Thank You For Your Sex™ – Lena.FM

You realize that most of the things that you have taken in with your mother’s milk, are a collection of folklore. Random approximations, inaccurate statements seeded with a possibility for love. Kali Yuga is not a joke.

Your heart is visibly bleeding as your perfect self is absolutely calm and unshakable. You look around. You keep a tally. [...]

When you realize how society is working, you get into a stupor. Wherever you look, you cannot find a natural straw to clutch for. [...]

We live in the age of amazing technology, open platforms, changing paradigms and a whole lot of unique voices shouting all at the same time.

Unless you are a mere mortal, your self-esteem is dictated by two things: how many people know who you are, and how much money you get for your time (looks, voice, ideas, products).

Every guru in his or her head, is a celebrity (or at least, a celebrity in the making). Never forget that. [...]

“A healthy mustache. Every March, my friends and I celebrate “Mustache March.” A truly masculine man wears his hair on his face. There’s nothing sexier than a man with thick facial (or chest) hair. A nice button-down shirt with some hair sticking out the top. The air of silent confidence with the sweet smell of machismo. You ask me what is manly? That’s it. Hopefully that helps.”

I hate throwing around words that point at nothing but the presenter’s mechanical ability to quote Proust. Can anybody please enlighten me what is the fucking big deal is? Is it a sigh of some fucking exclusivity or something?

It is all lovely when you are thirteen (Fine. Nineteen if you are a late bloomer). But when you are twenty five and up, and you still rejoice in showcasing your familiarity with Proust…are you serious? Let me grab my cup of green tea and leave the room. I’ve seen this conversation countless times, it has gotten really fucking boring.

I devoured Proust around the same time I started having my period. It was a prerequisite within my circle of friends. A basic one. At the time, I thought he was exquisite. [...]

I wept on a train reading the book about my friend’s father.

Rob’s father telling his student things that would be common knowledge if not for the mass misconceptions. [...]

Shortly after, many of my acquaintances were talking about killing as many muslims as possible (“women are mothers of terrorists; children are future terrorists”). They were serious. I had to shut the fountain of peace loving tree-huggery because people called me “anti-american” for questioning their right to kill, kill, kill (“what do you mean why kill them? don’t you love America?”).

Two years earlier, two apartment buildings in Moscow went down. In the early morning. Many people died. [...]

I don’t think I am in the position to attack any ideas because, for one, I believe that if an idea is there, there is a need for it, and for two, I’ve had plenty of my own that were not based on anything real (but I was none the less convinced). So I feel very benevolent towards Lindsey and respect her right to stand by what she believes in. For herself.

That said, I am very much disturbed by the notion of passing a personal preference onto young children who don’t yet have the capacity to choose based on their reality. I can only imagine the amount of “Release Your Inner Goddess” seminars those kids (girls) will have to purchase in the future to get rid of the complexes attained by being taught that virginity is some kind of a virtue [...]

When I was little, I read a book that impacted me a lot. It was a story of a wife who left her normal husband for some kind of romantic love and eventually had to become a prostitute, not a happy fairy with a blog – but a fallen ex-fairy who was forced by poverty and desperation to go with the program and suck foreign dirty dicks and be beaten by an indifferent pimp. Broken.

A woman who is not afraid to self-express —> a prostitute. It was a message. Somehow, I wanted that. Not the pain, no, that scared the shit out of me – but the freedom of self-expression at any price.

I was nine. [...]

“Dating a psychopath sounds like something right out of a Hollywood thriller, doesn’t it? On TV we learn that psychopaths are serial killers. This makes for scary TV shows, but poor education. A psychopath is an exploiter, someone with no heart, no conscience and no remorse. Some people refer to these human predators as “sociopaths.” Medical professionals disagree about what term to use and how to define it, which only leaves the rest of us confused—and exposed to the danger of ignorance. And it’s a big danger, because 3 million to 12 million people in the U.S. are sociopaths. Most are not in jail.” [...]