I doubt any daily almanac anywhere will note the debut of Pursed Lips, but indeed it (and I) saw its baptismal on this day, five years ago. In years past, I’ve written little diatribes — state of union rants, I suppose — but I must be getting mellow in my old age. I don’t feel like assessing where sexblogging’s at. I don’t feel any urgency to point out how a free society can be measured by the degree to which pornography is allowed within its perimeters.
And I wonder why that is. It could be because my dog keeps pouncing on and off my bed, entertaining her 55-lb self with a rubber handball and disrupting my thoughts, but I think not. I think it’s because last year, sexblogging, sex journaling — indeed, amateur sex writing of all kinds hit something of a critical mass. We’ve achieved bulk. To which I say, “Good for us!” Let’s keep it going.
I’ll admit, I’m kind of scratching my head, wondering how I managed to keep this going for five years. Insight’s evading me completely, so near as I can tell, it’s simply because I passionately care about our erotic freedoms, however they range. Besides, with the Bush administration doing its fundie best to impose its moral perspective and practices on the whole of society, I guess I got the spirit. I ain’t likely to change my ways anytime soon.
Five years. Woof. w00t. Or as I’ve been known to say: Yowza.
