And sure, I did get a bit of a laugh from seeing you state with a straight face that what has been described as primal is actually just all sex

Many moons ago, when I first started studying AI, I read a stupendous amount of literature and papers and journals and whathaveyou, including not only hard Computer Science but also in the field of Cognitive Science in general: Neuroscience, Psychology, Linguistics, Philosophy

A big name in the field of AI … in Cognitive Science in general but also specifically ‘Computational Philosophy’ (which isn’t a good label at all, when you think about it linguistically, but, hey, professor Dennett always did strike me as a bit promoted beyond his abilities) … was/is (wait for it) Daniel Dennett.

He proposed …(and, short of intellectual deficiency, or outright dishonesty, with himself and/or the World, I really can’t think why, given that John Searle’s Chinese Room counterargument to Functionalist approaches to AI had been made long before) … that if you found an anthill and were to put down the right pheromones/foodstuffs such that you could encourage the ants to respond in a calculable manner, allowing for a predictable response to a given pattern of the chemical stimulus, then, in effect, you could communicate with not the individual ants but the anthill itself.

Which is complete and utter bollocks.

At best it’s a tautology … a self-fulfilling prophecy … but, really, it’s not even that sophisticated … it’s just anthropomorphism and intellectually destitute.

Well, slapping a label on a certain kind of behaviour and then claiming that, because a label was slapped on it, all instances of the behaviour are instances of the label …

Just … no.

Moreover, I didn’t say it was all sex … just that it was just sex.

Wait, what, really?

Oooh! You, sarky, supercilious b…

Well, this is awkward.


No wonder I got the feeling we were talking past each other. Um…

I can hardly complain about my own technique of laying it on with a shovel of withering scorn being used in the same way, I suppose — I’ll have to grudgingly respect the approach *sigh*

Okay, okay, just to put the record straight.

Yes .. let’s.


Just because you can be a little domineering (I don’t really like the negative association with that word, but I like alpha even less if we’re not talking about a wolf pack or something)

No … I don’t really regard myself as an alpha either.

I’m not insecure enough to feel the need to.

I don’t need to compete with others, because, let’s face it, they aren’t a challenge, are they? The only area in which someone else would be one would be physically … and I make up for that by bringing nukes to fist fights (just to make the point that, no, seriously, I really am fucking harder than you because, look, I just fucking won!).

I’m not exactly a ronin, but you get the idea: I recognise equals, not masters and have no trouble recognising when someone is more talented (or knowledgeable about something) than I, because I don’t deem them morally superior as a result — I am not inferior to them because they are better at it, they’re just better at it.

Equally, the only inferiors I recognise are those who are morally so — morality being the only dimension in which I accept that someone may be superior rather than simply better at something, because it’s the one area in which there is a level playing field and we all have equal opportunity (even if you’re a psychopath, there’s nothing preventing you from choosing to be a decent human being by virtue of your behaviour).

But you can say ‘dominant’ without the negative connotation of ‘domineering’ … although, I admit, I can be domineering too, under the right circumstances (I’m far from perfect).

doesn’t really make you a dom in denial. Although you could probably become a good one if you were to decide to be one, there’s much more to being a dom than a natural tendency to float to the top of the pecking order in social situations. Truth be told, being a little domineering isn’t even a requirement to becoming a dom. It’s mostly learned skills.



Dunno … I mean, what’s to learn? In my everyday life, unless I’m feeling laid back about things and letting you make the decisions until such time as I don’t like them any more (or simply spot a more appealing option) … or I’m feeling affectionate and, therefore, whatever makes you happy makes me happy … (whether you like it or not) I’m in charge anyway. And even when you are in charge, you’re only nominally so, because it’s only at my sufferance.

So, it seems to me that, other than being a decent human being and respecting your boundaries insofar as it pleases me to do so, there’s not really any more to it than “Do you like that? Okay I’ll (not) do it again then.”

Don’t worry … I’m just being humourously arrogant; I get that there are rules and stuff I have to follow, because <someone>, <something>, <community>, <label>, <rules> — something … whatever.

Similarly, I’ve not seen you mention things that would put me seriously in mind of you being “primal”. Primal isn’t just about the people. It’s forces, too. For me, a big one is storms. There’s something about lightning. It’s like thunder is a challenge to drown it out. There’s something about rain drops (or just water) on skin.

I get that.

It’s not that I don’t recognise it, I just don’t see a need to make a fuss about it.

For me the very act of making up rules and regulations and stipulations and trying to corral it and tame it by virtue of putting labels on it is the height of effete … an intellectual exercise and the very opposite of primal.

Drown out the thunder?


You can’t — no more so than you can hold back the tide.

Real human beings … those who live out in the Rainforest (or wherever) … don’t intellectualise about that shit. They don’t try and control it. They respect and fear it. And with good fucking reason — it’s untameable, wild and dangerous. They don’t pray to whichever gods, spirits, ancestors or whatever in order to control it but to beseech protection from it. They are fucking primal … as primal as human beings get … and they know a damn sight better about those things than to play dressing up games in which they tame and control it — even the tales and dances and traditions in which stories are told of the gods/ancestors/heroes/whoever/whatever in which that happens are done so with the understanding on the part of the audience that this is, if not simple allegory but actual tales of times past, the stuff of legend and not something they are capable of themselves.

The tribespeople who avatistically honour the spirits of the animals that give their lives so that their flesh may provide sustenance … or honour the spirits of their ancestors … don’t don a pair of cat ears and giggle under a blanket over a table whilst proclaiming that they are a white, middle-class ‘something in the media’ with a soul bond with an ancient animal spirit … they know it’s all allegorical. They don’t believe the trappings are the thing itself, they know they’re just a means to engendering the right frame of mind for the spiritual experience they’re seeking.

Christ almighty.

You wanna be primal … then grow the fuck up and be it: recognise that the Universe is what it is and that your place in it,as part of it, is what it is and no more nor less than that. The Universe is what it is because we are in it. The World is what it is because we are in it. If we weren’t they would be other than they are. It’s all interconnected and we’re just energy flows … part of the greater flow of energy that is the whole greater than the sum of the parts. We are the Universe and the Universe is us … it doesn’t get any more primal than that that’s as base and fundamental as as it gets.

Prancing around proclaiming “I’m a primal” or “I have the spirit of a cat” or “I honour the Earth Mother” or “I’m a Gemin” …

Jesus Christ!

Primal is taking pleasure in the physicality of things. It’s enjoying the sensation of eating as well as the taste of the food … it’s enjoying the feel of the dance as your body describes it … it’s enjoying fucking your partner’s brains out even as you make the sweetest possible love to them. It’s taking pleasure in being a physical being … in the very fact of the physical realm. It’s quite literally being at one with the physical Universe. The rest is just tiny tots dressing up in the idea of ‘primal’ … garbing themselves in a facsimile of it.

Primal is witches.

The rest is just wizards.

Just animalistic behavior makes more sense in context of furry or bestiality, but accusing you of that would stick at all.

Yeah … best not to, eh?

Not unless you’re looking for a no holds barred beating (metaphorically speaking).

I think I’ve adequately explained that I am more than capable of being animal (never mind animalistic) without the need to accuse me of being developmentally arrested and/or degenerate.


Well, it’s ludicrously, hysterically funny, but, okay, yeah, I can accept that people can feel strongly emotionally attached to animals and that some of them, if they aren’t already born that way, can end up with crosswired brains that mean they become sexually attracted to them — there’s a serious side to it as well as a comic one.

But furries there is absolutely no excuse for … and you’re heading for trouble if you suggest I have anything in common with them — I refer you to my remarks here.

I actually don’t. I believe you have an appreciation for the aesthetics that come with certain kinks. I think the kink community paid your bills in certain points of your life, because you understood the aesthetics. I think you don’t like the performative aspects of the more theatrical kinks, because you’ve been performative in so much in your daily life, whether it was standing in front of the class or standing in a DJ booth, that performing just isn’t exciting to you.

My (extended) family apparently observed on more than one occasion that I really should’ve been an actor or something, because I was such a preening diva: “Look at me, I’m the centre of attention.”

I don’t know so much about that: all I ever really dreamed of was the deafening raw of adulation as the last note faded and the stadium erupted in appreciation of my genius and mastery of my art — well … that and being recognised as the next best thing to the Second Coming and, because there wasn’t going to be one … because there couldn’t be … because it was just a myth … therefore, better than the Second Coming by virtue of being the real thing: a simple man so magnificently spiritual he was the very definition of ‘spiritual’.

But I don’t think that even makes me a diva, let alone preening … just a teenager.

All that aside, however, yes, there has been a lot of performance in my life.

Whether professionally keeping up the appearances required to look and play the part expected of me … by way of my online personae since almost before there was an online … to my personal public life, in which I am seen out and about in all the right places at all the right times and simply doing the do better than you, dressing and acting the part to such an extent that I am the very essence of the (sub)culture, it’s ethos and philosophy, incarnate … one way and another, my entire life has been one, long performance. In 1990 … long before the concepts of ‘personal brand’ or ‘influencer’ were even fring, let alone mainstream … I got nowhere trying to explain to people that that was how I envisaged my future, creative, career: that I would make my living simply by being me — ‘s what you get for being two decades ahead of your time and surrounded by conservative thinkers, I suppose.

Do I object to it?

Not really, no.

A long time ago I used to wear “clothes that say ‘Fuck Off!’ for a living, so that I don’t have to; woe betide anyone who obliges me to have to” and it worked. I’ve had “Punk!” shouted at me in the street (well, yeah … erm … “Girl!”). I’ve en accused of being a “blatant raver” … of simply being ‘Psytrance’. In response to an observation of a photo of me taken at a party “Oh, there’s one of those at every party”, someone has replied “Yes, and it’s always him” … and to “Haven’t I seen you at a party somewhere?”, “Yes, at all of them — he is the party.”

I’ve always seen the act as a form of self-defence, a suit of armour: if you’re going to stare at me, like I’ve got two heads … because people do … because I’m so devastatingly handsome, apparently (all men want me, all women want to be me) … then I’m gonna decide what it is you see, not you — whilst you’re busy staring at my outlandish attire and striking hairstyle, piercings, whatever … or the suave, understated sophistication of the unadorned band-of-silver tie-pin modestly worn under the tie, keeping it perfectly straight at all times, as if by magic, rather than ostentatiously, crassly announcing myself like the nouveau riche … you’re not seeing me.

It’s not that the performance is fake as such … there’s an element of method acting to it insofar as I only play parts I was born to play, as it were, and become them as I do so., but, in my private life … amongst my loved ones and close friends … where I can simply be me, it’s nice to take it off and relax, yes, and the last thing I want to do is perform.

But, as a DJ and promoter .. which is the area in which I can relax the most, because I needn’t be suited and booted and people are out to have a good time, not impress each other with how far up the ladder they have climbed … even partying is work. Even afterpartying is work. Even ‘Back To Mine’ is work: I’m not only the host (still) but I have to carry on DJ-ing (sure, there are other DJs who take their turns, but still … the party ain’t over yet).

And, as a man, I even have to do that in bed … where, theoretically, I’m supposed to be able to let go and just be … be in the moment … be my authentic self. No, it’s not a performance as such (except for when it is, of course), but I do have to perform — I don’t get to just let go, I have to be considerate and wait my turn, whilst, in the meantime, making it everything you desired and more besides … because that’s what you desired (we all want to overwhelmed by our partner’s passion, so of course what we really wish for is for it to be more than we wished for).

So, no … no fakery in the bedroom, please. No play acting, no dressing up, no performance. No rules, no labels. Just you, me, true love and seriously down and dirty, hardcore, heavy fucking. Show, don’t tell — show me you love me and show me you desire me … actions speak louder than words. In return, you get what nobody else gets: the raw me … naked in heart, mind, spirit, soul and body — as primal as I or anyone can get. All I ask from you is the same in return: between us (whether in private or public) is only authenticity.

[Obviously, close friends get the same, but I keep my clothes on with them].

I strongly suspect you don’t even have any preferences about the lights on or off during sex.

  1. What makes you suspect that?
  2. Why is it significant?
  3. No … why would I?

(although, you might have a fucking playlist)

Yeah … whatever’s playing at the time; it’s all outstandingly good (the epitome of taste) … and it’s all filthy and/or aggressive, one way or another; except the chilled chillout (as opposed to the industrial chillout), but fine, I’ll be gentle and tender in that case — I’ll still make you cry though … (in a good way, not because I called you up whilst making love and told you about it) … so, it’s all good.

But not something I put on specifically, no.

You’re response essays are so damn entertaining.


But I can write less, if you’d prefer.

You’ve mentioned you don’t have the time or interests to become serious about your writing — it’s a bit of a shame.

Assuming you’re not just trolling me, that’s very flattering … especially coming from someone who, when she puts her mind to it, is very accomplished.

But, professional work aside, I really do have enough to do just trying to keep up with you (personally and in the broader sense of people here) let alone more.

Maybe one day … when I can’t be sufficiently bothered with the rest of it any more … I’ll let you visit and you can record me and then ghostwrite the Grand Unified Theory of Life, the Universe and Everything that explains it all and is the last philosophical treatise/guide to Life that need ever be written (the front cover blurb will be ‘ “You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. It’ll change your life” — Everyone’). Then, when you’re done, I’ll read it, edit it (tell you what changes to make), have you get it published and then pass away in my sleep, leaving you all heart-broken and bereft, but uplifted and enlightened (You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You’ll laugh some more. I’ll change your life).

I think you misunderstood. I don’t think there was anything wrong with their performance. I’ve been lucky to only have had adequate to great lovers in that sense. I am sure any other lady would have been delighted with any of them.

But not you.

Which does kinda undermine your assertion a bit, no?

I will completely own that the silence thing is one of my weird hang-ups. I’m creeped out and it’s not something I can really get used to.

Alright, weirdo … whatever you say.

You want me to recite a sonnet or talk dirty?

Talking in tongues or Latin chanting would probably be less disturbing to me.

Because that’s not disturbing … oh, no.

Have you ever had anyone explain to you that they’re a (fallen) angel?

Get all happyclappy on you?

Or any other of the red flags that indicate you’re in the presence of bunny boiler or serial killer?

And leaving all that aside … I know I’m good but, if she starts speaking in tongues, even I’m gonna worry she’s having a stroke or an aneuyrism — at best that she’s suddenly, and unexpectedly, had an epileptic fit and either gonna crush my dick (or bite it off) or else swallow her tongue and I’m never gonna be able to have sex again thanks to the PTSD of that girl dying on my cock that time..

Give me ‘silence’‎ any day!

Yeah that’s the point — you’d think that, because it makes complete sense, but they don’t and it’s fucking weird. I don’t know how else to make it clear that I agree with you, but the practice just doesn’t match up with the theory.

So it’s just me then, who … just as “Eggs are great, just don’t think ‘chicken miscarriage’ as you eat them” … is really put off by the idea of <person> “grunting and squealing on top of” <other person>.

I see.

Fair enough.

‎This part doesn’t even have anything to do with kink. I just found out by trial and error (and exploring my own sexuality) that kink was a (not the, a) solution for me.

Each to their own — whatever lights your candle, floats your boat, makes you moist, gets you wet, I guess.

I just don’t get off on playing at being an animal myself — I am one.

So, get your kit off, woman.

And here we go, back to the advantages of labels within an online community — I know where to search because of people identifying as certain things. That in the end I didn’t find someone in those communities, but somewhere else entirely, is beside the point. We did find we were sexually compatible in broad strokes by the definitions provided by the kink communities and in conversations found we were also pretty compatible in detail.

If you want to avoid all the smalltalk and false starts, it kinda makes sense, I suppose.

But it seems to me … and maybe it’s only because I’m fortunate in not having any kinks or fetishes beyond ‘naked woman’ … that there’s a danger in seeking a partner by means of checking they’re sexually compatible rather than actually compatible of it leaving you high and dry once you’re dry and he can’t get it up high any more.

It’s not for me to criticise, however, and I’m not doing — it’s just a friendly concern for your wellbeing as a fellow being.

I don’t care what you do. What offends my sensibility, what pushes my button, is your stance that all kink comes from mental and/or emotional deficiency and then when you read or are told about behavior you display that is (a part of ) being kinky, you boldly claim that is part of vanilla sex and those who don’t display it are mentally and/or emotionally deficient. (doesn’t that sound like no true Scotsman to you?)

Ah, no … no, you don’t.

You’re not only putting words in my mouth there but thoughts in my head — and that’s rape.

I don’t think all kink … or even fetish … stems from emotional/mental deficiency, nor have I ever intimated anything like as much.

I think certain such do — most especially the kind you tend to see exhibited by the products of a Public (Private, in your part of the World) School education.

Use me. Abuse me. Make me feel cheap.

I can laugh … get the joke … appreciate it as though I were an insider, because I know the mentality … but it’s not something for which I can have any respect.

Not only is there the whole “Get up off your knees, wo/man … and be a wo/man!” but it all too frequently comes from those who, in the rest of their life, treat others even worse than they would accept from the dom(me) in their life. They’re hypocrites. Fake. Dishonest with themselves even in bed. And the worst possible kind of control freak: exercising it by way of feigned weakness. They disgust me even without that aspect to their nature but that really is repulsive. Leeches in every arena of Life.

I also have little (i.e. absolutely none) time for the infantilism of furries/otherkin — who are equally developmentally arrested … albeit maybe not degenerate as such (that depends upon other, independent, factors).

But that is far from “all kink comes from mental and/or emotional deficiency” — the only time you’ll see/hear me say that is when I’m pressing your buttons.

Also, in one breath you say that you don’t really think I’m kinky (primal or otherwise) and you’re just trolling … but here you are proposing that behavior I display is (a part of ) being kinky but I boldly deny it.

If you’re just trolling and I’m not then I’m not guilty of the ‘no true Scotsman’ fallacy either because, if I’m not then the behaviour I exhibit isn’t and my argument is, therefore, sound.

You can’t have it both ways; either you’re just trolling or you think I am (at least partly) kinky — so, which is it?

Disappointment is a strong word, but I get your drift. And no, that’s not going to change, what can change is with application of the labels I can avoid future disappointments and have a vocabulary for future negotiations.

A “because” I need to mention, is safety. There’s things people are into, or want to explore, that are just better done with some rules in place and some guidance of the community. Otherwise you get those situations, right after 50 shades exploded in popularity, where the fire brigade frequently had to cut people out of handcuffs with lost keys. And that’s a tame example.

I’ve heard woman tell stories where a new lover would suddenly start chocking them during sex because they had the (most likely introduced by porn) idea it was “just part of sex”. Erotic asphyxiation is never okay — there’s just no safe way to do it. When things inevitably go wrong, the judge isn’t going to care that you got consent for sex. But even if you do it in the only acceptable way: just placing a hand on your partner’s neck without squeezing, doing so without prior discussion because you think it’s normal sex can be fucking terrifying for your partner. That’s why you need to know it’s a kink. And if you want to practice it you need to look for people who identify with the kink. And then you need to have a discussion about expectations and boundaries, which even you can agree is a whole lot easier when you know a potential partner already identifies with kink.

That’s all only sensible, yes. And why, however much of an upset it might be to a certain subset of the human sexual community, I have to agree that the law passed here to finally make pleas of ‘rough sex’ inadmissible in defence was the right decision.

I’m not gonna link to it directly, because it will only get this reply (and my account) blocked, but the first tale of Wheelchair Rebecca’s unfortunate accident really makes the case for it: watch?v=teUcJ-08g7s

If that makes me a conservative, I’ll own it.

It wasn’t that to which I was ‘objecting’ but the inherent conservatism of insisting that someone must accept a label simply because someone else asserts that the existence of the label means that all instances of the thing to which it might be applied merit its application — every cow is an animal, but not every animal is a cow.

There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live and too rare to die.

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