About Jenny Seemore

Height: 5'3" Hair: blonde Weight: 148 lbs.
Cup: 36 HH (95 I Europe) Hair Color: blonde Relationship: married
Age: 43 Malaise: nymphomania Profession: graphic artist
Food: vegetarian Zodiac: Aries Favored Protein: male cum
Lifestyle: promiscuous Smoke: no Drink: light social
Philosophy: Tantra Yoga Porn: Interracial, Gangbang  

 

 
About Perception and Reality
 
All things that are seen (the world), could be real, or not. There is no way of telling how they are, because there is no way of even knowing IF they are (i.e. if they exist). The state of the seen always depends on the perception of the spectator.
Examples: A child sees a ghost and hides under the bed. Someone sees a snake in the driveway, is scared, and runs away. At a closer look the ghost turns out to be a shadow, and the snake was just a tree branch. Yet, both persons were scared, even though there was no real threat. So why were they scared? Because they perceived reality wrong. So reality depends on how we perceive it, not on how it is (which we don't know). The reality of the world too depends on how we see it. So what is real reality? Somehow WE must be real (i.e. we must exist), or we couldn't raise this question, right?

The fact that we ask proves our existence. So much we do know. Another thing we know is that reality has to be ALWAYS real (absolute), because it can't be real at one time, and at another given time not. In fact, the only thing we know in this world is our own reality, and the permanence of it. In other words: We know we exist, and are immortal. That is the bottom of it all. If we were able to find out the nature of our own reality (the part that exists and is immortal), we may have a chance of finding the reality of the world as well. That's why Jesus says: THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS WITHIN YOU! It means: find your own reality within, then you will know it all.

 
 

About Valeria Messalina and the Perfection of Sluthood

Valeria Messalina, (born 17 A.D.) was a Roman empress and the wife of Emperor Claudius. She was a cousin of Emperor Nero, a second cousin of Emperor Caligula, and great-grandniece of Augustus. The oft-repeated tale of Messalina's all-night sex competition with a prostitute comes from Book X of Pliny the Elder's Natural History. Pliny does not name the prostitute, however the Restoration playwright Nathaniel Richards calls her Scylla in The Tragedy of Messalina, Empress of Rome, published in 1640, and Robert Graves in his novel Claudius the God also identified the prostitute as Scylla. According to Pliny, the competition lasted for 24 hours and Messalina won with a score of 25 partners.
Roman sources claim that Messalina used sex to enforce her power and control politicians, that she had a brothel under an assumed name and organised orgies for upper class women and that she participated much in politics and sold her influence to Roman nobles or foreign notables.

Then consider the God's rivals, hear what Claudius
had to put up with. The minute she heard him snoring
his wife - that whore-empress - who dared to prefer the mattress
of a stews to her couch in the Palace, called for her hooded
night-cloak and hastened forth, with a single attendant.
Then, her black hair hidden under an ash-blonde wig,
she'd make straight for her brothel, with its stale, warm coverlets,
and her empty reserved cell. Here, naked, with gilded
nipples, she plied her trade, under the name of 'The Wolf-Girl',
parading the belly that once housed a prince of the blood.
She would greet each client sweetly, demand cash payment,
and absorb all their battering - without ever getting up.
Too soon the brothel-keeper dismissed his girls:
she stayed right till the end, always last to go,
then trailed away sadly, still, with burning, rigid vulva,
exhausted by men, yet a long way from satisfied,
cheeks grimed with lamp-smoke, filthy, carrying home
to her Imperial couch the stink of the whorehouse.
(Juvenal, Sat. VI)
 
 
About the Perception of Beauty
 

Zum Sehen geboren,
Zum Schauen bestellt,
Dem Turme geschworen
Gefällt mir die Welt.
Ich blick' in die Ferne,
Ich seh' in der Näh'
Den Mond und die Sterne,
Den Wald und das Reh.

So seh' ich in allen
Die ewige Zier,
Und wie mir's gefallen,
Gefall' ich auch mir.
Ihr glücklichen Augen,
Was je ihr gesehn,
Es sei, was es wolle,
Es war doch so schön!

Oh vision - birth-power,
I’m placed on this height,
Sworn to the tower,
The world's my delight.
I gaze in the distant,
I look on the near,
On moon and the stars,
On forest and deer.

The beauty eternal
In all things I see,
And how I enjoyed it,
Was cheerful to me.
Oh fortunate eyes,
What you've ever seen,
It be what it is,
But fair it has been!

Goethe, Faust II.
 
 
Nymphomania - Super Star
 

The best and most careful rearing of girls suffering from nymphomania cannot save them from their downfall. In their wild passion, casting all moral and social considerations aside, they throw themselves into the arms of sin. The more they abandon themselves to the gratification of their lust, the greater is the desire of their morbidly irritated sexual centers for lecherous satisfaction. (Reti)

The milder cases of nymphomania claim our sympathy not less than those unfortunate women who by irresistible impulses are forced to sacrifice feminine honor and dignity, for they are fully conscious of their painful situation; they are a toy in the grip of morbid imagination which revolves solely around sexual ideas and grasps even the most distant points in the sense of an aphrodisiac. (Krafft-Ebing)

One woman surrendered herself to her husband's laborers; another had for her lovers all the desperadoes of Texas; a third had intercourse with all the herdsmen of her village; a fourth, though her husband occupied a good social position, led the life of a prostitute; a fifth, a cultured and intelligent woman, entertained a common bricklayer, etc. He also gives the following examples: A hysterical girl visited a physician and said to him, "I am still a virgin ; take me." She submitted him to the utmost extremity of provocation, and asserted afterward that she had been violated. A rich young lady met a workingman in the street, offered herself to him, was accepted, and when she returned home related the affair with laughter. (Lombroso)

She had lived happily with her husband until after the birth of her first child. From that moment insatiable lust seized her. An irresistible craving suddenly took hold of her an indomitable lust to embrace a man. In her genitals she felt a morbid itching, an inexplicable excitement, a burning desire for sexual gratification. In the beginning her husband tried to satisfy her until he discovered his impossibility to do this. She did not allow an hour of the day to pass without demanding gratification from her husband. He was terrified to see her pressing her genitals to the edge of the table, to the door or any other hard object, in order to satisfy her sensual appetite. (Talmey)
 
 
About the Reasons for Creating Pornography without Financial Need

Proust wrote: "We always end up doing the things we are second best at." Does it have to be that way? Or do human beings have the unique ability to arrive at a point, where they decide to do what they do best, what they really want? I hope I do!

Happiness is beneficial for the body, but it is grief that develops the powers of the mind.... Everything great in the world comes from neurotics. They alone have founded our religions, and composed our masterpieces. Never will the world know all it owes to them, nor all they have suffered to enrich us...

And this is the artist's source of suffering: to be powerless to turn the eyes of memory, the mind's eye, and reason toward Beauty, Being, or Love...
In reality, in love there is a permanent suffering which joy neutralizes, renders virtual, delays, but which can at any moment become what it would have become long earlier if one had not obtained what one wanted, atrocious.
Marcel Proust, À la Recherche du Temps Perdu
 
About W. Shakespeare and the Evaluation of Risk

Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once. (William Shakespeare, Julius Cesar)

We take risks every day. Whether we decide to do something depends on how we evaluate the risk that is associated with a certain actiion. It doesn't necessily depend on the statistical likelihood of an event, means, it dosn't depend on reality. Our decisions are a matter of personal risk-evalualtion. In the USA many people die prematurely from eating unhealthy foods, and from the cancers and cardiovascular diseases that come with it.

Death-causes in the USA in 2007 were: Heart disease: 616,067, Cancer: 616,875, Stroke 135,952, Accidents 123,706, Diabetes 71,382, Flu 52,717, Homicide, 18,361, HIV 17,900. This means the lilekyhood of dying from the flu is high. The likelyhood of dying from a cardiovascular or a cancer-disease is about 75 times higher than getting murdered. So do I really need to carry a gun to protect myself, as long as I am eating unhealthy? After all, the likelihood of getting a fatal heart attack or a fatal stroke is 75 times higher than getting shot.

In the end it is all a question of how we perceive risk. Some carry a gun, driving to the fast food restaurant, and think they are now absolutely safe, while the very real risk of ending up with a fatal disease, or getting into a traffic accident is not even in their mind. All they see is the hypothetical threat of someone assaulting them, which leads to the point where they ignore other more likely risks.

 
 
About Carpe Diem and the River of Forgetfulness
A little while and we die; shall life not thrive as it may?
For no man under the sky lives twice, outliving his day.
And grief is a grievous thing, and a man hath enough of his tears:
Why should he labour, and bring fresh grief to blacken his years ?
Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath;
We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fullness of death.
Laurel is green for a season, and love is sweet for a day;
But love grows bitter with treason, and laurel outlives not May.
Swinburne - Hymn to Proserpine
 
 

About Countess Mountbatten of Burma

Edwina Cynthia Annette Mountbatten, Countess Mountbatten of Burma, CI, GBE, DCVO, DGStJ was married to the last viceroy of India. Some say Lady Mounbatten's relationship with Jawaharlal Nehru was strictly platonic. Some say she never had an affair with Paul Robeson. Some say Lady Edwina was not bisexual. Others say, her liaison with Leslie Hutchinson was non-existent. An then there are those who say she never had an open relationship with her husband, Lord Mountbatten of Burma, who was nicknamed "Dickie" by his friends, but was called "Lord Mount-Bottom" byt the sailors of the Royal Navy. Yes, Lady Mountbatten occasionally travelled with her husband's sister-in-law, Lady Milford Haven, whose bisexual liaisons are perhaps better documented than those attributed to Edwina. So, perhaps all this is not true? You can't fool me, Countess. Your eyes are a million miles deep. Rest in peace, Countess. You are a hero in so many aspects.
 
 
About the Grave Dangers of Satyrasis
Men are not immune to the desire to engage in sexual activities at a level that is considered abnormally high in relation to normal development or culture. This unfortunate condition is referred to as "satyrasis". Male hypersexuality dosn't seem to be as pleasant as its female counterpart. It can even lead to bad poetry, as displayed below.

Stab your demonic smile to my brain,

Soak me in Cognac, Cunt and Cocaine.

Leah Sublime,
Goddess above me!
Snake of the slime
Alostrael, love me!
Our master, the devil
Prospers the revel.
Tread with your foot
My heart til it hurt!
Tread on it, put
The smear of your dirt
On my love, on my shame
Scribble your name!
Straddle your Beast
My Masterful Bitch
With the thighs of you greased
With the Sweat of your Itch!
Spit on me, scarlet
Mouth of my harlot!
Now from your wide
Raw cunt, the abyss,
Spend spouting the tide
Of your sizzling piss
In my mouth; oh my Whore
Let it pour, let it pour!
You stale like a mare
And fart as you stale;
Through straggled wet hair
You spout like a whale.
Splash the manure
And piss from the sewer.
Down to me quick
With your tooth on my lip
And your hand on my prick
With feverish grip

My life as it drinks—
How your breath stinks!
Your hand, oh unclean
Your hand that has wasted
Your love, in obscene
Black masses, that tasted
Your soul, it’s your hand!
Feel my prick stand!
Your life times from lewd
Little girl, to mature
Worn whore that has chewed
Your own pile of manure.
Your hand was the key to—
And now your frig me, too!
Rub all the much
Of your cunt on me, Leah
Cunt, let me suck
All your glued gonorrhea!
Cunt without end!


Amen! til you spend!
Cunt! you have harboured
All dirt and disease
In your slimy unbarbered
Loose hole, with its cheese
And its monthlies, and pox

You chewer of cocks!
Cunt, you have sucked
Up pricks, you squirted
Out foetuses, fucked
Til bastards you blurted
Out into space—
Spend on my face!
Rub all your gleet away!
Envenom the arrow.
May your pox eat away
Me to the marrow.
Cunt you have got me;
I love you to rot me!
Spend again, lash me!
Leah, one spasm
Scream to splash me.
Slime of the chasm
Choke me with spilth
Of your sow-belly’s filth.
Stab your demonical

Smile to my brain!
Soak me in cognac
Cunt and cocaine;
Sprawl on me! Sit
On my mouth, Leah, shit!
Shit on me, slut!
Creamy the curds
That drip from your gut!
Greasy the turds!
Dribble your dung
On the tip of my tongue!
Churn on me, Leah!
Twist on your thighs!
Smear diarrhoea
Into my eyes!
Splutter out shit
From the bottemless pit.
Turn to me, chew it
With me, Leah, whore!
Vomit it, spew it
And lick it once more.
We can make lust
Drunk on disgust.
Splay out your gut,
Your ass hole, my lover!
You buggering slut,
I know where to shove her!

There she goes, plumb
Up the foul Bitch’s bum!
Sackful of skin
And bone, as I speak
I’ll bugger your grin
Into a shriek.

Bugger you, slut
Bugger your gut!
Wriggle, you hog!
Wrench at the pin!
Wrench at it, drag
It half out, suck it in!
Scream, you hog dirt, you!
I want it to hurt you!
Beast-Lioness, squirt
From your Cocksucker’s hole!
Belch out the dirt
From your Syphillis soul.
Splutter foul words
Through your supper of turds!
May the Devil our lord, your
Soul scribble over
With sayings of ordure!
Call me your lover!
Slave of the gut
Of the arse of a slut!


Call me your sewer
Of spilth and snot
Your fart-sniffer, chewer
Of the shit in your slot.
Call me that as you rave
In the rape of your slave.
Fuck! Shit! Let me come
Alostrael—Fuck!
I’ve spent in your bum.
Shit! Give me the muck
From my whore’s arse, slick
Dirt of my prick!
Eat it, you sow!
I’m your dog, fuck, shit!
Swallow it now!
Rest for a bit!
Satan, you gave
A crown to a slave.
I am your fate, on
Your belly, above you.
I swear it by Satan
Leah, I love you.
I’m going insane
Do it again!

    A. Crowley
 
 
Luis Buñuel

Buñuel made the impossible reality! Belle de Jour! He created a porn-movie without graphic nudity or even explicit scenes. He taught us what pronography of the mind is. He embedded Catherine Deneuve’s mask-like face into our brains forever! He plays our own judgmental tendencies against our desire for erotic satisfaction. Sexual inhibition, liberation, and obsession of a woman, who is tragically stuck in a middleclass-prison. Buñuel makes no distinction between what is real and what is not. Is there even a difference between reality and dream-state? Perhaps not.

Luis Buñuel was cited to be the "best director in the world" by Alfred Hitchcock; I caannot find any reason to disagre with Hictchcock's assessment.