depiction of the Churning Of The Sea Of Milk.

(?)

The Churning Of The Sea Of Milk relief runs along a long corridor. It depicts a couple hundred guys holding onto a massive snake, which is attached to a mountain that sits within a sea of milk.

(Too… Much… Input…)

Tradition has it that as the demons pull on their collective snake, the mountain turns, churning the sea of milk into the delicious life-giving cream of creation.

(Too… Much… Input… Must… Reboot… Must… Reboot…)

And Thus was the Universe Created.

Great big daisy-chain.

Texturbation needs to visit Bangkok (get it?) and see this shrine:

It's probably good that Gabon officials busted this order-service human skull provision service. Yeah, you read that right. On the other hand, this quote reminds me of stuff I just finished writing yesterday:

In Gabon, the knowledge that human bones are used in the potion was nearly as shocking to many as the news of the graverobbing operation.

"I was initiated by Bwiti. I'm scared that I ate a person's body," said Jeanne Mba, a middle-aged housewife in Libreville. [via BB]

This brief blogpost from Details Are Sketchy made me laugh out loud. Dead on.

Although it's not strictly 'good news,' it's always good to hear from the fantabulous Rong Chhun, one of Cambodia's true contemporary heroes, fighting for teachers and against corruption in the best way possible. As the president of the Cambodia Independent Teacher's Union (CITA), he normally comes up with superb analyses of what's going on. Here he is, a few days ago, discussing the celebrations of the Preah Vihear World Heritage Status. Sounds prescient now.

The celebration ceremony at Olympic Stadium is nothing special as Preah Vihear temple has been Cambodia’s property since 1962 under the crusade of former King Norodom Sihanouk,” said Rong Chhun, president of Cambodia Watchdog Council. “The celebration is simply being used for political gain, which only confuses voters before election day,” he added.

A Cambodian monk has joined the 300-plus election observer group:

"Even if I'm a monk, I have the same rights as a civilian citizen," Huy Man Kheang told VOA Khmer in a recent interview. "The monks have the right to create organizations also."

"We have monks who go to vote also, like the ordinary citizens," he said. "Observation is only to monitor if there is violence from one party to others and to monitor in order to have a smooth election process."

Right, there we go. Next post is less pleasant.

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And the last thing that looks like a dick but isn't, but in theory, just might be:

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I am imprisoned with no bars. Only walls of wood, widows, and fear. A long trail of sin has trapped me in silence and stifled my courage. I am a child lost and locked away by societies perception of right and wrong. Good and evil. Blood and water sweep beneath my feet. It started with a distraction. An invitation to forbidden. "Watch this with me","look at what i found" are the phases that caught my attention. I found myself enveloped in curiosity and pulled to forbidden over and over with Delilah to watch. Tape after tape of adult expression and obsessions. Emotional release and sexual gratification filled the screen. My first taste of porn and i, less than a child, enjoyed it. That Delilah knew.

Innocence lost in forbidden is all it should have been but the nature of man leads us, propels us to want more. As i slept nervous fingers crept under my sheets. Id touch myself but these aren't my hands. They circle my waist as they quickly remove my pants. I grab these wrist in question and recieve the answer of a pillow shoved in my face. It took my voice away but left my hot musty breath. She sat on the pillow to keep it in place and shackled me there with her mouth as she embraced the start of my manhood in her lips. My phallus ached with no pain and i cried with no tears. There was no confusion or wonder i knew exactly what this was. It was wrong, it was sin, and it was forbidden. After she had ravaged what she had found she left with the statement of "Don't tell cause u liked it so that makes it your fault since you,re a boy." And i hated that i couldnt stop her. Delilah had devoured my innocence and my protest was null. Max what have u done? Why have you been so weak? If you knew it was wrong and hatted it why were you pleasured? This is your fault.

It is the nature of man to be greedy and Delilah, being of man, fully expressed her nature as it took more to satisfy her hunger for instant gratification. When ever my parents would leave she would corner me or wrestle me down. Now she would just mount me and grind the pleasure directly into her. It resembled a drug where the initial method of consumption quickly fades and new methods of delivering the high to the blood stream must be found. She no longer needed the pillow to silence my voice. She now would just feed me from herself and remind me that if i refused to finish her meal that my sin would be exposed. So i ate and i passively let her devour every part of my childhood ignorance to adult passion. But there was no passion here. This was not like the tapes. Delilah felt no emotion only the void that fueled her appetite and i was only the tool for her release. The months passed and the hatred for the forbidden grew but words remained silent.

This of course did end but memory failed me on how or when. Delilah is still a presence in my life but nether of us mention the months in forbidden. It almost appears as if she doesn't realize anything happened. Now as an adult I don't feel the hatred. I believe i released it in many dysfunctional relationships that the stories haven't yet been published for. Sometimes i ask why but the questions will never hit ears. I would think that possibly someone had done the same to her and thats why she released her anguish on me. She was only a few years older than myself so there was no way she should have been a part of this forbidden. When i see how time has taken a toll on her i feel that she has never visited forbidden to feel physical indulgence but only to fill the missing pleasure she lost. She just wanted to be loved. And her relationships repeat a pattern of trying to trade sex for love or at least limited affection. As for myself i don't have lasting trauma from the experience or at least crazy people never say they are crazy. But i do know that i am not normal. I am a broken handbag that must be carried tightly under the arm cause my straps are no longer attached. There is nothing in me to hold on to someone else. The stage of development where sex and emotional attachment are obtained never spawned in me. The forbidden is no longer the desire or craving for sinful lust, but for me the forbidden is the longing and fulfillment of an emotional connection with someone. What are you doing Max and where will you find it? This is your fault and your greed. Or is it just the nature of man in search of redemption? Memories fill my baggage. I am imprisoned with no bars, only walls of earth, sky, and fear.

Phallus of Delos, Greece

Attic red-figure lid. Three female organs and a winged phallus. Three names are inscripted: Philonides (masculine), Auletria and Anemone (both feminine). Origin unknown, ca. 460–425 BC. National Archaeological Museum in Athens.

Phallic symbol, old Thira, Greece

Taga-jinja, the Shinto shrine in Uwajima, Japan

Phallic and Lunar hangers, luck charms (Nijmegen Museum)

Fresco of Priapus, Casa Dei Vettii, Pompeii

Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, Naples, Italy:

Imperial Roman Hermes (Mercury) is portrayed as a bearded god with enlarged phallus,

winged sandals and caduceus wand.

Phallus pointing the direction to the Brothel

A stone phallus, marking a brothel...

]]> http://ueltzhoeffer.wordpress.com/?p=338 Wed, 10 Sep 2008 08:45:38 +0000 Maren Oppermann http://ueltzhoeffer.de.wordpress.com/2008/09/10/bild-mit-worten/ Jedenfalls inauguriert er ein gemaltes Bild mit Worten. Dabei ein erstes Vorschweben von etruskischen Pferden aus dem Louvre, dann das Beginnen mit dem Zeichnen des Hinterteils mit einer "kleinen Öffnung für den Schweif, der später hineingesteckt werden kann". Kaum ist der Rumpf angedeutet, schon das Bemerken, "daß er zu länglich geraten ist." So setzt sich der Prozeß des Automatismus fort und gebiert immer neue Lösungen, die die alten verneinen, bis das Pferd fünf Beine, also eins zu viel hat, weshalb er das überzählige in einen Phallus errectus verwandelt.

Textportraits - Ralph Ueltzhoeffer.