Somewhere in Egypt there’s a Roman graffiti that says, “I cannot read the hieroglyphics.” Dude, I know how you feel.
Have I ever given the impression that I’m a sorta trendy guy, a New Ager, a plant masquerading as a human being? Heaven forbid. So why does the Perky Publicist come sniffing around my email, thinking I’d like nothing better than to squirt away several hours of my life reading this bilge?
“The Ancient Power and Wisdom of Women’s Sexuality…” Suddenly we’re back in the 1980s at a PBS fund-raiser, with all these middle-aged women and a few very soft-looking men sagely nodding their heads as the speaker natters on about how wimmin’s menstruations formed the galaxies. Run screaming to the sidewalk.
This here book is about the orgasm as “the highest form of celebrating life” and (oh, crikey, I think I’m gonna hurl) “honoring the orgasm as a sacrament.” (Excuse me! [three-minute break])
The author is a sculptor (groan!) whose clumsy figgers represent “women experiencing the full vibratory [something or other] of their inner core.” What have I done to deserve this?
Up next! A new book on New Age Self-Improvement!
Any New Ager can improve just by shutting up.
