Advice, Horniness, Human Nature, Love, Lovers, Relationships, Sex, Sexuality

Some Advice for Hideous Post-Pubic Teens and Other Outlaw Pervs

[Asshole Mode On] Please pardon my French, but I don’t have a polite way to say this at the moment. Don’t waste energy and effort rushing into sex like sex was some sort of football game and you were a lineman who had to charge headlong into fucking like your life depended on you getting a little ass.

Just don’t.

Just don’t rush in.

Allow yourself to grow into it instead.

You will, you know, you’ll grow into it naturally, inevitably.  Trust me!  It happens!  You’ll know you’re ready when you are at last with a real decent partner and you feel like you will die — DIE! — if you can’t fuck them that very moment.  That’s how it feels to be emotionally ready for it.

And for the sake of the weeping gods, use condoms or some other medically approved protection, you hideous, perving morons! [/Asshole Mode Off]

Abuse, Love, Poetry

Each Year the Emerald Grass

(About a 2 minute read)

The red bud’s magenta blossoms
Explode above the emerald grass
That’s sprinkled with bright yellow lions,
And fresh with the afternoon rain.

The dark sky is passing now,
The sun returns along with a breeze
And I can smell the earth,
It smells like her hair.

Come sit with me in the grass, Marysa,
Come sit with me while it’s tall,
And before John cuts it.
Come sit close to me in the grass.

Each year the grass reminds me of her.
Marysa, each year the spring
Reminds me of her.

Her blond hair flowed in curls
Like a waterfall down her back,
And her smile danced
Like sunlight glinting off the ripples
Of a deep lake.

She was your age, Marysa
She was seventeen, and each year
The emerald grass reminds me of her.

Marysa, she did not go willingly
Into her night.

She was forced down
Pushed down
Held down
Choked down in a long ago spring
By a possessive boyfriend
Who strangled her
With an extension cord
For saying she loved a better man.
For saying she loved me.

Come sit with me in the grass, Marysa,
Come sit close to me in the grass.
Each year the grass reminds me of her.
Marysa, each year the emerald grass
Reminds me of her grave.

Creativity, Cultural Change, Cultural Traits, Culture, Human Nature, Ideas, Invention, Life, Literature, Love, Lovers, Memes, New Idea, New Love, Poetry, Quality of Life, Relationships, Romantic Love, Writing

Will Tomorrow Bring a Better Love?

(About a 1 minute read)

Over a thousand years ago, a handful of Persian and Arabic court poets created a new way of looking at one of the seven or eight kinds of love.  Today we still see that kind of love largely through their eyes.  We call it “romantic love”.

Of course romantic love has been around since the first homo sapiens — and most likely even before them.  It’s as old as the yellow grasses of Africa.  But it has not always been seen — it has not always been understood — in the way we see and understand it today.

Here’s a thought for you.  The world is coming together and I think it is likely that quite soon, some group of “poets” will create a new way of looking at love — one suited to a global culture.  But if that wild idea comes true, then hold your breath!  How people see love influences how they love.

If and when a new way of seeing love comes about — will that way be overall a good thing for the world, or a bad thing?

In my opinion, it could go either way.


For more on this topic, see this post.

Art, Creativity, Cultural Change, Cultural Traits, Culture, Human Nature, Ideas, Invention, Life, Literature, Love, Lovers, Memes, New Idea, New Love, Poetry, Relationships, Writing

“East and West”: A Love Story for the 21st Century

(About a 3 minute read)

We all know the story.  Boy meets girl, they fall in love.  They fight.  Then make up.  Then pair off  forever and ever.

Puke me a river of boredom.  The story has been repeated more often than Trump’s stupidity.  Besides, it’s totally outdated.   Totally outdated.

It’s outdated because it is basically a Western story — and we living a world now where “we” are no longer just and only the West.  Think about it.  Isn’t it time for a new kind of love story?  One that combines — that synthesizes — the great motifs of both East and West?

In a way, it does not matter what you and I think the time has come for.  It’s going to happen anyway.  The world is already too globalized for it not to happen.  There will be an East/West love story someday — and probably someday soon.   A story that has elements of the old Western story, but also much that is new to the West.

Why do I think so?

Maybe the easy way to put is this: In the West, you love an individual.  You love what is unique, special about someone. . In other words, you love Jim, and no one will do but Jim.  Or Melinda, etc.  If you, dear reader, are from the West, that’s all common sense, right?

But traditionally, it was different in the East.  Traditionally, you do not love the individual there.  You do not love whatever it is about them that makes them one of a kind.  Instead, you love the universal in someone.  The timeless, unchanging, eternal in them.  The thing they have in common with everyone else.

Don’t believe me?  I had once had a professor who now and then would read traditional Indian love stories to us.  Every hero is the same.  Every heroine is the same.  Story to story to story.  Only the moral of he stories ever changes. Only the moral.

Of course there are Western style love stories all over the East these days — but guess where they came from?

I will wager that someone soon is going to create a true synthesis of East and West when it comes to love stories.  Something that will worldwide replace the individualism of “She’s the only one in the whole world for me” — but also replace the universalism of “He’s interchangeable with any ranking member of his cast or class or clan.”

By the way, look not just for a new story, look even more for a new way of thinking about what it means to love someone.  That will be the real change.  The real synthesis.  Not the plot, but the new vision of what love is.

Just a thought for the day.  Y’all can go back to being sane now.

 

Life, Love, Poetry

À Toi Appartient le Printemps (To You Belongs the Spring)

À toi appartient le printemps
À toi appartient l’été
Pour vous appartient de l’année
Pour moi appartient la soirée
Je souhaite seulement pour voir vous épanouir
Mais ma nuit vient
Et trop tôt
Tu ne seras plus énorme et devant moi.
Et bientôt
Tu seras au-delà de ma vie et de mon amour.

Aller jeune femme!
Allez jeune homme!
Amour!
Vivre!
Danse!
Créer!

Et rire avec moi pour m’aider dans ma mort
Tandis que j’abandonne ce qui me reste
Pour vous et votre avenir


To you belongs the spring
To you belongs the summer
To you belongs the year
To me belongs the evening
I wish only to witness you flourish
But my night comes
And too soon
You will not loom large and before me,
And soon
You will be beyond my life and my love.

Go young woman!
Go young man!
Love!
Live!
Dance!
Create!

And laugh with me to ease my dying
As I surrender what remains to me
To you and your future.

Death, Friends, Life, Living, Love, Lovers, Muses, Resilience, Terese, Teresums

The Rebirth

To my friend, Terese Bozdas.

Once I stood on the trembling ice
Of a mountain torrent in winter
Surrounded by granite boulders
And dared the wild waters to drown me.

I had lost my wife.
I had lost my home.
I had lost my hopes.
I had lost my dreams.
And I dared the wild ice
Beneath me to break.

It is curious how you can sometimes
Be so numb the desire to die
Is the only thing
That makes you feel alive.

It was only when you came to me
Some years later

Singing songs of friendship,
Singing songs of compassion,

That I felt at last
The rebirth, the renewal
Of Spring.