Katherine Hess

Katherine and Jasper.

Using online profiles makes meeting people so much easier. By the time of our first conversation, I already knew she was smart and funny. But it wasn't until we actually spoke that I realized the extent of her wit. She had this uncanny ability to connect disparate ideas in just such a way to make a joke or observation that was entirely new to me, and I loved it. Katherine very quickly became one of the most enjoyable friends I've ever had the pleasure of spending time around.

Romance, on the other hand, was not something that I was looking for at the time. I had only just arrived in the local area the day before, and I really just wanted to get situated first before looking for anything romantic. But, being polyamorous, I've always felt open to friendships becoming something more, and meeting a new partner has never been a bar to my meeting others, so it wasn't too much of a stretch when, after meeting Katherine a few times, I realized that I didn't just want the friendship.

At the Kennedy Center.

One aspect of Katherine that cannot be missed when you meet her in person is her size. Katherine is fat, not in the colloquial sense where thin people complain about getting 'fat', but in the sense of actually being big. She is the largest human friend I've ever made, and this life condition of hers is one that affects her public and social life considerably. While her size is not nearly the most significant part of her, it is definitely something that most people who meet her will notice first. In terms of a disability, it affects much of how she has to interact in this world, from what kind of restaurant tables she can sit at to how many plane seats she has to purchase in order to fly to a different city. But despite the clear prejudice against size in our culture, she's nonetheless been able to thrive due to her intelligence and humor, which makes her stand out considerably amongst her peers in the teaching profession.

As a friend, she was an obvious pick. Anyone who can overcome such adversity and find success despite it is definitely someone that any of us should hope for in a friend. But romance was different for me. Back then, I did not yet come to love her as I do now. I gave her the chance to win my heart, and she subsequently did, but I wonder: was it because I was polyamorous? Was the fact that entering a relationship never blocks the possibility of entering into others a key consideration to why I opened up and pursued a romantic relationship with Katherine in the way that I did? Could it be that, had I not been poly, I would have not been open to romance with her merely because of her size?

It seems a silly thought today. Today, I know her. I love her. She is so very amazing that to think something as silly as her size might have been the obstacle to me getting the chance to be with her is distasteful in the extreme. But, at the time, there was not yet the love that I feel now. Back then, I had not yet gained the knowledge of her that I have today: her personality, her charm... Back then, I only knew that she was well read because she would make witty references that I would catch; I only knew she was quick thinking because every topic we talked about would be highlighted with a joke or pun made at just the right moment. I enjoyed her company, and even if I had not been poly, that would have remained true. But had I not been poly, would I have remained open to romance with Katherine? I ask myself because I do not know. It is unsettling to think so. How lucky I am, then, that I did not think of relationships in terms of zero sum at the time. How lucky I was to think that no single partner has to be everything to me.

Thankfully, I did pursue her romantically, and I cannot stress how much this changed my life. Katherine is amazing. She is the closest friend I've ever had. She complements me perfectly: she's strong in the arts and in reading people, the two fields where I'm weakest, and yet she is still highly competent in the fields I'm strongest in: math and logic. She is an artist, but went to a liberal arts school and focused more on being a polymath than in learning to know any one field. She's read more books than I have, and that's quite a feat. She's a social wizard; she has to be, I suppose, in order to make up for the social prejudice against people of her size. She's a great teacher, but, more importantly to her career, she's an excellent leader of teachers. Winning high school art teacher of the year in the county and then the state was impressive enough, but following it up with the highest state award given to any art teacher here, the 2020 Maryland Art Educator of the Year, was enough to really solidify just how much she does to help others in her profession. She's also an amazing artist in her own right, having displayed art across five states, winning several awards for pieces both big and small.

My love, Katherine.

I cannot stress just how lucky I am to have found Katherine. My prior relationships pale in comparison to the things she's brought to the table in terms of romance, friendship, and deep support. On at least one occasion, she has already saved my life; I honestly believe that I counterfactually would have died had she not been there to know what to do. She's also helped to financially support me when I needed it most; after I left my last high-earning (to me) part-time for-profit job at $94/hour, I decided to look for the perfect nonprofit job opportunity before jumping into another for-profit position. This process took many, many months; had I just had my own savings to work from, I think I would have caved and taken a job elsewhere. But instead, Katherine supported me enough to allow me to start my own new effective altruism charity. Any utility our society gains in the future from this work would not have happened if not for Katherine. Most importantly, though, Katherine has supported me emotionally: she's comforted me at my lowest points; she's helped me soar during my highest points; she's cheered for me whenever I've succeeded and helped pick me up each time I've failed. She gives the most thoughtful gifts. She's always up for a video or board game. She's been the best partner I could ever have imagined that I would ever have, and she's accepted me entirely into her life just as deeply as I have accepted her into mine.

I could not be happier with Katherine as my partner. <3

My Fortieth Birthday

I turn 40 in a few days.

I'm proud of all that I've accomplished so far in life. I believe that I've done exceptionally well in terms of my career. I've achieved success in my hobbies. I've made a few good close friends. My love life is excellent. I am confident in my personal application of ethics.

But, also I have experienced failure. I exercise occasionally, but not nearly as often as I should. I have family that loves me, but I don't see them as often as I'd prefer. I sleep way more than is ideal, due to my addiction to lucid dreaming. Perhaps my most difficult project is reliably performing everyday tasks, whether they're household or medical tasks.

Overall, I am happy. Turning 40 years old doesn't feel all that significant a marker, but it does make me think of a few specific things:

My best friend growing up, whose father died in his thirties. My friend told me confidently that he felt sure that he'd also die before 40, and so wanted to explore life well before then.

My late-twenties sister, who, a few years back, expressed amazement at my age. Not seeing her for a decade meant that changes we saw in each other occurred all at once.

One of the players on my esports team, who is not yet sixteen years old. Working so closely every week with someone so young is quite worthwhile, but the way they talk and the topics that come up do continually remind me of the age differential.

I guess that's why I'm writing up a blog post for my upcoming fortieth birthday. I want to remind myself of the good, and warn myself of the bad.

First, the good:

I'm extraordinarily proud of my career. The work I've done for effective altruism has been, I believe, quite invaluable. Helping to influence the creation of Animal Charity Evaluators and then heading communications there for its first two formative years was powerfully influential to the field of effective animal advocacy overall. Serving on the ACE Board today gives me immense pride. And, just this very week, I've applied to EA Funds for a grant to start a new organization, where I hope to create even more good -- potentially a huge amount.

I relish my hobbies. The recently created genre of rational fiction so far has so few entrants that I can reliably say that I've read every good text in the genre. When it comes to good television, I make it a point to experience as much of it as I can. My house is filled with the board games that I enjoy the most. I love that I live in the burgeoning era of video games, where I get to experience such creative and exciting stories created by the industry. I even get to feel that sense of camaraderie and success with the esports team that I captain.

My friends are few, but they are strong connections. The nonprofit I am starting is cofounded by one of my strongest friends. The esports team I play on has another of my best friends on it. I have several other friends in the various gaming communities I'm a part of, as well as many other friends who I have met in the polyamorous community.

Romance, for me, was a hard road, but I'm finally in a place that I am confident and comfortable with. I am polyamorous, asexual, heteroromantic, and sapioromantic, which makes for a strange combination. Thankfully, my lifelong partner supports me and does quite a bit to help me thrive.

When it comes to metaethics, I am a moral antirealist. Yet I want strongly for the world to be best that it can be, and I have a good understanding of what I would prefer that to consist of. I've dedicated my life to the field of effective altruism, and I feel that I've achieved a significant amount of good so far.

And the bad:

I live a mostly sedentary life. Exercise, for me, consists of walking around Little Seneca Creek, which I haven't done as much of during covid. I have intentions of being more active, but so far akrasia has made me unable to follow through on that.

Family, for me, has always been a failure point. Ever since the day my mother had police point a gun at me, I have been unwilling to ever see her again. I have hispanic and indigenous ancestry; the cop was white in the Deep South of Alabama. I am just not okay with the level of risk that my mother so callously put me through. My father's side of the family is much better, but for some reason I just am not that good at keeping as close contact with them as I should. I love my siblings; I want desperately to change my habits so I can spend more time with them. But, again: akrasia prevents me.

Sleep is the constant consonant note in my life. I have aphantasia in my waking life, but I dream lucidly with mental imagery. Before I knew what these terms even meant, I had no idea that others have mental imagery in their waking life, so, to me, it always struck me as strange that my dreams could be so very much more vivid than my waking life. I wasted so very much time prioritizing lucid dreaming over my real life. Today, I know better, but I'm still addicted to dreaming. I spend way more than I'd like to admit on sleep, far more than the 8 hours/day that most people spend.

Then there is the thing that I am worst at: everyday tasks. Doing dishes. Taking out the trash. Cleaning up rooms. Worst of all, because I've gone for my entire life without using or taking medication (minimizing even over-the-counter pain relief), the medical issues that started up in 2020 which have me now taking pills every day is causing a great deal of consternation. Remembering to take them seems like it should be an easy task, but instead it is a daily struggle.

Listing these out like this feels therapeutic. I have much to be happy about in the present -- and much for me to work on in the present. Overall, it is a good life that I lead.

But... I can't help but notice that I've focused only on the things in the present. There is no mention of my past, mostly because I have very little pride in my past. I started out life terribly. But, perhaps in part due to my aphantasia, I feel unconnected to those early decisions. I focus instead on the successes and low points of my life in the present. This is not a bad way to think about things, I think.

And so I feel good. Life is good. The flaws are things I can deal with. Once covid stops being such a concern, I can deal better with everyday tasks by hiring a cleaning service. Holding myself to a schedule should help with my sleep addiction. And the family thing will solve itself because, once my vaccination takes hold, I will be invited far more often to family events.

Later this week, I will turn 40 years old. And I am both happy and satisfied with where I am today and the trajectory I have for tomorrow.

Review: The Erogamer

The Erogamer by Groon the Walker
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Let's get the obvious stuff out of the way.

First, this is porn; if you aren't okay with reading porn, then you won't be able to enjoy this story. Yet I'm asexual, I don't generally read that much pornography, and while many of the porn scenes in The Erogamer did squick me out, I'm still giving the book 4 out of 5 stars overall.

Second, I tagged this book as both hard and soft fantasy. Yes, this seems to be impossible for me to honestly do on its face. But I would maintain that both tags are warranted, and I honestly like the combination. (You'll understand after you read it.)

Third, this is not really a traditionally written book. It's written as a series of posts on a forum, and in between each post you can see other real-world readers like you talking about the story. The author holds polls, including ones where readers can write-in their own options, and then the next part of the story will respect those votes. Apparently this is an actual genre that I don't have much experience with; regardless, I am convinced without even doing more than just skimming others in this genre that The Erogamer may very well be the best written story in its genre. I know it seems that I can't possibly be so sure of this without being more familiar with "questing" stories, and yet here I am, publicly maintaining just that, and feeling assured that if you read The Erogamer too, you may very well come to agree with my assertion.

The Erogamer is about a young protagonist girl who finds herself suddenly as a character in an erotic video game. She's still the same person, in the same house she grew up in, except now she can see a status screen at will, and her quests inevitably push her toward sex scenes where she gains experience and can level up. Being genre-savvy, she tries to munchkin her way through things, except she also has very human flaws that cause her to only stumble through at first. Without spoiling anything major, I will say that when she finally reaches the point where she can really start minmaxing, she suddenly finds that the eroge itself is also genre-savvy, and its goals aren't the same as hers.

I don't want to give away too much here, as the surprises you encounter when reading this story are all worth experiencing this on your own. Suffice it to say that if you have an interest in philosophy, or at least are into rationality (any story that includes a pun on the "ominous agreement theorem" gets bonus points from me), then so long as you're okay with reading porn, you may very well get as into this story as I have.

With that said, I have a couple of spoiler-lite things to say. If you want to go in blind, stop reading this review and just get started on The Erogamer yourself.

The first spoiler-lite thing I should mention is that it may be worthwhile for you to not only read the story posts that the author, Groon the Walker, posts on the thread, but also to read the thread posts written by others. None of them is an alt of the author; that would be against forum rules. Yet the story itself is dependent not just on the author writing the main story, but also the discussion generated by the readers as each new post goes up. At the time of writing this review, the story is not yet finished; ordinarily I would recommend that new readers wait until it is finished. But because this story revolves so much upon audience participation, I actually think it would be more worthwhile to start reading now.

The second spoiler-lite thing I want to mention is something that I'm a little uncomfortable about: trigger-warning-adjacent stuff. Obviously, explicit sex is in the story. As is heavily nonconsensual stuff, torture scenes, body negativity, etc. We all know that trigger warnings should occur first, before anyone reads the text, which the author does: certain sections of the story are actually only visible if you click after reading a trigger warning for the scene within. But I'm writing the following in a spoiler-lite section because I have something _meta_ to say about the trigger warnings.

There's some pretty bad ethical ideas presented in this story. The body negativity is especially bad. And it's not just written so that a character has bad ideas on body positivity, but also the narrator's voice and ways of describing scenes is really bad about body positivity. You might think that this means the author thus has bad views on it, and that the story is promoting something bad. But (and I really don't want to spoil too much here, so I do recommend you read the story before reading this full review) I believe that this is actually a story beat. There are some weird meta-things going on in this story that go pretty deep into metaphysics and other philosophy, and some of those things happen due to the frisson occuring when what the reader (aka YOU) experiences a dissonance with what you're reading (aka the TEXT). This gets deeper when you start to consider that what the author writes depends on what the readers vote on in polls, including write-in options. So YOU affect the TEXT which sometimes disagrees with you in a way that produces frisson.

For example, a character at one point describes a person as getting "more beautiful" and does gives as evidence that her breasts are bigger. At first you may think this is just that character's view, but it doesn't get challenged and then the story itself then completely legitimizes it by having the BOD stat of the video game positively correspond with breast size. Which kind of means that the author himself is legitimizing this point of view, by making the main system of the story they are writing have this be actualized. Yet at the same time, it becomes clear that this is _not_ what the author actually thinks is true, when you later see scenes outside the view of the main protagonist playing the erogame. The body negative view of equating larger breast sizes with having a better body is then shown to not being played straight, even though from the text itself at the time it looks quite a bit like the author is holding these views either explicitly or implicitly.

The same kind of thing happens when you see a character thinking that fat is bad. Followed by other characters thinking fat is bad. Followed by the world of the story itself thinking fat is bad. After reading all this, you the reader might then rush into a conclusion that the author himself is thinking fat is bad, and is actively pushing that view onto his readers. But I suspect that this is more of a modest-proposal-type situation than the author actually espousing those views. The point of the story is that you are being pushed further and further into situations that you get less and less comfortable with until you realize that the earlier things you just went along with in chapter one were also things that you should have felt uncomfortable about, too.

Now I realize that not everyone can handle this kind of fiction. Maybe you can't handle reading about rape. But even if you can, can you handle characters arguing intelligently (and perhaps somewhat convincingly) that some forms of rape are actually good? Maybe you're okay with that, too, but then do you continue to be okay with it when the description turns especially graphic? Maybe you're okay with even that, but then what about when you reach the end of one of the author's posts and see the next post by a reader who apparently viciously enjoyed reading that description? You _will_ reach a point where you feel uncomfortable in this story, especially when you truly realize that the story itself is propelled by the readers voting on what happens next in the story. It is the desires of those reading that cause the story itself to be written as it is. You cannot just scapegoat the author, because YOU are also the author. Even if you don't post in the forum thread, you _could_. Your non-participation makes the votes of those you disagree with even stronger. YOU are a part of this story in a way that you probably won't realize until _after_ you read the story yourself.

This is not to say that the author is blameless; Groon the Walker has cleverly taken a page from how John Marshall dealt with Marbury vs. Madison, granting himself power by negating votes in ways that follow from the rules of the 'questing' genre itself, acting like an evil genie monkey's-paw-style.

And there do seem to be some legitimate blind spots in the ethics of the author that bother me, though they aren't dealbreakers. He uses the word "harem" positively; I'm polyamorous, and I realize that this is legitimately the name of a specific eroge genre, but that word has too many negative connotations in today's non-eroge world to be acceptable to an outside audience (like the non-protagonists' world in The Erogamer). (This is unacceptable in the same way that the n-word isn't acceptable in a story about non-blacks participating in black culture by appropriating that word, but to a much lesser degree.) And while there is a difference between rape-with-physical-force and rape-where-the-rapist-was-using-deceit, that difference might not include a local human-scope-comparable moral difference in the same way that destroying just the Milky Way isn’t locally human-scope-comparably good compared to destroying the Virgo Supercluster. (This will make more sense after having read the text.) These are not modest-proposal-style disconnects. They seem to genuinely be a difference between how I and how Groon view the world.

Finally, the biggest issue I have is one of shame. This is a major negative trait of the protagonist that MUST be resolved by the end of this story or else it will feel unsatisfying to me. In a pretend world where a character can jump higher than physics might otherwise dictate, you can have characters be fat and/or old and yet have no drawbacks. If you can erase the health drawbacks, the speed drawbacks, the endurance drawbacks, etc., then the only reason left to look down on them is to say that they aren't desirable aesthetically. But if an erogame wants variety among hair color, freckles, race, etc., shouldn't it also include variety among body sizes and ages? This is a lesson that the protagonist should be made to learn, and so far I see only the smallest steps toward learning that type of lesson in-story.

However, even if these small flaws don't get resolved, I'll still maintain that this is among the best books I've ever read and it is very likely to be near the best in its own 'questing' genre. If I can enjoy The Fountainhead and Ender's Game despite objectivism and gay-bashing being present within them, then I can enjoy The Erogamer despite it taking a few ethical positions that I'm not okay with in real life.

Some of the math systems aren't that great, and if I were an editor, I'd suggest several changes before recommending its publication, but overall I've found The Erogamer to be an excellent example of philosophical fiction that anyone into philosophy or rationality should at least consider reading. It's the best sex-oriented fiction I've read. It’s the best choose-your-own-adventure style story I’ve ever read. It’s among the best meta-meta-stories I’ve ever read. It’s among the best weird metaphysics stories I’ve ever read. And while I disagree with the philosophies of many of the characters, the author, and even the reader-voters, I truly enjoyed the various philosophies described within. I also appreciated the unexpected ace-representation in an eroge story.

Very well done.

View all my reviews

Regret

I would like to talk about regret—and when it makes sense to return.

You are sitting, eating from a box of cookies. Through a moment of carelessness, you drop a cookie. It lands on the floor. What is the appropriate reaction? Should it be discarded, even if it looks okay? What if the cookie was dropped not through carelessness, but on purpose?

There are lots of possible answers here. In many cases, it depends upon the specific circumstances. How hungry are you? Are there more cookies in the package? How clean is the floor?

I recall taking a test in middle school. It was in band class; I was supposed to attempt a difficult piece of percussion sight reading. I recall having a good understanding of my own capabilities. I knew how well I could spell, and competed in the state spelling bee as a result (2nd place). I knew how proficient I was at martial arts, and competed in state competition there, as well (also 2nd place). I also knew exactly how capable I was when it came to sight reading a difficult piece for percussion; so when my instructor said that taking this test was voluntary, I declined. I knew I would perform poorly, especially in comparison to other gifted drummers in that same class.

Afterward, the teacher explained that the true test was to see who had the initiative to take the test, even though it was very difficult for our age group. Everyone who attempted the test was given an 'A'. I was given a 'C' for that course, mostly because I did not even attempt to take that test.

Is there value in making the attempt, even if one recognizes in advance that it will be especially difficult? For a child who never puts themselves out the, the answer may well be yes; but this was not me. I pushed myself in other fields where I knew that I could be successful. I traveled to Birmingham for state competitions. I read books that were aimed at much older audiences than I was, at the time. I had no general problem with putting myself out there. So, in the case of this percussion test, should I have attempted it anyway? Even in knowing that I would not perform well at it? What lesson would this teach me? Is there value just in the attempt itself?

I've had several romantic relationships in my life. Some short; others long. I'm polyamorous, so I'm never really not open to new relationships, but I'm also an extremely busy person, so I'm never really actively looking for new ones. This means that my relationships rise and fall mostly with where and when I happen to move to a new place.

Early on in my life, I placed a large amount of importance on specific people being in my life. As is common in our culture, I would begin a relationship with someone and then want to continue it, even when it made little sense to do so. I was always quite loyal. I felt that, if my feelings for a person were true, then it was important that I continue loving them through good times and bad. I would always pick up the cookie, even when it was good for neither of us.

As I grew, I came to realize that even the rarest of cookies were still relatively plentiful in this vast world. When a relationship would sour, I learned to walk away and begin anew elsewhere.  This made sense. Even though I felt (and still feel) that I made a particularly good mate, that capability is harmed when problems in the relationship overshadow possibilities for positivity. I never made first chair in percussion in middle school, even though I was at a similar level of competence as my peers; the fact that I was unwilling to try kept me from being considered, even though I deliberately choose not to test because I knew I would perform poorly. But I did well in other fields where this souring incident did not occur.

Of course, relationships don't just sour by themselves. In many cases, I caused the souring through actions I took. When I was very young, these tend to be actions that were mean-spirited. When I became an adult, they were actions born of accident, or sometimes carelessness. Occasionally, they've been on purpose. Most recently, it has been because I did not understand why it was bad at the time (an excusable offense), and did not take seriously a warning that it would considered bad by the other party (a less excusable offense).

Unlike most people, I don't have to stop being in a relationship with someone in order to move on to other things. Being poly means maintaining long distance relationships is easier for me than for most. I can amicably end a close relationship while maintaining it at a less intense level of intimacy. Relationships can endure errors and continue even when pursuing other relationships might be easier.

When I was young, a dropped cookie was always picked up. I focused solely on maintaining even flawed relationships, mainly because I felt that the love of felt earlier in the relationship would be somehow tainted if I didn't continue to love the same person regardless of circumstance. Later, I learned to let go, but still kept open any relationships I could, even when I had done severe damage to the cookie of my own free will.

Today, I think back and I regret. I had a relationship end that I did not want to end. I made an error: a significant error that warrants serious consideration. I was told: don't do X. It's inappropriate. In the heat of the moment, I might change my mind, but that will not be the real me. The heat of the moment came, and I wanted X. She wanted X. So we did X. But in doing so, I had betrayed the level-headed person by listening instead to the one acting in the moment—the one with a brain chemistry spiked by endorphins that was not acting per the request of her past self only a few moments earlier.

This is a serious breach of trust. It is assault, in one sense, because it went against a person's will. In another, legal, sense, it did not rise to assault, since she welcomed it in the moment and gave no indication to stop once it was in progress. Once she did object, I immediately ceased. It was confusing in the moment to have such conflicting signals, but I honestly tried to do what I thought was best.

Later, I learned that she felt violated. It is an odd sort of violation, where I felt that I was acting appropriately at the time, but it was indeed a violation nevertheless, because individuals need to be able to set boundaries that should not be crossed, even if their future selves invite them to be crossed.

Legally, what I did was not assault. But the law is not a good judge of what is moral here. I clearly acted wrongly; when a person sets a boundary, it should be respected even if that person recants, if the recanting is done in a situation where they are but thinking as clearly.

This remains true even though I was in the same situation, and I was similarly not thinking as clearly. Once a boundary is set, it should be respected by not allowing ourselves to get into a situation where we expect we might be tempted to cross that boundary.

So although this was not legal assault, I believe it morally counts as something like assault. I invited disaster by going into a situation where we might reasonably expect a boundary to be crossed. This is no different from running with scissors; even if my intent was not to injure, the act of running itself risked injury to a degree where I should be held ethically at fault. (The seriousness of this topic nags at me so strongly that I cannot help but to make several hyperlinks in the above text, in a misguided attempt to distract the reader into something more interesting to them (and less personal to me).)

And so the cookie lies upon the floor. The question now is: should I have picked it up?

This blog entry is titled "Regret", and so maybe you already know the answer. But do not be so sure.

In one sense, the harm that was done is not necessarily relationship-ending. We both made errors, and what fault exists is due solely to choosing to run with scissors, with no intent to use those scissors to harm. We both prefer the company of each other; it's not as though we have serious issues with our relationship that haven't been listed here. I really enjoy being with her, and the feeling seems to be reciprocal. But there are two main problems.

The first problem is that she feels violated, even as she recognizes my good intent. It would take a large amount of effort to make the relationship work with where it now stands. This first problem lies mostly upon her; she feels hurt, and she would need to move on from that hurt in order to enjoy her time with me. The only way she could do this is with time and significant effort on my end.

The second problem is my will. It is the portion that is primarily my problem. It takes patience and deep care to nurture a relationship back to health from this set of circumstances. She is worth that effort, of course—she has many of the qualities I admire most, and all in the same package. She is intelligent, ethical, motivated, caring, and genuinely fun to be around. She matters as an individual to me, but even beyond that: as a person with a set of qualities, it would be exceedingly improbable for me to ever find another like her in the world.

This second problem is my willingness to go through such effort. Is it that I am lazy? That I am not thinking straight? No, I think it may be because I am polyamorous. I have another partner whom I love very much. I am comfortable with her. She helps to smooth my life and make it easier. I am quite happy being with her. There is no perceived lack in my everyday being, no person-shaped hole in my heart. Yes, I care deeply for this person whom I am no longer with, but it is not as though my life is empty without her.

This second problem is that the effort involved in rescuing this cookie is immense. It would take away energy from my life. It would complicate my ability to do other things. It would require such a large focus from me. She is worth it, that's for sure, but with limited resources, being worth it is not enough. The poor in developed countries deserve to be helped; they are worth our charity. But as an effective altruist, I'd rather my money go toward developing countries, where it can produce more good. Being deserving of something is insufficient to actually receive when limited resources are at play.

This second problem is that there are countless other possible relationships out there that would take far less effort to cultivate. Cookies in the tray are easy to pick up, and as rare as the cookie that lies upon the floor may be, I am already content with the cookies already in my possession, and there very well may be equally rare cookies still in the package. The effort of cleaning and repairing the dropped cookie is just too high a price to pay.

I love her. In our culture, this usually means I should 'fight' for her. "Love conquers all." It's considered romantic to overcome obstacles and 'win the girl'. But I honestly believe that is all bullshit. Yes, I love her, but I also love others. She and I might have equally fulfilling relationships elsewhere. Neither I nor she is so unique as to be undiscoverable elsewhere. I love her, but being with her is like starting a race with a heavy backpack on. There is so much negativity to overcome, and the benefit from overcoming it is solely that we get one another. Sure, I am special, as is she, but we are not so special that fixing a crumbled cookie is worth the immense effort, given limited resources. Wouldn't she be better off with another, someone whom she would not have to go through this effort?

So, yes, I have regret. But the regret is that I made the error in the first place. I don't think I have regret for my choice to not complicate my life by trying to work it out with her. Perhaps, with time, we might rekindle. It would require time to heal the feeling of violation she felt, and time for me to be more certain that I would not risk running with scissors. I would like that, if it happened in time. But regardless of how much I love her, I cannot justify going through such immense effort. We do not live in a fairy tale world where each person is assigned a soul mate. There are plenty of people out there for her, just as there are plenty out there for me. It makes little sense to pay such an exorbitant price to continue this specific relationship when so many other cookies in the container require no such additional effort.

I have regret. I regret that the relationship seems to have ended. I regret and mourn the loss. But I honestly believe I'm acting appropriately in the moment by just moving on. (Cognitive dissonance be damned.)

Kissing, Self-Modification, & CEV

I have a strange relationship with kissing. I don't consider myself a good kisser, I don't particularly enjoy kissing, and I tend to feel a bit squicky about kissing.

This is odd. I don't really know anyone else who shares similar feelings about kissing on all these fronts. I've mostly dealt with it by avoiding kissing when appropriate, and 'doing my duty' when needed. Most either don't notice or at least pretend not to notice, but there have been a few that have questioned me about it.

It started when I was young -- younger, I think, than I can reliably remember. I think that my mother held her hand in front of my eyes whenever people would kiss on television, and this gradually turned into a habit of averting my eyes whenever an onscreen kiss would occur. To this day, if I am watching television and two actors kiss, I am immediately taken out of the story and have to consciously use willpower to not turn my head away from the screen. For me, kissing ruins otherwise good stories, though I do look past it when I can. (Similar to how I notice and am annoyed by superheroes that ignore newton's laws of motion or space battles with audible explosions that should be silent; I look past these as well and try to engross myself in the story whenever possible, but these things always take me out of the storyline at least temporarily.)

This is especially weird when watching porn. I have no problem seeing many sex acts, but as soon as the actors kiss, I feel squicky. I suppose this is because I was trained to look away from kisses, but I never had a parent make me look away from actual sex acts, since I never had a parent in the room when those sex acts occurred on screen.

And then there was N—. She wasn't the first I'd kissed, but was still one of my first. She broke up with me for one reason or another, as young people sometimes will, and I asked her why. Looking back, it wasn't a particularly good question to ask, because she was annoyed with me at the time, and was very likely to lie. But for some reason, when she said it was because I was a terrible kisser, I believed her. I was barely a teenager at the time. Now, I know better. She was just being mean, or at the very least rude. But the thought stuck in my head anyway, and never really went away.

Of course, there's also the issue of my teeth. Today, I like my teeth. I like their distinctiveness and I have grown quite fond of the shape of the hole I make when biting into an apple. But it may be easy to understand why I haven't always felt this way. Those who know me in person will no doubt have noticed that one of my front teeth skews forward at a slight angle. It's significant enough to not be easily missed by anyone who talks with me in person, let alone any who kiss me. For a long time, I felt embarrassed by it, and even though I now like it for its many benefits (distinctive whistling sounds, ease of dental identification should I die in a fire), it is nonetheless something I consciously think of whenever I kiss someone, and that's not really a good feeling.

So today, whenever I kiss someone on the mouth, it is quite a conscious experience. It is never 'in the moment'. Like with tv, if I kiss someone lips to lips, I am very much aware of what I am doing, how I am doing it, and what the other person might be thinking of the experience. It is not sexy, nor romantic, nor in any way a positive experience for me. It takes me out of the experience and very much turns me off. Nevertheless, I usually just soldier through it, which isn't particularly difficult to do. I do kiss; I just don't really enjoy it.

What makes all of this even more strange is that I'm the sort of person who will kiss new people I meet on the cheek. It's a kind of greeting that I've inherited from my family, for whom kissing is the most appropriate way to greet any person you're saying hello or goodbye to. But as this is the cheek, not the mouth, it doesn't bother me at all.

In fact, most kissing does not bother me. I enjoy kissing others, and being kissed in return, just as much as I love close contact with friends and family. So long as it is not on the mouth, I'm very much in favor of kissing, whether it is with a partner or a family member. But the thought of kissing someone I'm romantically involved with on the mouth.... Even as I write that last sentence, I found myself shudder involuntarily (though only slightly).

It's not really a rational preference. I get that. I'm sure that with practice and a little self-reflection, it's the kind of thing that I could 'fix'. But I've never really felt a desire to fix it, just like I have never really felt a desire to 'fix' my distaste of brussels sprouts, or the fact that I'm sapioromantic rather than someone who feels romantic attraction to others for more physical qualities. It's never really been a problem -- at least it hasn't been in the past.

But, for some people, kissing is important. Important enough that my enjoyment of kissing (on the mouth) would be required for them to enjoy any kind of romantic contact. So the question arises: what level of brain modification am I okay with?

When I first learned about the horrors of industrial agriculture, I felt compelled to abstain from eating meat. When I fully realized the impact I could make through effective altruism, I began donating a significant amount of my income. When I learned about my own invisible privilege, I took steps to try to make that privilege more visible so that I could act more appropriately. Each of these were a beneficial type of information hazard that spurred me to action once I learned the underlying truth of reality. In each case, I felt it was appropriate to modify the normal behavior of my own brain so that I could become a better person. I anticipate making many more such changes in the future, and a large part of my idle thoughts go towards predicting what my coherent extrapolated volition might be once I become aware of more beneficial information hazards. (Infohazards are quite well named, given that they demand immediate self-modification when viewed, even if that change is 'beneficial', since, from the point of view of the pre-changed mind, that change is, by its very definition, hazardous.)

Yet this is a peculiar situation. This is no beneficial infohazard. This case is more like someone asking me to self-modify to enjoy the taste of brussels sprouts. It is a lateral change; not a positive one (from my perspective). Sure, were I to self-modify to enjoy kissing, it would give the other person utility -- and, in a way, I'd gain utility by creating a new way for me to enjoy reality (plus, I'd gain the utility from enjoying being with this person) -- but if I were to accept this kind of self modification as being acceptable, then I should also be okay with self-modifying to like brussels sprouts.

In Douglas Adams' Restaurant at the End of the Universe, there is a cow that wants to be eaten. Much has been written about the idea of a rational being that places utility in others doing something to it that we would otherwise consider harmful, but I'd like to focus on the part where this being was effectively made to desire something that we would ordinarily expect it to not desire at all. In the book, others made the cow to be born with such a desire -- but imagine, instead, that it self-modified to have such a desire.

If I were to be taken as a slave, and had access to an oracle AI that informed me that I'd be a slave for the remainder of my life, then would it be rational for me to self-modify my utility function to desire being enslaved? If yes, then surely I should also be willing to self-modify to enjoy brussels sprouts or enjoy kissing. But I think the answer is no, which doesn't necessarily mean I should or shouldn't self-modify for lateral utility changes.

I'm a consequentialist, but I have no desire to permanently enter Nozick's experience machine, mostly because I place some value on being hierarchically higher when choosing between a simulation and reality (or between two simulations). (Friendship is Optimal is a horror story, no matter what anyone else tells you. It is most definitely not in my CEV.) So if entering the experience machine is bad, then doesn't that imply that self-modifying to enjoy brussels sprouts would also be bad?

I don't know. I'm not sure I'm really thinking straight about this, because I'm tempted to think that maybe self-modifying to be vegetarian would be bad from my own point of view, and is only justified because of others' points of view (like the harmed animals). But if that is the justification for why it is good to become vegetarian, then I shouldn't I also self-modify anything that would cause more good overall? Like maybe undergoing plastic surgery, or losing weight, or having less extreme political views, or even wearing orange less often. Let's not bring up gay conversion therapy, which is much more serious than these other ideas. Yet even these other ideas seem terrible to me. They seem obviously wrong, and so something has surely gone awry in my thinking on this topic.

(In any case, I should point out here that none of the above thinking applies to situation of getting children to try out vegetables they don't at first like. From what I understand, humans evolved to have children find sweet things pleasurable and bitter things unpleasurable at a first taste, but to grow to like bitter things after repeated eatings, so that parents can get children to eat the farmed vegetables while still having them avoid poisoning themselves on wild plants. On this theory, children are primed to learn to eat new bitter tastes after a few tastings, even though adults have a much more difficult time of learning to like the taste of something they previously disliked.)

The Most Important Thing (For a Young Man)

I would have been in the class of '99, had I not dropped out of school. It was an interesting time period to grow up in. I was introduced to the internet via America OnLine at age 13, so I was among the last generation in our world's history to have first-hand experience of life both with and without internet at a young age.

The most important event in my life definitely has to have been my turn to philosophy. It is philosophy that encouraged me to reevaluate my value system, become a better person, and live my life in a way in which I can be proud. But this all happened many years later. Back then, when I was young, the most important thing was definitely sex.

Sex was something that was simultaneously exalted and demonized in the culture I grew up in. As a child, my parents never allowed me to watch movies with nudity, though movies with extreme violence was always perfectly okay. Yet at the same time, sex was all the culture around me ever seemed to talk about. For example, the Soviet Union collapsed while I was a child--it was an event so momentous that it forever changed the entire tenor of the world thereafter--yet I remember none of it. All I remember from those years is peers talking about sex, television talking about sex, and guardian figures insisting that I not be exposed to sex.

The constant nature of the sex issue in my young life really made me view sex as something I had to experience sooner rather than later. It seemed, to my young mind, that all my peers were having sex constantly, even while I was still a virgin. (I now realize, of course, that this view was mostly mistaken.) Yet there was nothing I could do to get sex. I was the smart kid. I was the teacher's pet. The nerd whom I felt nobody would deign to be with. So I never even tried.

Then, at twelve years of age, an opportunity arose. I went to a new summer school, where nobody knew whom I was. It was a boarding school, so every single person around me was new, and no one had preconceived notions about me in any way. But I was still shy, and had no idea how to branch out. So I laid low, avoiding the terror of receiving a reputation for being a teacher's pet. I stayed back and hid in the crowd, watching how the other students behaved. It was far more educational than you might think.

When regular school started up again, I felt wiser and more confidant. I had gone through the whole summer without being thought of as the nerd in the group (back then, being the 'nerd' was still a very bad stigma), and had actually gone so far as to get very close to girls, though never quite close enough to actually touch them. As creepy as this sounds, my proudest moment back then was going to to the movies with a dozen fellow students and getting to sit next to a girl whose name I did not even know. After the film ended, she stood up and bent down to get her purse, putting her ass directly in front of my face. It was an experience I could not get out of my mind for weeks.

So my optimism was understandably raised even when I was back in regular school, well known as the class nerd. I knew that even if nothing happened all year, at least I had confidence that as soon as I started summer school again, I would immediately make my move.

Perhaps this confidence is why things started to happen for me even in regular school. My first non-accidental sexual touch was a thinly veiled situation lasting no longer than ten seconds with a person that I'd had a crush on for three years. R—  was a track and field runner, and she was well aware of how much of a crush I had on her. She had used my feelings for years, getting me to let her "borrow" money for school lunch nearly every week, though I never got paid back. Perhaps on this particular day she was feeling generous; or maybe she just needed the ego boost. But for whatever reason, when she and I found ourselves alone in a room together right before she was going to go do her daily run on the track after school, she said: "Running track all the time really builds my leg muscles. Want to feel?" And with that, she pushed up her short shorts even higher than they already were and guided my hand to her thigh. I felt for a full ten seconds, taking in the experience in a manner that seems silly to those of us who now get to enjoy sex whenever we so please. When it was over, she left me alone in the room to go start her run, but I stayed in that same position for many minutes longer, savoring the memory. She was, after all, my second crush (the first having been way back in third grade at age seven).

That event at the end of the school year occupied my mind as my parents dropped me off at boarding school for another summer. I was insistent that I was going to make things happen in this new environment. I could think of nothing else.

So on the very first day, in the very first class, the very first thing I did was take out my journal and start recording the possibilities. I listed every single girl in the class, writing their name down as they called out introductions. With each, I wrote pros and cons, and I ranked them in the order I wanted to make my attempts with. At the very top of the class was L—, the most beautiful girl in the room. I desired her more than anyone else there.

So as soon as class ended and people started streaming out, I stopped by the door and interrupted L— and her group of three friends. "L—," I asked, "can I speak with you for a second?" Her friends giggled as they left her behind, and I built up my courage as we stayed in the classroom. "L—, would you like to go out with me?"

What a momentous occasion it was. I had never before uttered such words aloud, and I could never have dreamed of asking out anyone prior to that day. But this was a brand new place, where everyone was different, and I had received no reputation of nerdiness. So perhaps it should not have surprised me that she assented. Nevertheless, I was ecstatic.

I had not really prepared for a yes. All the courage-building had been aimed at getting me to make the ask, not close the deal. I had no idea what to do. So I improvised.

I took her upstairs to a classroom that isn't used during summer school. It was dark and unlikely to attract attention. I figured it was safe to begin a relationship there. I told her nothing about me or my past. Nothing about my tastes nor desires nor interests. After all, that is not what our relationship was started on. All I knew was that she was the most beautiful girl in the room. All she knew was that I asked her out and she had somehow said yes. For her part, she was terribly shy. She said almost nothing except giving soft assent in a southern accent. To almost every question I asked of her, the answer was a light "umkay."

Our nearly wordless relationship began its first five minutes with her sitting at a desk in this dark classroom with my hands massaging her back. I was too scared to do anything more; after all, this was my first real time with a girlfriend of any kind. But through luck (good or ill), her shirt bunched up a bit as I moved my hand down her lower back, and when my hand moved up again, I found myself accidentally touching not her shirt, but bare skin.

As my hand glided across the back of her bra, I found myself confused even while I was exhilarated. Why was she still sitting so perfectly still? Wasn't she going to react to this accident? Wasn't she going to stop me from going further?

It was then, in that very moment, not five minutes into the relationship, that I decided that I would see how far I could take it.

My hands started wandering. Though her shirt stayed on, my hands underneath it began exploring not just her back but her sides as well. I inched my way toward her breasts, alternating every forward movement with caresses further away. How odd, I thought to myself, that she is actually allowing me to do this. Had I been wrong all along about how girls would react to such overtures? My mind raced even as I started kissing her midsection and running my fingers over the top of her bra.

This was my first real sexual experience. It was more—much more—than I had even imagined it would be. I was only thirteen years old, while she was but twelve. Her breasts were still small, but her body excited me beyond all measure. My extremities trembled with excitement as I slowly removed her bra and began kissing her breasts, running my tongue across her areola. She had still said less than four words in our entire relationship thus far: "Umkay." and "Hi, Eric.". She was still sitting at that classroom desk doing her very best to not betray the pleasure I was giving to her. She was too embarrassed, I think, to say much of anything to me, nor even to move out of fear that it would break the spell. So she sat there and just allowed me to touch her and kiss her everywhere. I was in heaven.

After an hour, my alarm went off, and we had to go to our next morning class. Still saying nothing, she put back on her bra and we walked hand in hand to class, sitting next to each other and spending the entire class just touching. I did not even hear a single thing the teacher was talking about; instead, all of my attention was on her back, which my hand constantly caressed for the entire hour. As soon as class ended, we retired again to an isolated place and I continued to partake of her body, tasting her skin and rubbing her everywhere I knew how.

It was a glorious half week of pure pleasure. Unfortunately, boarding schools for children of our age had strict rules on allowing persons of the opposite gender in each others' rooms. Sexual contact with her in soundproof piano booths and abandoned classrooms was great, but I wanted also to be able to be with her in my bed. School officials weren't very happy about this, and after multiple violations, both L— and I were expelled.

And yet, even with being expelled, I still nevertheless felt like the relationship was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I felt like I could do anything. Life immediately started turning around. I got up the courage not only to ask out girls I thought interesting for their looks, but also girls I thought interesting from the books they read. I specialized in girls with no sexual experience, as I felt comfortable in that role after my first sexual encounter, but I also branched out to interacting with girls who were already comfortable with me touching them in various ways.

Yet no one ever really clicked. With some, the issue was how dumb they were -- I was okay with L— having never talked because I knew she had to have been smart even to just get into a boarding school like that. But B—, for example, was a moron in every category save kissing. With others, the issue was (sadly) cultural. One girl I felt up was a relative of mine, and was obviously someone I did not really wish to start an ongoing sexual relationship with. Another girl was great in every way for me except for the fact that others would make fun of me if I spent time with her. I was not yet independent enough back then to realize that what others thought truly did not matter, so my relationship with her was always a balance of me wanting desperately to be closer to her against the countervailing force of wanting to not be made fun of by others.

Yet with all these dalliances, one main issue remained that kept holding me back. These were all people that everyone already knew. I had a reputation here, in regular school, and it was tough to get past. So when I met the new arrival from out of town, I knew instantly that this was who I needed to latch onto.

A— was gorgeous, with a perfect figure, large breasts, long blonde hair, and a neverending smile. Her large eyes glistened as we first met, and I entered her into the school computers. As the office assistant, I was able to fill out the forms for the classes she wanted to take and the home address and emergency phone numbers. Everything I saw that day made me happy. I not only had her number, but also I immediately learned she was in the highest level classes. It was exactly what I had been looking for. Best of all, she was unaware of my "nerd" reputation, and I was the first student her age that she saw in the entire school. Needless to say, after entering her into the school records, I asked her out. She said yes.

A— was my first long term relationship. We fucked like rabbits. Being a good church volunteer, A— had the keys to a local church and could go there anytime. It became one of our go-to spots where we would make love for hours on end. We fucked in pews, on the altar, and even in the absolute pitch black that was the inner bible study room. Other times, we made love in my parents' house while they were away, trying out just about everything we could think of to do with our various sexual organs. But perhaps the most memorable for me were the times that I, as a boy too young to be able to drive a car legally, would sneak out my bedroom window and walk multiple miles just to be able to have sex all night long in her bedroom. It was definitely worth the walk both ways.

It wasn't long before I began a polyamorous lifestyle. I met a lot of people over the years, some of which I'm proud of; others that I regret spending time with. Each relationship was different, with some healthy, and (unfortunately) many more unhealthy. I did a lot in those days, mostly because it was what I wanted at the time. Looking back on most of it is a sad experience for me today. My priorities were just too upside down. My first threesome was solely so that I could experience it; I didn't even particularly enjoy the experience. Later, I learned to enjoy such things by focusing on the moment, rather than on the idea that I finally will have done it — a strange distinction to the uninitiated, but an important one for me to come to understand. I was paid for sex once; I also ended up volunteering quite a bit of time to helping out the sex worker community via web work. In one surreal experience, I once met someone new, initiated sex before ten minutes had passed, and ended up moving in by the end of the day. Obviously, some of these are embarrassing. Others I feel a minute amount of pride in. But in every case, the distinctive thing that went through my head was the base idea that the most important thing for me at that time was sexual exploration.

It really wasn't until after I encountered philosophy for the first time that this drive diminished. I can't even claim that philosophy was the primary cause — I stopped being so preoccupied about sex a matter of weeks before my introduction to philosophy. Yet I think I can credit philosophy with filling the head space that sex once held in my mind. Today, the most important thing is philosophy. I've even had a year long romantic relationship with an asexual person, to no real ill effects on my psyche. I suppose this is partly because I am no longer a young man. At 31 years of age, I may still be young, and I may still be a man, but the vagaries of word use dictates that I am far past being a "young man". Sex is still important to me, of course, but it has become a need that can be fulfilled in the background of my life, rather than as the prime motivation for most of actions.

I have matured, and now live vicariously through my mind, rather than my body. I wonder what a young me would think of how I've changed.

Why I Identify as Polyamorous

Like many members of minority communities, I often get challenged on my minority self-identification. Common retorts I hear upon my coming out as polyamorous are "sounds like you're pretty childish", "are you afraid of commitment?", "so you just enjoy cheating", or even the particularly hurtful "that's so unethical". Of course, not all people are like this; most people I meet are actually fairly understanding and accepting of it.

Yet I think it's time for me to write a blog post for those online readers who fall into the former category. Perhaps, as a reader who stumbled across this blog randomly, you might find yourself wondering what I mean by putting my polyamorous status up on the sidebar under my name. Maybe you think I am unethical, or possibly misguided. If you're thinking anything along that line, then this blog entry is for you.

Although the term polyamory sounds weird to anyone trained in Greek or Latin, the concept itself is really quite simple. It is a philosophy of multiple loves, and is usually associated with people whose romantic partners are not limited to a single person. There are several types of polyamorist groupings, including polyfidelity (such as closed triads), group marriages (as depicted in Stranger in a Strange Land), polygamy (as exemplified by LDS' "plural" marriage), and open relationships (indicating openness to new relationships at any time), among others. The reason there are so many types is because polyamory really refers to all forms of consensual non-monogamy.

Philosophically, I self-identify as polyamorous because I can make very little sense out of the premise that love can only occur once for each person. If you are a physicalist, then you must admit that love, spectacular though it might be, arises from physical phenomena. To think, then, that these phenomena cannot recur with a different person seems quite ludicrous on the face of it. Truly, polyamory should be the default position for anyone thinking clearly about the origins of the feelings of love itself.

Perhaps surprisingly, I think that it actually is the default position. For example, most people are easily willing to admit that widows can fall in love again. But if you honestly believe love can recur with a different person after your first love dies, then why could it not have occurred while your first love was still living? Time is not a relevant factor here; surely whether love occurs or not cannot be dependent upon time. So even though most people do not themselves recognize it, I think the vast majority of people are already philosophically dedicated to a polyamorist viewpoint, though only including multiple partners in time, not space.

I should also point out that polyamory is not cheating; cheating involves deception and the violation of an agreement. Honesty and openness is required in order for polyamory to work. (Of course, there's nothing preventing cheating from occurring even in polyamorous relationships, but, predictably, it seems that less cheating occurs than in monogamous relationships.)

In fact, it is monogamy, not polyamory, which seems more ripe for unethical behavior. Lying and cheating are not uncommon among people who want a relationship to continue on one level, but have already started looking elsewhere for other levels. Serial monogamy, for example, is extremely common in today's culture. Yet it is hypocritical to pretend one is ethical merely by being against polyamory, and yet having no problem with dating multiple people in succession. Separating people out into chunks of time and ensuring none of the times overlap is not monogamy. It is only polyamory of a different sort. Plus, it involves lying, as serial monogamists tend to never indicate to their current partner that they fully intend to move on to another later on.

To top it all off, polyamorous individuals are far more capable of being honest with one another on relationship issues. Relationships can move from stages of lust to commitment without internal worry that the relationship is dying from a change in sexual activity. Commitment fears are eliminated since the institution of a relationship does not prevent further ones from starting. Asexual individuals can participate in romance without preventing their partner from experiencing sex. Sexually-needy people can satiate their needs without overwhelming a single partner. Best of all, polyamory reinforces the idea Bertrand Russell proposed in his Marriage and Morals, that laws and ideas about sex must be re-evaluated along with the times to better reflect only those moral judgments which have validity in society.

For more information about polyamory, I suggest looking into The Ethical Slut, r/polyamory, alt.polyamory, Polyamory in the News, & Polyamory on Facebook. Or, if you want to talk to someone in person, try googling your city along with the word "polyamory". You'll find that there are more of us around than you may have earlier realized. (c:

Love After Death

This entry was originally posted on the modernpoly.com blog. It is reposted here for reference only.

My partner’s first love is dead.

Robin lost Marta in 2001, nearly nine years ago, yet the loss is still quite fresh in her mind. Not a week goes by without Marta coming up in conversation in some way; and I am quite certain that not a day goes by without Robin thinking of Marta.

I never met Marta, but through Robin’s thoughts and words, I cannot help but to feel as though I know Marta intimately. I know so much of what they did together; their ups and downs, their successes and their failings. There is no event that Robin and Marta shared that I do not also know by heart.  I have been with Robin for many years, and I have already memorized every story she has of Marta.

Twice a year, and sometimes more, an entire day is dedicated to Marta. On her birthday, and on her deathday, Robin celebrates Marta’s life with stories and memories and a whole lot of crying. I join in the celebration, and also in the despair. Robin is the love of my life, and I am hers; but also Robin loves Marta. Robin will always love Marta. True love does not falter after only a scant nine years apart.

Sometimes, when Robin isn’t around, I look through her old scrapbooks of Marta.  Marta is beautiful — more beautiful, perhaps, than Robin’s words of her.  There are pictures of Marta from the week of her birth all the way to the month of her death.  In some, she is smiling, while in others she seems bored.  Sometimes she is running; in others, she simply naps.  Looking at them makes me cry, for I feel Robin’s loss as cleanly as though it were my own.

Every night, as Robin and I tell each other how deeply we are in love, I know that she is also saying good night to Marta, her other lover. And it makes me happy. For I am in love with two women, one of whom I’ve never met. And I never will.

Space

The names have all changed, but the meaning is yet the same. 

I am amazed at the sheer size of Jupiter, aren't you? 'Tis such an ugly planet, yet so easy to hit as a target, even with an unsteady hand. But what's most strange are those moons circling the planet. I'd never noticed them before. It is so hard to notice such insignificance next to such a huge celestial body, and yet at the same time it is this hugeness that makes such moons so easily seen now that I know how to look for them. 

And yet, without the perturbations normally seen in smaller planets' orbits, what is the point? Why even bother if no perturbation is present? A star at a ninety degree andgle from our spiral galactical tilt may be twice as dim, but it is still more noticable than a star crowded out by the rest of the solar systems in our own galaxy. 

If you have to use parallax to figure it out, then no one else will bother. And if no one else bothers, then why should you? Dominique is only useful if others think she is. 

But what scares me most is not that I'd not noticed these moons before, but that I know not what they mean in the here and now. What am I missing? What information need I gather in order to unravel this mystery? 

I just don't know. 

Furthermore, what is this fascination with the most low rates? Who cares? All you need is the lowest, right? So does it matter if you know more low rates than another? What a horrible fallacious slogan. Must corporate America be so very dense? 

Mayhaps not, but what of it? Others were dense. Did I mind then? But then one of them e-mailed me. Remember, Eric? Her name was DeEtta, I think. It has been a while, so I'm not entirely sure. What of her, Eric? What comment there? 

No comment. No concern. Just sadness, that's all. Pure sadness. Sadness for me; sadness for her; sadness for you know whom. There is enough to go around, unfortunately. 

Thank God I am now here. Thank God I have my feet planted firmly on terrestrial ground. Peter disagrees, as does Russ, and Him as well. But Jimmy understands, I think. Jimmy may not know he understands, but that doesn't make the understanding go away. 

Is it enough? I'm not sure. It takes so long to get a message to and back from Mission Control. It is this that scares me second most. The length of time between rest periods. 

Is rape rape if the rape weren't considered rape by the victim? I ask, because I'd like to know. Enlighten me.

Carnal Pleasure

Sometimes, she makes me smile. 

We'll be talking of whatever subject we happen to be on at that moment, and she will make some point of logic that just hits home. Most of the time, I thought of it before she did, but the very fact that she thought of it at all sends shivers down my spine. 

Hearing the cold logic of a beautiful woman is breathtaking; but it is even more so when she beats me to the logic -- on those few occasions when she says something and I've not considered it before, an almost orgasmic feeling comes over me, and I cannot help but enjoy it. 

Sometimes, she makes me smile. And after I smile, I am forced to excuse myself from the room, lest she realize how much I enjoy partaking in her intelligence. 

::sigh:: ... It is too bad that I do not get to argue with her more often... And it is doubly too bad that I know of no other woman who is willing to argue with me like this. ... ::sigh:: 

C'est la vie.