The Orgasm of Life

29 Mar 2025 6 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Life is one big orgasm.  From the day we are born until the day we die, we experience joy, pain, love and suffering.  We go down endless passages to hell and climb endless staircases to heaven.  We have mega highs and minor lows and sometimes the other way around.  We have experiences that we cannot describe and others that we would sooner not.  We lay in bed at the end of a day that was beyond our wildest dreams.  We silently  pray that tomorrow will be the day when at least one of our wishes comes true.  Or we pray that the present one will never end.

Some of us discover ecstatic orgasms.  Earth shaking, mind blowing, out of body experiences that rival anything we ever saw in a movie, but just as transient.  Some of us go through life faking fantastic orgasms.  Some of us never take risks, never open our hearts, never open our minds.  We seek shelter from anything that might excite our senses or become moments of rapture.  We hide behind large oak trees where no one will see us.  We play hide and seek with life from the time we wake up until the time we go to sleep.  Why, oh why the muse in us asks?  But there is no one there to answer our whys.

Mysteries like orgasms assail us at the most inopportune times.  An orgasm has been described as something we think that we can never get enough of.  Endless feelings of bliss fuse our bodies together in a symphony on earth.  However, life does not provide a never-ending chorus.  Like the seasons that come and go and go and come, our  experiences are fleeting.  We wish that we could hold onto them forever, but our efforts always prove that it is  an impossible dream.  There is a satanic spirit  who lurks in the shadows ready to snatch our happiness from us.  God fiddles while we are tormented.

My fantasies of endless orgasms always proves too much for my feeble body.  In truth, it may just be one or two that I want, but that is more than enough.  I need to undergo a superhuman rejuvenation before even that is possible again.  The movies show stars having incredible sex that never stops.  The reality is that most marriages in Hollywood break up before the movie is over.

Our lives are full of blond goddesses and studs with six pack abs who promise orgasms that not even Buddha could not imagine.  The world sells us on the idea of one big orgasmic oyster, just waiting for us to open the shell and swallow.  Alas, we eat the smaller than expected oyster and find that we cannot afford another one.  Have you seen the prices for oysters these days?

Well, tomorrow is another day, and the cycle of life goes on.  We run after joy like rats on a treadmill only to discover that it evaporates as soon as we find it.  There is no endless joy or happiness or pain or suffering on earth.  It is all a mirage.  As Shakespeare said, “Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.”   We are nothing but brief candles that flicker for a short time and then go out.  Our hopes for endless orgasms are as delusional as the love that often accompanies them.

Pack up your fantasies my friend and move on.  Perhaps an endless orgasm awaits you just around the next corner.

ON WRITING, MUSIC, CHOREOGRAPHY, THE SEASONS AND LOVE

02 Nov 2021 2 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: , , , ,

Allegro

What does writing have to do with making love? Can the changing of the seasons really be compared to an overture? What if on some primal level, we all live by an unseen rhythmic law? This law says that there is fundamentally no difference between making love and writing or between a brilliant piece of choreography and the changing seasons. Does the rhythm of the universe expect a form of symmetry to all of life? A regulated succession of strong and weak elements or of opposite and contrasting conditions becomes the master of all we do. The seasons come and go. The music ebbs and flows. Our love is gentle, passionate, sublime and tired. Mornings, afternoons, evenings and nights fuse with the spring and summer and fall and winter of our lives. The harsh gales of November echo in the overtures of Stravinsky and Beethoven. All things are one say the mystics. Is my writing one with all things? Can I form, norm, storm and perform even with mere words.

Adagio

Far be it for me to confuse philosophy with art. Greater men than I have said that there is a unity to life. We travel down our different paths often blind to the journeys of others who walk side by side with us: This one a carpenter, this one a computer scientist, this one a teacher, this one an artist and this one a hero. If I were a rich man, lord who made the lion and the lamb, would it really spoil your cosmic plan if I were a wealthy man? We are all dust in the wind but our rhythms echo down the halls of time. The most unforgettable and amazing repetitions will resonate as long as humans walk the earth. Coded in the numerous ways we have of capturing the rhythm of our lives: Some dynamic, some peaceful, some violent and some sad. We write our lyrics, pen our verses, create our stanzas and design our choreography all guided by the unseen law of rhythm. Now we are hard, then we are soft. Now we roar and now we snore.

Scherzo

Love is kind, love is considerate, love is not selfish. The waltz was a creation of times when love was more restrained. This torrent of mine was supplanted, extending my being, your challenge. The Tango alternates patterns of space and closeness with syncopated rhythms of violence and passion. Love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go. Rock and Roll ushered in a wild abandonment of morality in the face of conspicuous sexuality. The rhythm of music often exhibits striking harmonies with the rhythm of our love lives. Can I be soft and gentle like a warm breeze but also wild and unrestrained like in the movies? What if I made love to the William Tell overture or would Shakira’s lyrics work better:

Baby I would climb the Andes solely
To count the freckles on your body
Never could imagine there were only
Too many ways to love somebody

Is it enough to alternate patterns of tenderness with patterns of inhibition? Shall I open with an allegro, then move into an adagio, followed by a scherzo and conclude with a rondo? Who would expect love to end without a crescendo? Should my love making follow the classical style or should it be more like a jazz piece?

Rondo

Whether goes my writing. I have written this in four parts to reflect my cosmic view of the rhythm of life. We form and norm and storm and then perform. Spring is the opening that brings fresh growth to our world before the bloom of summer. Summer brings the maturity and ripeness of life. Fall brings the storms and winds that signify our frailty and insignificance to the universe. Winter ends our symphony with the closure and solace that our work is done and our day is over. Our life, our work, our art, our thoughts all finished but with a hope to be reborn perhaps by someone who sees a need to continue the rhythms that we have started. Not really finality, but continuations that started before us, and will continue long after our memorials are put up. Perhaps, my headstone will have four verses or stanzas or paragraphs or perhaps like the newest greeting cards, you will be able to press a button on my tombstone and you will see a picture of me singing and dancing to a four part harmony.

Time For Questions:  

Does music teach you anything about writing?  Does music speak to you? Can writing be like a symphony?  How do you hear music?  Does it speak to you like a good poem or a good verse? What is your favorite kind of writing?  Do you ever think that the writing you enjoy could be like music?  What would it take to transform the music in your life into writing or the writing in your life into music?

Life is just beginning