Love, Poetry

The Mountains are Always Moving

When have you last looked at the clouds
Long enough to see them moving?
The clouds are always moving,
When have you last looked at the clouds?

When have you last looked at the mountains
Long enough to see them moving?
The mountains are always moving,
When have you last looked at the mountains?

When have you last looked at your beloved
Long enough to see them moving?
Your beloved is always moving,
When have you last looked at your beloved?

Creativity, Cultural Change, Cultural Traits, Culture, Emotional Dependency, Ideas, Invention, Love, New Idea, Passion, Poetry, Possessiveness, Romantic Love

The Time When the Universe Began to End

(About a 4 minute read)

It is incredible to me that the Arab and Persian Court Poets lumped possessiveness in with love to arrive at the concept of “romantic love”. But they did. The gods themselves were so disbelieving when they witnessed it that they forgot to wank for six days and six nights, and stars began to fall from the sky. The universe began to end! Nevertheless, it was true. The poets really, honestly did lump possessiveness in with love!

The consequences have been devastating. In effect, the poets created a schizophrenic concept of love.

Continue reading “The Time When the Universe Began to End”

About This Blog, Miscellaneous

Maybe Why Some Women Send Me Nude Pics

(About a 2 minute read)

I think I figured out awhile back why women readers of my blog sometimes send me unsolicited nude pics and videos of themselves — occasionally in their very first emails to me. I suspect now it’s because they don’t want to risk being thought of by me as just another commodity, just another human who is interchangeable with all other humans — just another grain of polished rice.

They want to stand out instead, be seen as individuals, as persons in their own right. And who wouldn’t?

Sending nudes in a day of internet porn might not be the best way to stand out, but if the goal is to be noticed as an individual, then that’s a pretty good goal, I think. But what does it say about our world that so many of us these days seem to feel we’ve gotten lost in the crowds?

I don’t think it’s just that there are more people now. I don’t think it’s that simple. I think our cultures have been changing — and not always in good ways. I think we are becoming peoples who do not value authenticity — being true to yourself — highly enough to look for the individual in other people these days.

By the way, no one has ever sent me a poem, an essay, a drawing, an audio of them singing, etc. as the first thing they send me. Nudes yes. But not art they have created with their own hands.

Doesn’t that say something?

If you’re a woman who is thinking about introducing herself to me with a nude to reveal her beauty to me, go ahead. Feel welcomed. I’m not judgemental and it’s an adventurous way to introduce yourself to someone. But please, please keep your nudes tasteful. “Beauty, not porn!” And please also include some art that you yourself created. A drawing. A poem. A recording of you singing.

I guarantee your art will mean more to me than your nude.

Human Nature, Life, Living, Love

Sentimentalize Love at Your Own Risk

(About a 1 minute read)

Sentimentalizing love like a pop star, a popular movie, or a romance novel sentimentalizes love is all sweet innocent fun — just like sentimentalizing your romantic  and attractive fireplace.  Until you forget to check that all the coals are dead before going on vacation — only to come home and discover your house has burnt down, right along with your cheap, plastic altars to the Goddess of Love.

For instance, want to put yourself at risk of cheating on your partner?  Just tell yourself you are not the type to cheat, that you’re too honest, too loyal for that — that love has no power of its own over you.  That’s the same as letting your guard down.  Love is lawless and subversive.  Go ahead and tell yourself you yourself are beyond it’s reach.  Live dangerously: Tell yourself you’re beyond its reach!

Sentimentalize love at your own risk.

Human Nature, Law, Life, Living, Love, Passion

Love is a Lawless Thing

Love is a lawless thing, subversive of every tradition and custom on earth.  Do you think people don’t sentimentalize it?  Anyone who fails to grasp how lawless, how subversive love can be is sentimentalizing it.  Love is a lawless thing and yet, paradoxically, love knows of laws the Law itself does not know.

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.