How Bizarre

Sometimes my mind gets so full with awareness of how bizarres it is, this world we live in. Take corporations for example. People make up some service, give it a label, put shiny things around it, logos, websites, business cards, marketing. Then with a dash – include your “important” title, CEO, and Co-founder, your name. There you go. Legitimacy. Then you work to get followers on social media. Then, if you begin to get big enough you can build social classes within your org structures. The kind where when someone says jump others say how high. The place where you go but don’t allow people to have feelings or original thoughts. Where you can evaluate people annually by a set of unrecognizable standards that aren’t applicable to anyone which are ignored anyway and ultimately give raises based on how well you like people. Were we better off on a bartering system?

Or how about the system of housing where unless you live somewhere until you die, the poor house just never gets paid off. If a house was originally built for $100,000. It sells for $150,000 in 1815. Just making up numbers and dates. Then let’s say every 20 years it gets sold to a new owner. It is in an up and coming neighborhood and with inflation, each time it gets resold the cost goes up $10,000. So now the person who bought the house in 2015 owes $400,000 for a house that is almost a 200 years old and has already probably been paid for twice over. I’m terrible at math so not even sure if those numbers work out, but you get the point. It will continue to re-sell unless someone stays in it until they die and passes it down in the family forever. How bizarre.

The other thing I was thinking about is how everyone, including myself, wants to think we are special in some way, even though really we aren’t. I mean, I know people are like snowflakes, right? Each one unique. Unique yes. But is everyone really special? We all crave opportunities to feel unique and special. I am going to give some examples, some that I have been guilty of myself. Being the #1 fan of anything. First of all, you aren’t, lol. Second of all, who cares. Why do we feel like this makes us special in some way. And lord forbid if you luck out and a new movie of something you were always a “#1 fan” of comes out, or the main character in that movie dies in real life. You just hit the lottery! This is your moment to REALLY shine. You get to post on social media, to make sure everyone remembers how much of a fan you were, and how significant this is to you. What is that?? We’ll try to one-up someone on how much trauma we’ve experienced. How “hard we’ve had it.” Or on the flip side, “look at how good I have it.” Why? We are all looking for a niche to show some sort of skill to try to find our self-worth? Is my self-worth under this painting? Perhaps inside this sculpture? Did they hide it in my bonus? Perhaps it’s in this kid I accidentally had? I never checked behind this degree on my wall. Will they forget me or did I even exist if I don’t find it? I must be here for some reason. I must be special. I know I’m special my mother told me so and everyone around agreed at how special I was compared to other babies. They didn’t say those things to all babies right? No, definitely not. I was special. But are we? Do we have a purpose? Argue your point. I don’t have one, I’m just lying here wondering, how bizarre.

We are on a roll so lets keep going. Other random thoughts. I read a psychology study one time and it talked about how upon interviews with doctors, people, primarily women, but I think even men too, they hide their underwear when they get naked in doctors offices. Why do we do that? Is the underwear dirty? So why do we hide them? Are we ashamed of our underwear? Do we think they smell? Are we worried someone will steal them? You tell me? I think for myself, there is some weird embarrassment around someone seeing my underwear. But again why? I’m about to spread eagle in front of that same person. They can see my labia but not my jockey shorts? Another question I wonder a lot about is when women go to the gyno, why are some more comfortable seeing a man vs seeing a woman? I prefer to see a woman EVERYTHING, therapist, pcp , eye doctor, surgeons, ob/gyn. I’ve always had male dentists though. I think that might be more due to the lack of female dentist in my network near where I live tho perhaps. Why do I want all female doctors? Am I looking for the nurturing I did not get as a kid? Does anyone else think of this shit? I must be special because I have these thoughts, lol. How bizarre.

Cinematic Feelings

The words are sitting there perched waiting to be articulated,
I can feel it somewhere within, perhaps in my spleen,
Not sure what a spleen is for but perhaps to provide a place for the words to perch,
I am certain that once they are released that deep ache will be stretched,
That inner tension will finally have relief,
The same relief felt after paddling the pink canoe mid ovulation,
Feelings so deliciously rich like licking a giant spoon dripping with dark chocolate icing,
Do these feelings radiate?

She said I was attractive,
Not new, but I grin every time I get her to say the words out loud,
My romantic heart once again swoons,
In love with the soul of a woman who will never be mine,
But that love.
That love is mine.

Amused, amusing, how terribly cinematic I depict life when in this mood,
Very fairy tell the very flair of these words,
Reruns of my cinema worthy edited past,
Every ex, every candle lit cuddle, every black and white filtered kiss,
Precious attachments captured and stored,
Until they are once again explored.
No regrets,
Blessed for everyone woman whose ever arched her hips,
As I parted her lips with my tongue,
Grateful for every vulnerable hello and goodbye,
Honored for every heart I’ve held, however brief,
God is definitely a woman,
If you doubt this, then you’ve simply never been with one.

Your Place

Opening the laptop with a blank page to type,
Fingers skimming over the keys,
A warmth washes over,
Like sticky buns being pulled from the oven on Christmas,
A familiarity and a comfort,
Like settling deep in a worn oversized arm chair,
What will this visit bring?
The neurons of excitement firing on all cylinders,
Feeling like the first taste of coffee with french vanilla cream in the morning,
Heart and chest expanding into a smile,
Who knew body parts could smile?
A short visit before plunging into the world of business,
Where you are much like a child playing dress up,
Masquerading around among adults who seem so well suited to their work,
But here, here with 10 fingers flying across black and white keys,
Or here, gripping a pencil as it brings images to life,
Removes the concern of not having a place,
This place, this inner home, this free expression, it may not pay the bills,
It may never bring riches or fame,
But it is yours,
It is a place that does not require an application or credentials,
It does not care if you can network or if you are extroverted,
Looks or material things make no difference,
There is no performance review outside of the one you may decide to give yourself,
Therefore, go into the world,
Do as you must to survive,
But never doubt your worth or your place,
Your place is here, waiting,
It is the white space beneath the last sentence you wrote.

Yield

Yield, dualistic,
A result from action,
Abstaining action obtaining no results
Friendly, comforting, and a compassionate word,
Surrendering to the surroundings,
The car yields to oncoming traffic,
A kind gesture,
Not progressing but providing safe returns.
She yields to his argument,
Choosing happiness over being right,
Acceptance,
He yields under pressure,
Stupidity or strength?
Preservation or perseverance?
The tree yields to the hurricane’s gail force winds,
Weakness or wisdom?
Understanding its limits while adapting to its environment,
She studied hard yielding great results,
Economic term,
Productive,
It’s my yield,
Possessive,
Tangible such as a basket of apples,
Something I can shoulder and carry,
She yields to her touch,
Vulnerability and adventure,
Yield, so much complexity in such a simple word.

Word of the day:
Yield

She Waits

Moon – Tread – Cold Night (October writing prompts)

My once barren soul being re-fertilized,
Nature filling that space,
That longing to feel desired,
When I take walks and really be,
She is the woman I’ve been looking for.
I breathe and she puts smiles back to my face.
Smiles that at many times feel like 1,000 pounds to produce,
I force myself to bring it to surface even when she is unable,
Acting as if,
Hoping that the laws of the universe will return my output,
Waiting for magic,
I wait because the moon has promised it to me,
What it is, is unknown.

Treading these cold nights of my soul,
Using this time to prepare,
Growing in my awareness of both myself and the mother who surrounds me,
Trusting more each day,
Knowing that every need will be met,
Continuing the mantras, the service, the seeking,
Building the beautiful new construction of myself,
Tearing down old walls of doubt and fear,
Digging deep,
Relinquishing fresh soil where new and beautiful things can be planted,
She knew what it would take,
Time alone,
The inability to use money or women as distraction,
Endless opportunities for service,
Guides both in and out of recovery,
Providing direction to where I am needed,
I await the time when I am there,
On the road,
Hand in hand with the her, the one who requested that I follow.

Drowning

Struggling to stay standing,
As the waves come crashing in,
You stand nearby unaffected,
The undercurrent begins pulling me down,
You start to move away to where the water is warmer,
Perhaps that is safest,
Finally aware of the danger you face,
With this flesh eating bacteria invading your space.

Drowning rarely looks like you’d imagine,
It rarely is the person splashing and screaming for help,
It’s the quiet ones who silently keep gasping for air,
The ones who, by the time you reach out, aren’t there.

Inspiration

From nowhere it rises,

The embers nearing the skin,

Internal flames glow,

Chest constricts,

Beats hasten,

Expansion and growth,

Fears turn into ash,

Demanding to be released,

Words pour out,

Until the fire is quenched,

It is quite a relief,

Unsure of when it’ll visit again.

What will be the trigger?

I wait and I listen.

Fuck Me With Your Mind

Make me wet with your intellect and all of your passion,
When you share your thoughts on psychology, science and politics, don’t ration,
Captivate me with the significance of Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964,
Expound upon Watergate and the Vietnam War,
Orate about Quantum Theory and how time does not exist,
Please don’t stop…I insist,
Give a discourse on Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell Repeal Act of 2010,
My safe word is red, don’t worry, I’ll say when.

Discuss mass shooter psychology and gun laws,
All the titillating things that give my heart pause,
Talk to me about political parties and parliamentary systems,
Or your musings on string theory, I would not dare miss them,
Animate how critical in the bottom of the ninth is a sacrifice fly,
Explain that the number of runners who score is an RBI,
Unbutton my pants,
As we chat about Van Gogh’s depiction of Saint-Remy-de-Provence in the south of France.

While we debate the issues of stem cell research using human embryos,
Slowly strip off my clothes,
Gently touch me with a speech on the multi-universe and binary digits,
Or on black hole physics and all things delicious,
Spread my legs apart,
With your dissertation on Dante’s Inferno and the Miserere transcribed by Mozart,
Elucidate gender identity-based employment discrimination,
And the impacts of the first gay rights organization.

Tease me when you discuss casually,
Of all the work you are doing for LGBTQ advocacy,
Penetrate me with a lesson on the Suffragette movement and the history of feminism,
Thrust upon me a homily of the Tao, Christianity and Buddhism,
You might make me cum if you can talk coherently,
About non-guilt based recovery and attachment based therapy.

But if she can’t carry a conversation and pleasure my brain,
I’ll abstain,
If she is a girl of my kind,
She will fuck me with her mind.