The World is a Zoo

MindPron began with an analysis of porno so it only seems right to jump headfirst into my second entry discussing bestiality. Last night, I had the awkward pleasure of watching Zoo, the arthouse documentary with a shocking core. Zoo was the stylized exploration of bestiality following the death of a local man, known as Mr. Hands, after being fucked by a horse.

There is no way to be quiet about it. A man...died...having sex...with a horse! The film ratchets up the shock value even more by presenting the story in a beautifully, meandering glow, half re-enactment, half documentary. While questions of animal consent and innocence float around in light of Mr. Hands' death, I couldn't stop but think about the Internet.

Rob opened the floodgates when he jokingly suggested that the true villain of the piece was the Internet. We all know the depths of the World Wide Web act as a harbor for all sorts of sexual perversions. We may have even seen those perversions. I know I've seen Mr. Hands' handiwork.

The Internet represents and gives a voice to all as the last democratic medium. And the men who label themselves as being 'zoo' united through this technological Underground.

These men are doing exactly as I hoped to in this blog and the term starts to irk me. No longer a place to observe animals in quiet fascination, 'zoo' becomes the recognition and acting out of bestiality urges, confronting and realizing their fantasy.

But, again, they are not alone.

But what if you were?

What if in the age and enormity of the Internet, you were alone with your fantasy? Men aching to have sex with a horse could find others, but you couldn't even lay your eyes on your wildest fantasy. Existence would immediately seem bleak. A constant, critical search to justify your interest with another would most likely consume the best of us.

Because, if we're not alone, then we can't be 'weird'. And if we're not 'weird' then we're free to do as we dream.

In the end, I can't but wonder what Mr. Hands was thinking as his colon spewed blood inside his body. Did he feel ashamed or embarrassed? Most likely not. It was his dream to be intimate with a horse. It could be that he didn't even regret it. But when it comes down to it, his dream wasn't to share. It was for him alone and the other 'zoo' men didn't matter in the moment.

I would like to say I can't imagine what Mr. Hands thought at that moment, or even in his lifetime, but I'm glad to try. Maybe some dreams aren't meant to come true after all.

Sex Dreams

Pornography is something beautiful. Yea, I said it.

When the funky soundtrack, expected range of corny dialogue, and sometimes visible scars are forgiven, porn is nothing but the sexiest of our imaginations come to life. The weirdest, wildest, wettest fantasies of them all exist in front of our eyeballs with just a few keystrokes. But when our dreams are delivered in the hottest of wrappings (or lack thereof) on a brightly-lit screen for just a couple bucks a month, do we start to lose the drive to live like the pornstars we admire?

Porno reminds me of one of my first film courses at Rutgers University. The professor, John Belton, a boisterous and fairly average-looking man, addressed the class with a warning. He loudly declared that if anyone did not want to ruin the ignorant process of simple enjoying a movie for the images on-screen, without criticism, they should leave now. To delve deeper into the celluloid, he proclaimed, could ruin some of us for life, a paralysis of shallow entertainment. It sounded much like a disease of no fun, but no one dared leave the room. It was almost a challenge to discover who could be ignorant and proud. I, thankfully, never showed doubt and never looked back.

Yes, entertainment, with or without people fucking, has led me to the Blogosphere. Horny for sex or the silver screen, I have found the screens that surround my life not showing me anything lately but myself. They've become mirrors, as they should be, according to Belton, not the porn industry.

Porno without understanding is expected. It's not creative, it's primal. We know there are no perverted pizza delivery men getting lucky with the tip. And we don't care. But when we realize that porn is time spent observing and not doing, we lose the pleasure of just watching, as Belton warned.

With that, I begin MindPron. It is my chance to be critical of the world, rather than just observe it. Living vicariously through screens and pipe-dreams is just an escape from the hard work it may take to find it myself.

Sometimes, it's just good to think. And that's just what I plan to do.