Tuesday, March 04, 2003

Nudist Colony Queens, Free of Wings 03.04.03

I have recently been told that my blogs focus a bit more on sports than they perhaps should. I understand this; I respect the opinions of my fellow blog-nerds and reading audience.

But I was thinking about this fact while tying my shoes for the fourth time this morning, bent over on a street, hoping no out of control cars would come careening for my glory-hole. What do I feel about this? Of course, on the surface is the first amendment right to free speech, saying whatever comes to mind-- so aptly glorified in the blog-world. But I am no constitutionalist.

And there is my extreme interest in trying to touch other people with what I love about sport-- the stories, the glory, the magic, the ethos, the good fortune, the bad luck, all on paper. While sometimes I feel I have approached success, and sometimes I have written bland recaps, I still have to say-- I am no athletic department booster.

There came the thought, this while I adjusted my body for another soul-searching shoelace-tying session, that diaries are an opportunity for us to stand naked before ourselves. Then, in turn, this blog-- a public diary-- is an opportunity for us to stand semi-nude to nude in front of friends and strangers who might ogle us from afar, who might admire our words and our lives, and might one day tell us they want to "fuck our minds" (again, thank you-- great compliment).

Isn't that what we want, all of us? Along with some body-fucking, of course. To be a little bit amazing. To be proud of our naked selves? To be able to express our naked selves? Even when we cover it up in parties and tales of our friends and our sightings, we are dutifully exposing a little bit of shoulder to view. Or a little more, in some cases. I won't uphold those statements as universally true and correct, I haven't done the research. But it comes down to this for me-- I am no nudist.

Which is a problem, in my mind. Not only when I want to flash famous people on 57th Street. But in general. I don't know anyone who is truly comfortable stripping down to nothing and standing in front of anyone else, in a non-sexual setting. Well, there are sports stars... but let's not get into that.

I certainly do not have that comfort level. This is still a shy Pico. And this means that Pico is unwilling or perhaps unable to expose himself in many facets. One of which is in the blog. Unfortunate. This means that the subject manner is reduced to sport, occassional social activities (please invite me to parties! Oh, pleeeease!), and the occasional political yammering. But... I am no nudist.

I love the fact that people are reading these musings, and I love reading about other people's lives. It's a thrill to entertain somebody in the course of their day. It's a thrill for them to think, momentarily, that I should write about sport or try to publish this cockamamie novel of mine, or that I am a riot or a trip and that I should never change being me. No matter how much I would like to strip down and find out who the hell me is, beyond sometimes wanting to be the Amusatron for a New Generation.

One day, maybe, when I become light and airy and have installed my wings software to operate my Hewlett-Packard wings-- I don't use Macs-- I will reveal a great many things. I would like to. Not for everyone else. For me. As an operation. As an attempt. To find out what I am so afraid of. To show a little shoulder, a little leg, and-- catch your breath for a second-- we'll take it from there.

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