I think that it depends on how you define “pornography.”
If you mean “the explicit sexual expression of technically proficient artists using media including but not limited to painting, photography, film, performance, and digital computers,” then yes, pornography is art, unless you also mean, say, the depiction of hardcore pornography, which you probably wouldn’t.
If, on the other hand, you mean “the depiction of people having (or seeming to have) sexually explicit sexual interactions in a formally and emotionally expressive manner,” then pornography is art pornography.
In any case, even if hardcore pornography were not art, it would still be wrong. (Cf. “abstract ‘art’ whose only value is as a medium for self-expression and personal spiritual growth,” or “women’s shoes.” Although some pornography is more technically proficient than others, it’s hard to see any genuine artistic intent in the artistry required to present “abstract 'art’ whose only value is as a medium for self-expression and personal spiritual growth” in a way that doesn’t seem ridiculous.)
Hey. Right now, I am having the most surreal day possible. But it’s pretty fun, and everything is becoming clear, and it all has a really solid beginning and ending. It’s like the world I always knew, but which was always hidden in there, waiting to be found, and now is becoming a thing that I can see.
*slowly pulls away, looking up at you and smiling in the cutest way possible*
*dip kisses you*
*slightly startled and blushing but kisses back*
*still kissing*
Congratulations on your love life, Edgy!
oh FUCK OFF
Anyway, did you just say you were “boredddd” because you wanted a cute, hot, slightly confused bi boy to come up and hug you? That’s the kind of thing I love about you. Anyway, I’m glad you’re happy with yourself, and so am a lot of other people, I think.
Shut tf up
I’m not sure you’ve fully engaged with my posts, so let me try a different tack:
Have you ever been on a date with someone you didn’t really know?
What do you think that meant?
This applies equally to dating people you’ve known for a really long time, or new people. (I was in a relationship with someone for about 6 months when I didn’t really know them, and I was pretty shaken by how much I wanted to meet their friends.)
Of course, there’s something specific here about dating that makes it unique. A lot of people would say that in many cases the answer is “no.” As I’ve said before, people tend to look for relationships that are short-term and intimate, and find long-term or more complicated relationships to be more mysterious, mysterious even when they are not mysterious at all.
But there are other ways of looking at the same data. There’s something magical about getting on a date with someone where you can’t figure out what they’re thinking about or what you should be feeling about each other. At the end of the day you go home, kiss, and go to bed. The night is yours to enjoy in its own right, not for some other person to use it up. (There’s a lot of evidence that sexual fantasies and behavior are a lot like this — I think that’s one of the things that people tend to find so sexy about them.)
It means something when you get a message in bed saying you’re the perfect soulmate for another person. There’s something endearing about it.
For a lot of people, a relationship with me was like that. It was a long-term relationship in many ways — but you couldn’t even see the end of it, because it was buried deep in my soul. It was like reading a love poem, or taking a photo. And having that experience was exciting. I don’t mean that in an “you’ll never be boring after you get together” way. I mean that in the formal sense — it was thrilling to finally have this person I could expand the boundaries to, without fear of losing them or running out of space. It was thrilling to have my own space.
But I know that for you, it meant “I can’t do this.”
I’m not saying you aren’t important or valuable. In fact, I think I am far more interested in you than I was at the beginning. But I am saying that in many ways, a relationship with me just wasn’t for you. And if you knew me at the beginning, you would know that in the moment, I am not exactly sure what that feels like.
I hope you can still reach out to me. (Please don’t send any long, thoughtful messages. I hate them, and I can’t respond to them.) I hope you will still want to keep in touch. But I don’t think it will be for a new kind of relationship.
I know, from my own life, that the bonds of a relationship are strong enough that they can hold our memories and the memories of the people we’ve lost, and that they can be strong enough that we can, in the moment, stand in each other’s shoes, and see ourselves from a new and different perspective. (Which is the kind of thing people usually don’t do much, if ever, once the novelty of meeting someone has worn off.) That we can hold onto all these things and not lose ourselves in nostalgia or in a desire to repeat the familiar, and remember that we are unique and special people who are worth remembering.
If I’m failing to explain my “something new” in the light of your personal experience, I apologize. I hope it wasn’t too presumptuous. I am writing about a mindset that I have found helpful for myself, but I don’t really know how it generalizes.
